Category Archives: Poetry_Writting

“Dinner ……. served differently”

Variety is the spice of life, funny thing is LIFE often gets in the way of living.  It’s so easy to fall into a mundane routine of day-to-day activities that always seem so highly important and time-consuming; we convince ourselves that we are actually living, when we are merely existing.

So this evening I dragged myself out from my mental deception of living; got all “gussied” up / left the house / physically got into my car and drove to the city. The final destination was an “open mic” expressions poetry/spoken word event of which the main feature was the viewing of a “short film” written/performed by a very talented sister-friend. Nugget: “Friends are few and far between for me; I don’t make friends easily but once I befriend; you will have a friend for life. I don’t follow the crowd or do something because its popular; I am as real as real is; I can’t fake it til I make it (to my own detriment in some situations)”

Now this sister-friend is extremely talented and real… to say she have balls would be an insult because those thing are so dam sensitive! Nah this sister-friend has a “vagina” or as I tell my lil one ” a va-j-jay” 🙂 🙂 . to paraphrase Betty White “who needs balls they are too sensitive, grow a vagina because those things can take a pounding.”  The title of my sister-friend’s short film is “Dinner” and although there were shots of food cooking on a stove; the meal served could be eaten but not chewed or digested.  I thoroughly enjoyed every short second of it and the entertainment that followed after.

The down side of the evening was it left me hungry for “dinner” and magnified the harsh reality that the only chef I wanted to serve me, was miles over many a waters…..and that dinner was a meal that can not be cooked or served on skype. 😦

Kudos Meka girl… rock sweetie!!!!


Until next time……



Posted by on December 13, 2011 in Experience/Feelings, Poetry_Writting


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Who am I?

Who am I?

I wish I knew

Looking into the mirror.  I asked the image……who are you?

Strange…I did not recognize the face that was before me.

Hey, “who are you ?”


(c) 2011

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Posted by on June 2, 2011 in Poetry_Writting


The Other Woman.


What is it about being the other woman that entices her to keep saying “yes” ?  She knows he has a wife at home, so what is it….

The other woman shares the best of times and the worst of times in her lover’s life.  Hers is a life of teenage love affair filled with stolen kisses and secret moments.  She must always be content with the portion allotted, after all she is the other woman.

The other woman knows only briefly the joys of carrying his seed for if allowed to fully develop, it would be the last of him she sees.  The other woman must ask herself, ” is this it, is this the best offer?”  She must know her true worth  and believe that if he could fall in love with her surely another will.


(c) 2011

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Posted by on June 2, 2011 in Poetry_Writting


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My Child by MKM

Almost you did not make it here, torn and confuse I struggled with the good to do.  Should I keep you or leave you…..he told me to leave you.

I agreed to leave you, to leave you be; not in the bin of the doctor whose office I could not enter…..because finally! Finally I decided to keep you….yes, keep you!

I could not; would not make my womb a tomb, once, twice….not thrice.  I had no reason why; why should I not try; try to be your mother even though he was saying goodbye.

Inside me you grew as did my love for you; and my appetite for food.  Thanks to you I now have hips and boobs (LOL); you taught me to love you, need you, yearn for the best for you.

For five months in my womb you sheltered; evil meant you harm wanted you gone but I told him, he could not have you.  Fight, you taught me to fight harder; fight for you.

Like a butterfly ripped from its cocoon, my child you emerged too soon, but ready for life you made your voice heard; loud and strong.  It girded my heart.  Fragile, you were too delicate to touch, cut off from my blood supply they took you without a word.

Finally eight and forty hours later they allowed me to see you; amazed at your size I could not bear it.  Shame, guilt, anger and fear came crashing down.  Had I put you in danger?  Inconsolable I wished I could put you back in; back inside of me where it was warm and safe.

Each day I watched you; you waxed stronger and stronger.  My child you taught me to pray, you made me doubt no more; you proved that miracles do come my way.

(c) 2010 Author, MKM

Dedicated to my lil one K.I.M

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Posted by on May 12, 2011 in Poetry_Writting


Prolouge to : “The In Between” author M.K.M


How do you plan a future with a man that’s not yours? You can dream of one; hoping he would leave his wife, but how long are you willing to wait?

Luxury is not acceptable when you are in between. There is no comfort zone; no stable future, no definite plan, no set routine, and no fixed weekly schedule. There’s only that second, that stolen moment.

Everything else is of no consequence. At any given time every plan could be interrupted with a phone call saying, “babe I can’t make it over tonight, make it up to you later”.

And just like that the romantic evening you had planned to surprise him is mute. The dinner for two has become dinner for one and lunch for work the next day; if you had the appetite to eat anything.

Fact is there are married men who will at some point cheat on their spouses. It could be a simple flirtation routine, or a one night stand. But sometimes, there is that one that takes them by surprise.

It’s not of lust, but true bliss. They relate; they understand each other, and as night must surely follow day, their intent of a mere friendship grows into something much deeper. Of course these men won’t leave their wives but they don’t want the other woman to leave them either.

He cherishes the idea that she is solely his, although she has to share him with his wife. To him she is every bit his woman in private as his wife is to him in public. The irony is; even in public without the display of affection publicly, he expects her to conduct herself in no less a manner, than his woman.

He can never stay a full night, but ensures he sees her often. Unless he lives in another state; and travels often, at which point he will stay at her place. If she is lucky she is afforded all the adage of a wifely status in private and public, but without his name and legal claim to anything he owns.

After much pleading and argument she might even have the sarcastic pleasure of hearing she can bear his child. Although he never commits to when, she hangs on his every word, literally. As an oath made in blood and written in stone.

She watches for variations of stories or excuses told, and hold him accountable to every utterance, even if only in silence. If he says theirs instead of ours, or slips on a syllable to her it’s an infraction of the truth and foundation for a discussion that ultimately will end in an argument.

Being the other woman can be mentally exhausting. Everything done to and for her, everything said becomes a silent competition between her and the ‘wife’. She wonders does he hold his wife the way he holds her. Is his passion for his wife as hot as his passion for her? Do they even have sex anymore?

These and more are questions the other woman often ponder and if not careful can become the fuel to an impending confrontation. They are silent thoughts she never dares to ask if she’s a lady, and if himself a gentleman he would never discuss with her….

MKM….book in progress.

Please let me have you feed back be positive and negative, don’t be afraid to put it out there, life IS and must be lived, so LIVE IT and be honest.

Until next time


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Posted by on April 2, 2011 in Poetry_Writting


Consuming “ME”

Closed minded the only reality is ME, blockage and barricades to keep out ME, keep ME from feeling, keeps ME from hearing, keeps ME from loving, keeps meeee……from being ME.

Who are you I’ve been asked, what do I say, how can I answer when I am still searching, trying so hard to find ME. Day in day out sun up to sun down I’m consumed with ME, oh she done ME! wrong, why can’t he love ME one, what’s the matter with ME, what will it take (pause) to make ME happy.

Being ME is a full-time job, complement ME and we are friends, correct ME and we be mortal enemies. What can you do for ME, what’s in this friendship for ME, oh that dress would look better on ME, the slimmer leaner ME, not the fat MEN not the out of shape ME, but the perfect ME.

Consumed with being ME….’mommy can you…” Child I don’t have time for that right now …ME, friend can you help .., no I’m sorry ….. ME. So tired of being ME, I can’t live with this ME, the ME is killing “me” …..its so lonely being ME!

Author: MKM

(c) 2010 Property of owner – MKM

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Posted by on January 10, 2011 in Poetry_Writting