The Forgotten Child

The Forgotten Child

When I was a boy I would sit on the laps of my mother and aunts, looking at the stars, fascinated by the night air. I wouldn’t stop crying unless they took me outside.

When she was a girl her father showed flashes of being the greatest man she’d ever known before he was the first man to break her heart.

When I was a boy I went to live with my mother after she graduated college, only to cry myself to sleep because I wanted to go back to the only home I’d ever known. My grandparents picked me up that same night.

When she was a girl she went and lived with a new family, learned new things, saw new things. A new father, a better father. Until she wasn’t there anymore, until she was back in the darkness. She felt like she deserved the darkness.

When I was a boy I thought I deserved the world.

When she was a girl she felt guilty for getting the world. What makes her special? Why the happy meal and her own room when they weren’t sure if the lights going to be on.

When he was a boy he wrote love letters to girls.

When she was girl she wrote love letters for boys, so her and her sister would have something to eat.

When he was a boy his parents took in the child of a friend.

When she was a woman she took in the child of a friend.

He saw that boy get bigger, healthier, happier.

She helped that boy get bigger, healthier and happier.

When he was a boy he saw his parents cry in the doorway as they took the boy away. The look of helplessness in their eyes knowing his life would never be the same.

When she was a woman she watched them take him away. His smile fading as the memories of his happiness fueled their disdain.

Compassion, compassion in it’s truest form often comes from the ones of those that received very little of it. The forgotten child is often the child that grows up to be the adult that wants to save the forgotten children.

True compassion and selflessness comes with heartbreak. You often find yourself protecting everyone, sacrificing for everyone, giving to everyone. When it’s all over, who has given to you? Who has sacrificed for you? Who is protecting you?

Even as a hero, the forgotten child is often forgotten.




The Arrogance of A Man

dwhiteEven the smartest man can be a fool and not even know it.

Living life blind to the resentment, to the needs of those closest to his heart.

The arrogance of believing that Camelot won’t come crashing down.

The arrogance of believing that what was once pure cannot become tainted.


The best of intentions become clouded by the worst of judgements.

The most confident decisions become blinded by moments of insecurity and inadequacy gift wrapped in lies and deception.

The most memorable moments become soaked in insincerity.

The love becomes resentment.


Her own arrogance, her own ego, tell her what she needs to do. Tell her what she has to do. To not only win but to survive.

None of those are stronger than her heart. For heart betrays her and her resentment doesn’t push away love but embraces love and makes the hurt that much more painful.

“Do you know how many I have turned down?”

“Do you know how they look at me?”

“Do you know what you did to me?”

More questions than an SAT exam and not nearly enough answers.

More doubt than a tied football game in the closing seconds but there can be no winner.


Looking into her eyes, her tears tearing a hole in his soul, her anguish ripping at the fabric of his manhood.

Wanting to fix it all in one night, wanting to heal it all in one moment.

Needing to turn back the hands of time and give her the time she’d been cheated of. Give her the opportunities taken away from her like a thief in the night.

Wanting her to hate him so that she wouldn’t seem so perfect, even in her pain.


The arrogance of a man goes against forgiveness.

The love of a woman embraces it.

Knowing that a man could touch her or inhale her after him cuts like a sword through flesh and bone and hurts just as much.

Knowing that her love was no longer guaranteed.

His arrogance died.

Changing My Brothers Fate

20140703-065049.jpg“Where is he?” It had been at least two years since I’d seen him. Maybe longer than that. There were about ten or twelve people in the room and I didn’t recognize any of them but his wife. She stood out from the rest of them, her posture and mannerisms were the first thing that gave her away. Even though she didn’t come from where we came from she still played the part. Asking them if they wanted anything to drink or fixing plates. A part of me knew it was all just to keep herself busy.

Rubbing her shoulder, trying to meet her eyes, I asked her again. “Where is he?”

“Why are you worried now? He blames himself you know. He still talks about you like you’re his bestfriend. I didn’t know bestfriends gave up on each other.” She needed someone to take her frustrations out on. I knew she missed me, they both missed me but I did what I knew was best. At least that’s what I thought, until looking in her eyes.

The woodwork in the kitchen was beautiful, hand crafted. The entire living room was glass on three sides. The last time I was here they’d just started construction and now it was everything she designed.

“Where is he?”

She slammed the glass down on the counter making a few of the men in the room look our way, the look she gave them let them know this wasn’t their fight.


“One picture. He only keeps one picture in the garage. It’s not of his mother or his brother. It’s not of our children! Who I’m afraid to have around right now because some fool might come shooting! The only picture he has in his beloved garage is of us. You, me and him. It’s not just him you gave up on Alek! You gave up on me, on your godchildren. He’s in the garage. He wanted to be alone but his people aren’t going to leave him. They have their faults but their loyal.”

I know she needed to talk, needed to vent but today wasn’t about her.

They all grilled me as I walked across the living room but they were his dogs and his dogs wouldn’t bite unless they were instructed to. I didn’t recognize the young guys in the living room but the two at the door immediately started smiling and stood up when they saw me.

Aaron and Allen were twins and they’d grown up with us. We all played baseball together. My career ended in high school once I realized my fast ball topped out at 60 mph. Aaron and Allen were suspended for fighting and just said screw school. Niles was the best out of all of us. He could swing a bat like Ken Griffy Jr. and throw a ball like Roger Clemens but once the three of us stopped playing, so did he. I graduated to college and the three of them graduated to the streets.

Aaron and Allen lived Niles because he gave them purpose. They were just being thugs to be thugs but Niles gave them a reason to be thugs. He took pistols out of their hands and told them to use them only when necessary. He showed them how to save money and get what they wanted with respect and not fear. They were his soldiers and even though they were smiling I could see the disappointment in their eyes.

“It’s been a minute Alek, hate for this to be the reason you’re coming to see your man.”

“How is he?”

“You know Niles, he’s ice; but that’s mostly for the soldiers. It was his brother. Outside of us going to the funeral home and the service today, he hasn’t left the garage. The streets are waiting and the goons are getting antsy but we won’t do nothing until the boss tells us which way to rock.”

Stepping past them and taking the stairs down into the garage he saw why he spent so much time down. Calling it a garage was a disservice. There were three cars in there and a couple bikes but there was also a pool table, a bar, a couple couches and full bath. He was still wearing the suit he wore at the funeral, the sleeves were rolled up and his tie was loosened on his neck.

There was music playing in the background but he didn’t know the rapper. He was polishing the candy red Impala. There were two luxury cars and an SUV in the driveway but he was focused on the oldest car in the garage. The one he’d bought from his brother when he was only 16 for 600 dollars. They went all over Texas in that car and got stuck so many times they both learned how to work on cars.

Walking towards him he looked up and threw the rag on the ground before breaking out into a big smile. It started with a handshake before he pulled him in to a hug. They’d been friends since they’d both been forced to sit in church all day at the age of 5. They’d borrowed clothes, fought together, shared women and money. But at some point Alek had to make the decision that the life Niles was living was going to get him killed and he couldn’t watch his bestfriend go down that path. Walking away from his friend meant walking away from the wife he introduced him to and the godchildren he’d come to love.

“They shot him like a dog in a ditch A! They caught him leaving home and going to work and hit him over 24 times. My brother wouldn’t about this life! You know that shit! Everybody know that shit! The police acting like this over a bitch but what nigga you know do ambush him and hit him that many times and be that clean getting away if it was over a bitch?”

He grabbed the bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label off the bar and poured us both a glass before he picked up a football and started throwing it in the air.

“He asked about you a lot. He thought maybe you tried to creep with my wife or some shit like that. Everyone asks about you, even my kids and you know… I don’t have answers for none of them because like them I’ve spent so much time trying to realize why my bestfirend got ghost on me when I needed him the most! When his bestfriend, my wife needed him! I buried my brother today but I buried my other brother the day you walked out on us!”

“You know why I had to leave bro. You have enough money, you got the house and the wife and the businesses, why the streets!? If you don’t get got by whoever hit your brother or the cops, it’s going to be one of those young boys upstairs that want your spot!”

He threw the football at the wall and got in his face.

“They don’t want my spot! They just want to be on a winning team! They know loyalty, unlike you A. What do you want man? What do you want?”

Putting his drink down on the table he straightened his own tie and looked Niles in the face.

“I know who killed your brother.”

To Be Continued…

My Only Sin Was Loving You Too Much

IMG_0629Sleep felt foreign at the moment, laying down, closing his eyes, it just wouldn’t come. Getting out of bed as not to disturb her he walked out the bedroom and lied on the couch. Not knowing how long his eyes had been closed he could hear her in the kitchen, opening the fridge, closing the fridge. Running water in the sink, letting water out of the sink. His temper and stress had her walking on egg shells and her trust issues and the intensity of her love had him not knowing how to approach her at times. Not knowing how to explain to her that her doubts and fears were unwarranted.

His phone sitting on the kitchen table, he made no effort to go get it. If she was going to look through it, she was going to look through it. It’s the nature of women he thought to himself, curiosity killed the cat.

When she walked in the living room and put the TV on mute he knew tonight wouldn’t just be another sleepless night but another night without peace. He knew what the look meant before any words came out of her mouth. The look of fear mixed with anger, passion mixed with uncertainty.

“I know you want me to forget about it, to get over it but I still have questions. Why is it okay for you to just dismiss what’s important to me? What did the message say? Are you going on dates? Are there other women? I saw you looking up restaurants online, you took off work. Is there someone else Ron?”

The more she talked, the more he tried to put himself in her shoes but the more he tried to understand her, the more he just couldn’t. Though he loved women, though he never made it a secret about his past relationships he’d changed for her. Gone were the late night text and phone calls. Gone were the happy hours and friends that couldn’t except he wasn’t the man he used to be. Every one around him saw it, so why couldn’t she see it?

Why were tears of pain falling from her eyes at 3:00am instead of tears of pleasure? He wanted to hold her, hug her, kiss her and tell her it was going to be alright but his pride ran deep. His love for her was unquestionable so why couldn’t her faith in him be unwavering?

Before he knew it the glass in his hand shattered against the living room door!

“Why don’t you ever just shut up?! You have to pick a fight every night because of your got damn insecurities?!”

Turning his back and walking towards the kitchen he could hear her footsteps behind him. Standing in a pair of panties and holding her wine glass she pushed him in the back and as soon as he turned around he felt the wine hit his face!

“You don’t talk to me like that! I’m not afraid of you and you will not disrespect me!” His hand was around her neck before she finished her sentence. Letting her go, she gasped for air as he backed up.

Wiping the wine out his eyes with his shirt he wasn’t fast enough as the glass she was holding connected with his mouth. The taste of blood on his tongue and the immediate swelling on the tips of his fingers. Their fights had always been bad but the pint up hostility, aggression, resentment. It boiled over to a place it had never been to before. The aggression a substitute for desire. Rage a substitute for words that needed to be spoken.

Seeing his mouth bleeding she could muster no compassion, not for the man that had taken everything from her that made her, her. Her love for him was in direct conflict with the independence and control she had in her own life. The deeper he penetrated her heart, the more she felt helpless in just how much control he had over her mind, body and soul.

As they kissed he bit her lip and looking into his eyes she licked the blood off his mouth. As their tongues intertwined she ripped open his shirt and he pinned her against the wall. Hunger being replaced by hate; the intensity of him needing to be inside of her being replaced by the urge to grab his keys and never see her again.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands in his hair, her eyes glazed over.

“I love you sooo much. I need you sooo much! If you’re going to leave me, do it now because I won’t be okay if you drag this out knowing it’s not what you want.”

He didn’t know why he was crying. Part of him wanted to believe it was because she felt like Heaven in his arms but a part of him knew it was because the intensity of their love scared him just as much as it scared her.

Love this deeply rarely works because the fire tends to consume everyone.

Doubts As A Writer; Insecurities As A Man

IMG_0701It’s not realistic to me sometimes that I’m going to be anywhere near who are what I want to be. To some this might be perceived as a lack of self-confidence or confidence in my writing or abilities but to be it’s just the hand I’ve been dealt when it comes to my mental and emotional makeup. This one quote sticks in my mind constantly since I’ve heard it. “Almost every writer as one book in them, almost no one has two books.” I get asked at least once a week where the sequel is to my first novel. It’s been almost 4 years now. There’s always a reasonable excuse but the truth is every version I write just doesn’t feel good enough.

For a man like me that’s incredibly confident in most things I do, it’s almost impossible to explain what it’s like to be hesitant about something that I know I’m great at. If Tom Brady was born to throw a football and Kobe was born to shoot a basketball and Shakespeare was born to write plays, I was born to write novels. So why is it that I have this weight of the world type fear in my heart when it comes to something that I love to do so much?

I wrote my first novel when I was in the 11th grade. It was front and back on a 70 page notebook tablet. I’d broken up with my girlfriend and used her and her friends and myself and my friends as characters. Because this was in the age before social media and blogs the way it got read was that it got passed around from person to person. People trying to figure out which character was which and what was reality and what I’d made up in my mind. It was at that moment, at that juncture in my life that I knew I could write. That I knew this wasn’t going to be a hobby for me. So now 14 years removed from that moment I feel as though my spirit is breaking at the thought that I won’t fulfill my destiny.

Sometimes I’m afraid that I’m incapable of ever truly opening up to someone. Incapable of ever loving someone in a way that will allow me to be vulnerable. Saying things like, “I miss you” or “I love you” or “I need you” have always been easier to put in a letter or write in a book then they have been to say out loud. When you find yourself not able to open up to someone on any level, what happens is all of that “stuff” in your head manifest itself into self-doubt, self-loathing, the inability to accept the shoulder or hand someone that cares about you is offering you. That inability is what makes me the writer I am but that inability is what makes me the writer I’m not.

In the dawn of the morning all I want some days is for her to hug me and tell me that I am everything I believe I am. No real drawn out conversations, no pretty words. Just my head on her stomach and her looking down on me with those eyes that say I need you and I believe in you. I can’t say I’ve ever felt that, not if I’m being honest. I’ve had people say those things to me and say those pretty words but that moment when I know that they believe in me just as much as I believe in me. That’s priceless.

These are just the ramblings of a writer in the morning hours of a Saturday. Letting whoever reads this know that you are not alone if you feel those doubts, if you feel alone.

Demez F. White

You’re Beautiful: I Just Feel Like You Should Know

IMG_0189.JPG Every now and again I feel like you need to be reminded of just how perfect you are. I understand perfect isn’t attainable so please don’t take my words literally. When I say perfect I mean, you’re as perfect as any woman can be. Perfectly flawed in the most beautiful way. I get I look at you in way that’s unrealistic, I have these expectations and place you on a pedestal when we both know that’s not fair but I can’t help it. No one told you to be this freaking awesome!

I’ve read great poets and philosophers that have said every man gets three great loves in his life. Some get them early and never experience love again, some have them spread out over time and some may never meet the loves of their lives at all. I believe with all my heart I’ve had at least one great love. There’s a part of me that believes you can be number 2 if I ever got that chance.

You’re beautiful because you’re selfless. You’re beautiful because your spirit and heart are so full of life and joy. There isn’t one person that can genuinely not like you. You’re beautiful because I say you are and I’m willing to fight any man that says otherwise.

You’re beautiful because God made you that way inside and out and for that the world is a better place.

Regrets Live In Untold Emotions

The moon shines really bright or the sky is really dark.

The stars are guiding me, hopefully to you.

My mind echo’s what my heart holds true.

The sting of rejection burns yet the pain is better than regret.

Untold truths lie like stones anchoring me as I drown.

My head pounding, anticipation building, excitement or nervousness?

To conform is to concede.

To bow down is to admit defeat.

To be told no hurts but to be told no means no regrets.

~ Demez F. White


Faith, Family and Words

a holiday The bible is just a book of words to me. I do believe that there are life lessons to be taught and words that can inspire us but it was a book written by man translated time after time over centuries. For me faith is much more important, believing that God is real and that he watches over us and that believing in not just him but in seeing the best in people.

For me faith is walking and talking and trying to be the best man possible for my family, my readers and my future wife. Faith is knowing I’ll fall short, knowing I’ll do things that I’m not proud of but that no matter how far I fall I’m never beyond God’s outstretched hand.

My faith is what sustained me when I had to bury my grandfather. My faith is what keeps me strong when I watch my grandmother crying. Faith tells me that no matter what I want to happen or what I think is going to happen God has a plan for me and he’s simply waiting on me to become the man I’m supposed to be before he blesses me with what I desire.

Family. That word gets thrown around a lot but family isn’t blood. Family represents the people that are there for you when you need them. Family represents the people that you love unconditionally no matter what they do or say or how mad you get. Yes, family is cousins and uncles and mothers and fathers but more than anything our family starts when we are married and have children. That’s the way I look at it. I’ve never felt so alone in my life. My grandfather was the glue and without him I see the family I knew as a child fracturing. So now it’s time I start my own.

A wife is more than a lover, then a mother, then a best friend. A wife is the second part of life. I’m aware that people read my writing and feel like I may be exaggerating but I don’t care. I don’t care because I mean everything I write. It would be easy to stick to writing about sex and why good women are single. That stuff gets the highest views but I need to be sincere and sincerity lies in me being upfront with the fact that I’m going to put a lot of weight on the woman I take vows with. They’ll be times where I need her way more than she needs me and that scares me. It scares me to know someone will have that much power over me. It’s a scary that I can accept because it means I trust and love a person enough to share a home, children, memories and uninhibited passion with them.

Honestly, I’ve never been comfortable asking anyone for help. If my truck stopped and I didn’t have a dime to my name I’d struggle to call someone. I can’t tell you why that is but I can tell you that I wouldn’t be uncomfortable or struggling to call my wife or even a girlfriend.

Words are my babies. I write them for pleasure, I write them for fun, I write them for work and everything in between. I take joy in writing emails and text messages and letters. Demez F. White was born to be a writer and I know that with all my heart. Maybe that’s why I’m so used to solitude because when you write as much as I do you spend so much time alone with your thoughts. Words define me just as much as my faith does and just as much as my family will.

Desire Is Where the Heart Lies

Written By: Sapphire and Demez

Her Words

Searing heat coursing through my veins, the thirst is real and the hunger never sleeps and its been 4 hrs 33 mins and 21..20…19 seconds since my last fix, this writing shit ain’t no joke. It’s invades my sleep, torments my mind, makes love to my soul in a way no one ever could and yet I’m sitting in this corner trying to resuscitate the contents of my talent as it lies dwindling in the balance…

The one I thought would never leave, the love that I knew would stand by me no matter what. The one that I told my secrets to now lay depleted…my heart… my everything… my writing.

His Words

Desire, I often wonder what life would be like if I didn’t have so much desire. If I didn’t want what I don’t have so much. There are moments when I can taste it, when I can taste her, when I close my eyes and I could swear on a Bible she’s siting on my lap. Then I open them and there’s just me, there’s just this iPhone full of numbers I don’t really call and memories.

Her Words

My desire is to pour the contents of my soul unto my cold, sterile pad and induce its labor; watch it give birth to my visions, hopes and dreams….to HIM. Seeing my own words verbalize my longings and watching them come to fruition makes “HIM” that much more tangible; a description or a thought away. I’m not a verbal person when it comes to my heart but I need, I love, I want and those things seems to manifest only when I’m honest with my paper and pen; that’s why it’s so dire that I not lose this connection…my connection to him, to happiness, to being so close yet so far away.

His Words

Desire, my desire doesn’t only live in the memories of the loves past. My desire also lives in the present, in every smile of every pretty face that friendzones me. My desire lives in every tight pair of jeans and short skirt that teases me. Thighs that sit on the edge of barstools like mini reminders that my desires will not be met tonight.

You want to know a secret, I tell the world it’s self control, I tell readers that waiting for love and marriage is the only way to be happy sexually, is the only way to curve your desire. That’s bullshit! Desire will eat you alive from the inside out, lying in bed, tipsy enough to be tired but not drunk enough to sleep desire will molest your mind.

Her Words

I write from the desire to be one step closer to that feeling of all consuming, overwhelming, impossible, can’t live without it moments that I’ve only seen. Those that I’m too afraid to write about for fear that I may not be ready for what that could possibly feel like. Those nights when I lie in bed with my pad right beside me, only a word away from him, from “hi” ;a sentence away from a feeling that I’m too nervous to write but I desire it all the same.

His Words

Mistaking desire for love isn’t what my heart wants but how is my heart supposed to know the difference? Are they the same thing?

I am not a poet, I can’t put pretty words together and make them rhyme or come up with cute catch phrases. All I can do is bare my soul in my writing and hope it relates. It’s the same way I am with women, I know I’ll never be Reggie Bush or Eldris Elba but I get the most out of this humor and mind of mines and hope that desire arises from that.

Her Words

I write a place in my heart where I’m not afraid of vulnerablilty, of knowing that I was ready at some point and at some moment to be that that I didn’t know I desired or even wanted and knowing that I desire it still. Its still as real to me as my next heartbeat and therefore I can’t stop writing, can’t stop believing that at some moment the courage will come for me to say that I’m ready.

His Words

There’s no greater feeling than knowing that someone loves you just as much as you love them. That they desire every single aspect of what you’re offering just as much as you desire giving it to them. Desire is not a game, when you’re dealing with forevers the stakes are high!

Her Words

I write in hopes that every word is like water to my dehydrated situation restoring the respect an desire to nuture the talent that I took for granted…that every syllable brings me closer to a destiny that is not so far beyond my reach. I write so that my desire to love is no longer a figment of my imagination but a reality that I embrace whole-heartedly.

I write so that I can understand the true meaning of desire, of what it takes to want something so badly that its the only reality I know.I write because my desire won’t allow me to do anything else.


5 Reasons Girly Girls Are Perfect…

5: Pretty nail colors. Toes or feet or both. Tiffany Blue, Cotton Candy Pink, Lavenders and Light Yellows. God created OPI for a real reason! I’m a sucker for seeing a pretty hand wrapped around a pretty glass. Or a cute set of colorful toes on my hardwood floors. It’s a lot of maintenance but it’s worth it.

4: I see women in sun dresses all the time and I appreciate the look of a cute sun dress. But what I’ve become really fond of on pretty women is rompers. Especially strapless ones, you have naked shoulders, thighs, an exposed neckline. And the material can vary from casual linen to nightwear. Girly girls can get away with this because men love simple sexy.

3: Understanding time and place in reference to shoe/makeup. When I, Demez White, say girly girl I’m not simply talking about women in general that are feminine. I’m speaking on women that just get it. Certain shoes go with certain weather. Lip gloss is more than adequate for 96 degree Texas weather. I don’t care how attractive a woman is, having a fully made face to hang out on a deck and watch college football at 4pm is not sexy.

2: There is a thin line between vulgar/sweet/boring/goofy. Girly girls walk these lines with their pretty toes and perfect teeth with ease. I can’t stand loud women or women that talk like men. You can be ‘one of the guys’ and still be ladylike. Cute shorts and a UT baby tee, trash talk and beer get you boo status. This thing where you’re the loudest woman in the room. No thanks.

1: Girly Girls are perfect because God didn’t create those perfect bodies to not be perfectly groomed. Most men I know pay bills or trick or get jealous because despite what you’re dateless homegirl thinks women are highly valued to us. Especially the women that make every head turn whether it’s in the gym or Escalantes.