A Reginaism… “Picking Grapes”


Hang on now…

I’ve just come back from picking Muscadine grapes with my great aunt for some home made wine. She’s so old that she will not tell you how old she is–my theory is that she doesn’t remember any more. She’s sharp as a whip though and her tongue often reflects that fact. She sometimes refers to me as “Oh, that lil’mixed baby,” which should irritate me but it doesn’t. In my opinion, she is cool as hell. She pisses my mom off though. My mom is “that white lady that Kenny bought over here.” It’s too funny. Recently she told me that I have to look over her ways. “You a good girl. You can’t help who your Momma is.” I’m not going to tell my mother she said that, but that’s as close as I’m going to get to an “I love you and I’m sorry”. I honestly don’t know how my mother puts up with all of them on a full time basis.

Well anyway, we are picking grapes off some abandoned vines–actually trespassing. We hear someone but can’t see them. This old woman pulls out this “little” gun (which I will be telling my father she has).”If I don’t see a face or hear a name I knows, you gonna be the one that regrets it,” she says and shoots off a warning shot into the ground. I almost peed myself. Some lady screams back, “You know you ain’t ’bout to shoot nobody. Yo’ass too old to be up in jail.” Apparently these two old women know each other and I’m now encroaching on one of their best kept secrets. The new old lady is complaining about having her drivers license taken away–which I discover is the only reason my aunt had me come, she needed a ride. She was mad because she had to wait till every body left to drive her “own Godamned car”.

“There ain’t nothing wrong with my eyes–when I’m driving.”

A little later I hear my aunt tell the other that I’m her nephew’s mulatto baby. This lady starts picking near me and whispers, “So, what part of Louisiana you from honey? I got people down there, you might know some of them.”

All I could do was laugh and move on. I suppose I’m moving up in this world. I heard her whisper to my aunt, “She’s not too right in the head is she?”

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Word of the day…


The word is actually Japanese and it is pronounced Ma, but their is no English word with the equivalent meaning.
Simplified, it means negative space. It is the space between things. It isn’t as simple as that though. Ma is what apparently seems to be empty space but
actually consists of so much it can’t be explained. Like in music. The silences are just as strong and important as the notes. The silence is Ma. It has an effect, it does something. Technically it is nothing.
You stand here and I stand over there.
There is your experience and there is my experience. There is what we say that is important and what we don’t say that carries even more weight than what was said. What is not said is Ma. The weight of it is Ma. The space between you and I is Ma.
Ma is not something that is created by solid, structural, visual elements; it is the thing that takes place in the imagination
of the human who experiences these elements. It is the absence of those elements. It is the thoughts and feelings that the human experiences in that space. It is everything that causes something to be and it is not really there.

It is that look a lover gives you and you get wet. You suddenly need to touch them. It is the absence of life in the look of a homeless man’s eyes as he passes you on the street. It is nothing, but it is everything.

It is my favorite word. As a writer, it is an important concept of communication.

I know, I’m such a nerd.

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Song of the Succubus by Regina Moore


He wants to save me
With his sweetness
Envelope me
In the warmth of his love
He sees a bird, rare
A broken wing
A hidden spirit
Caught in the fear
Of possible flight

With his prayers
And the touch of his hands
An infusion of his spirit
The curve of his smile
The music in his voice
The feel of his heart
Beating next to mine
As he leads me in this dance
And I begin to depend on
The strength of his arms
He thinks this
Will cause
Within me
A revival of the soul

His beauty could
Or so I once believed
In my own innocence
But I have already felt
The sway of bliss
I have bathed in the sun
Lifted my face
To feel the full weight of heat
Had it surge through my core
I have given
And got
Committed a fool’s testimony
Surrendered completely
To be left bare
With nothing
With arms too weak
To even console myself

How can I tell him
With his eyes so full of hope
His intentions so pure
Patience so present
How can I begin to explain
I have already known that touch
Felt it rattle my bones
Wash over the sensitive parts of my flesh
And dip me in want
I am familiar with the movements
I helped create the dance
I have the answers to the mysteries
And they break skin
Bow the back
My chest is an empty cage

I was consumed
And now I devour
I am what rises from
A woman scorned
I was once one
With the sky
I was a cloud
I sang the song
I was the smile
But I spread my wings too wide
And thought them much too strong
They could not break the fall
And he cannot
Melt this pain
What he hears
Is not love’s words
Those are sounds
I can never again sing

I see him waiting for me
So ready to be deceived
And I remember
The me that was
As I crawl away
Knowing what he has yet to learn
There are ghosts
That harden the heart
Embitter the spirit
Waste the sacrifice
Time is not always kind
To the patient
In the end
It will be his soul
I’ve saved
No one gave thought
To mine


©AvrgBlkGrl, 2015. No part of this material may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, or used in any other fashion without the express prior written permission of the owner. This manuscript is specifically written for Lush Stories

Read about the story behind the poem HERE

You can find more of me HERE

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Selfish Lover by Regina Moore (AvrgBlkGrl)

Note: I don’t know what it is about this poem but I’ve had to tackle a couple of thieves online. It has been plagiarized and shows up from time to time. If you see it anywhere without my name attached, drop me a line please.

selfish lover banner
Be selfish with me
My lover
Look at this body
Through the eyes
Of your own narcissism
Let it blind you no more
Place your hand
At the meeting of my thighs
And firmly grip
What you know drips
For you
Taste it

Let your eyes bore through me
As you force
through gritted teeth
The command
The demand
What you have yet to recognize as a plea

Let every muscle
In your form
In demonstration of your strength
Try everything short of
Dragging me off by the hair
As you stand
Declaring yourself
My man

How dare I resist
Hold back my gifts
When you have made
Your want known
When you have penetrated
Every aperture
Left me trembling
Unable to walk
Without smiling and thanking you

How could I be so cold
In the face of such heat
And demand the one thing
You guard the most
While asking for nothing
All along
Except that which I deserve

This is what causes
Your knees to weaken
As your want
Twists and turns
Within the walls of your heart
Till need rises
Within you
Like the two edged sword
You now place at my feet
In surrender
Unable to battle

Be selfish my lover
And want me only for yourself
Run all others away
Beat against your own chest
In frustration
At your own denial
As you finally release
The words that have claimed your very being
Not to be just whispered in my ear
But worn across your forehead
Screamed out to the world
I’ll watch as they leave your lips

You are now a man
In love
And know
That now this woman
has something
Worth keeping
And may be
A selfish lover

©AvrgBlkGrl, 2014. No part of this material may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, or used in any other fashion without the express prior written permission of the owner. This manuscript is specifically written for Lush Stories. If viewed on any other site, please report as stolen.

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Succubus, Succubi…Succubied…

I have a weakness…
Well you most likely already knew that. I have so many. But, cultural mythology is a major one. (We shall discuss my kinks another time. I promise. 😉) My mind works kind of weird. I was listening to “Take Me To Church” by Hozier and just loving the lyrics. The groove and the words just created all sorts of images for me. They really should have come to me to help create the video. I would have done so much better. I went from erotic church scenes to deep questions of spiritual ethics. Anyway…the images led me to a scene in my mind. I envisioned a woman of experience, not so much one of age as just having seen life for what it truly is, finding herself falling in love with a man who still has that magical vision of love, honor, romance. Although at one time she could have loved him, been happy and fulfilled with the concept, life has scarred her permanently. She wants him, even admires him. She could feed off of his nobleness, let what he has within him be enough. Time, however, would reveal what she already knows to be true. She would only drain him dry, her emptiness being so vast. Eventually, he would possibly become as bitter and weathered as she is. He wants to save her. He is willing. After all, for love there must be sacrifice. But, she has no desire to watch him lose his beauty. She has no desire to bring him pain. She knows what she is. So, she steps away. She sacrifices. She feels love for him.

Of course, in true Regina fashion, I translate it to a poem. It became the poem “Shelter”

I was not very happy with it and it just seemed unfinished.

Yesterday, I was reading it and a new concept just hit me. I have a weakness for early cultural mythology. I teach Ethnic Lit, so it is connected. I love the way myths grow and how they cross lines have parallel representation within many seemingly unrelated cultures. I started rewriting the poem, working with it some. A voice just rose from the scene. I suddenly knew who the “woman” was. The entire situation took shape. Succubi get such a bad rap. When they are imagined they have hooves and horns and such. Everyone thinks of a heartless, evil, life draining, demonic nymphomaniac. In most cultures though, her story is quite sad. In one culture a succubus is described as a lone lady draped in a white sari with beautiful untamed hair. She haunts the paths of the lonely, seeking to give and receive comfort–her heart broken and in torment because of love denied. In some myths, the succubus was once an angel forever changed and cursed because of a love she had once for a cruel human. Sometimes it is about revenge and sometimes just survival. I tapped into that and recreated the poem and named it the “Song of the Succubus”. I think that it is finally fulfilling my original vision for it. I hope that you will give this siren’s song a read.


Right now, it is located here  I may post the entire thing here a bit later. Visiting the site can be a little of a pain with the advertisements if you are not a member. Non-members can locate my author page and then scroll down to the stories.


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Paid For by Regina Moore (AvrgBlkGrl)

paid for

Tags: Erotic Interracial Romance
Sometimes you get exactly what you’ve paid for…
Sidney had no poker face. So, she had done the one and only other thing that could possibly explain why she was glowing and unable to stop smiling. She went shopping.
“I’m home,” she called out, laughing at how she must look–kicking at the heavy, ornate door in an attempt to close it while balancing on the other foot.

The delicate sound of her own voice echoed off the walls of the entry way and up the winding staircase. There was no response. She thought that at least one of the servants would come rescue her from all the bags. Maybe she had forgotten about an event or was actually supposed to be somewhere else. A flash of panic caused her to immediately drop everything, check the pink face of her diamond encrusted Rolex and then desperately search through her Chanel bag for her cell.

No, there were no planned events and it was Thursday, her day for errands and dinner in the city. Sidney exhaled with a sigh of relief. Edger’s moods had been quite volatile lately. This last stroke had left him meaner than ever and quick to demand retribution for the slightest of errors on her part.

After a day like today, one so full of everything that actually made life worth living, it only stood to reason that karma would somehow swoop down and get her back for being happy. That seemed to be her life’s pattern. She was blessed in so many ways, ways that she had once only dreamed about. However, nothing good ever came her way without a rather big price tag attached to it. As a matter of fact, the last two years had exacted nothing but payment and no true pleasures. The sky was shifting though. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Sidney thought that there could possibly be a light at the end of her tunnel. Today she had a glimpse of sunshine, something priceless. It only lasted for a while and it was another stolen moment, but it was enough to warm her soul and awaken all that she thought had died within her. It was hard to believe that it was not just a fantasy this time, and that maybe someone in this world could actually love her.

Sidney was no fool though. She knew that she needed to tread carefully. Her husband, Edger Wyatt, was not one to be toyed with. It was not just money that made him powerful. Money would be the least of her problems if she dared cross him. Five years of marriage had revealed an ugly side of him that she dared not cross.

Just thinking about that made her jump when she heard his voice call out her name. The double wooden doors to his study were slightly open. Sidney laid her purse on top of the huge marbled entry table, glanced briefly at her mindless finds and then made her way toward the sound. She slipped through the doors with a smile the day had made possible. She hoped that her good mood would somehow transfer to him.

“Welcome home, darling,” Edger said smoothly from behind his large desk.

Immediately, she realized that he was not in his wheel chair but dressed. The black collared cashmere sweater he wore was familiar. She recognized the gift from a new secretary. If they were giving gifts then it was likely that they were receiving them. Then she reminded herself that it was pointless to worry about his little dalliances any more.

It was a good sign that he looked comfortable in the dark leather of his favorite antique chair, with its high back. It had been a while since he had actually sat in that chair. Although not fully recovered, power still radiated from him. His thin lips were even curled into what could be defined as a smile if you did not know him well.

“Enjoyed your day?”

The tone of his question made her heart sink. His eyes were grey, flat and cold. There was no warmth to him or the room. The drapes were closed for the evening and the low lighting made the lines in his face seem harsh. She hoped that the nurse had not been dismissed. When he was in this mood, being the main caregiver could be full of heartless humiliations and the evening could prove to be unbearably long regardless of how loving she tried to be toward him.

“Yes,” Sidney returned, fighting the sudden nervousness threatening to envelope her, “I did the spa thing and some shopping.”

“The spa thing,” he repeated and his eyes narrowed.

Then, Edger released a dry laugh.

“Give me more light, Carl,” he demanded. “I want to see her clearly tonight.”

The sound of his name leaving Edger’s lips gave her a start and she turned suddenly to look upon the face of her husband’s most valued employee. Sidney had not seen his car in the drive and he rarely stayed this late. She had not noticed him sitting quietly at the end of a strategically placed couch. He was meticulously dressed in his usual dark suit and tie, tailored to fit his towering athletic form perfectly. She turned to watch him rise effortlessly from his seat and calmly button the front of his jacket before perfectly honed muscle strode over to the controls.

Light flooded the room more fully now, not altering the masculinity of the bulky, dark-wood furniture and sepia tinted leather. This was a room designed for business, intimidation and men.

As usual, Carl’s in-house expression revealed no emotion or commitment. It was a calm reflection of controlled intensity, always an unspoken threat lingering in the air that seemed to only highlight whatever point Edger was establishing.

Without words, a long time ago, Sidney had discovered that Carl was much more than a typical business associate. He was a quiet constant that often lingered long after the other drones and lawyer types served a purpose. They showed him quiet respect and sometimes fear. She had spent her childhood hopping from one military post to the next. She immediately recognized him as ex-military, and that he not only carried a weapon but was most likely one himself. She had learned that he was a soldier of fortune masquerading in a suit. He was an enforcer. Even when he was relaxed, his stance was poised for action. More than that though, Carl was a protector, a real warrior at heart. There was so much more he had gradually revealed.

For now, he eased back into his original position.

Sidney’s awareness of him would now never be the same. She could never possess that much control, no matter how hard she tried. Her heart pounded in her chest as her gaze weighed his intentions. What she looked upon now only faintly resembled the man and the friend she had experienced just hours ago. His chin was high, his throat arched. Those warm brown eyes were shielded by long, dark lashes.

“Isn’t she the vision of loveliness, Carl?” Her husband’s words broke through her reverie. “I used to love her spa thing days. I used to love the feel of that freshly waxed pussy sitting on my face.”

Edger’s last words made Sidney turn to glare at him.

“Edger,” she pleaded with embarrassment.

That was the wrong thing to do. He enjoyed her discomfort.

“Her body is something else. Those firm tits and tight ass alone were enough to bring me to my knees. But, that cunt of hers was always worth every penny and then some.”

No, Sidney thought, not tonight. She was not going to let him do this to her in front of Carl. It was too much. She went for the doors to see her own way out. But before she could reach them, Carl positioned himself in front of her.

“Did she let you taste that sweet pussy, Carl?”

She looked up into the clarity of his light eyes and the horror of the moment fully hit her. The force of it made her suddenly feel faint. Her legs gave way and a dry heave caused her chest to constrict.

“Carl,” she whispered in disbelief.

He reached out and caught her. Something familiar flashed in his eyes and then just as quickly died, extinguishing any hope that Sidney had left within her.

“Everyone knows that you can’t turn a whore into a housewife. And to think, you thought I’d want children with you.”

Her husband was still talking but all she could see was Carl. She took in his features fully as she recalled the feel of his hot breath against her ear and the passion in his voice as he whispered his endearments. There were many words exchanged and so much more, or so she had thought. Sidney let her eyes follow the strong blade of his nose, the strength of his brow and the square jutting of his dimpled chin. She almost reached up with her fingers to touch those lips, so sensually full and yet sharply cut. Had she imagined them form the words I love you?

Carl roughly swung Sidney’s limp body around to face her husband. With one of his arms wrapped around her waist, he pulled her head up by fisting her hair.

“Hold on, this will be over soon,” he murmured above her.

Her lover held her up so that the hateful eyes of her husband could tear right through her.

Edger sat in his chair wishing he was the man he used to be. He ached to wrap his hands around her neck and show her who was boss again. It had only taken a couple of times for her to know. When he had that type of control, something like this would have never happened. She would not have dared. He had watched what he thought to be her fear slowly dissipate. It made him hate her. He did not want or need her playing the nurse. He did not need her to remind him of what he no longer was.

“You have cost me more than you were ever worth,” Edger spat out at her. “Carl drove a hard bargain. He didn’t think you would cave. The price went up twice. But, I knew. You never loved me.”

Sidney looked at her husband through tears. She had been the fool twice. She had loved Edger in spite of himself. She had accepted the fact that the man she once believed to be her Prince Charming was anything but. When he first became sick and even after this last time, watching him deteriorate more each time, Sidney had been determined to stand by him and help him. It was the right thing to do because there had been a time when he had made her feel loved. In return, he treated her like trash. It was never about the money for her. That was not something a man like him could understand.

She had thought that Carl understood. She had truly believed that he cared. The closeness he had given her over the last couple of months was her respite. He had been her savior, first with his emotional support and then physically. She had fallen in love with him slowly and had given herself to him only after great consideration. Sidney had fully believed that the beautiful, dark man firmly positioned behind her now had loved her. She had forgotten that like everything else, Edger owned him too.

“Edger…” she started.

“Quiet,” she heard Carl’s chest rumble and felt his arm tighten around her.

“It took him all of two days to get in between those legs,” Edger continued on with his speech.

She felt Carl tense up behind her and heard him say be quiet again.

“It was worth it though. Now you get nothing,” Edger snarled with satisfaction. “You go out with what you came in with, nothing.”

“I don’t care,” Sidney cried out. “You are going to die a lonely old man, you fool.”

Edger stood up.

“You ungrateful bitch,” he yelled, taking one arm and angrily swiping everything off his desk.

Then, he sunk back into the chair exhausted.

“Take her clothes off,” he finally demanded after catching his breath.

“No, Edger,” Carl protested, shock finally registering on his face. “She signs the papers and I’ll get her out of here.”

“You don’t tell me what to fucking do. I paid you good money. I want to see you earn it. A big black bull like you fucking my slut of a wife. I want to see what she betrayed all that I’ve done for her with.”

“It is not necessary.”

Carl let Sidney go and moved closer towards the desk. The two men glared at each other for a moment.

“I said fuck her,” Edger growled at Carl. “I want to see what my quarter of a million dollars bought me.”

“Why not,” Sidney yelled, stepping out of her dress.

Carl turned and looked at her as if she were crazy.

“For old times’ sake,” she continued.

“Careful Sid,” Carl warned.

Sidney undid her black laced, shelf bra and her full breasts sprung free. She tossed the bra at Carl and watched it fall to the floor at his feet.

Carl’s gaze was hot on the lush flesh of her breasts. Sidney cupped them wantonly for emphasis.

“Fuck her,” Edger repeated.

Sidney stepped out of her panties. She stood before the two men with nothing on but a pair of pale, flesh toned, strappy Louboutins.

“Fuck me Carl,” she demanded. Her voice was thick with emotion and her eyes damp.

When no one moved, Sidney went up to the huge desk, spread her palms out over its face and leaned over so that her breasts grazed the polished wood, softly swaying. She spread her legs, her behind high in the air, and looked directly at her husband.

“Fuck me Carl,” she whispered. “He deserves to see what he paid for.”

The mixture of hunger and anger on Edger’s face was priceless. His pasty skin was now glowing from the rise of his blood pressure. The sight of it made Sidney bold.

Carl had almost returned to where he had originally been seated. Sidney locked her eyes on his and forgot about her husband for a moment as she moved closer to Carl.

Once again Carl was exercising that now infamous control of his, but his eyes hid nothing as she stood before him. This was the man that had entered her earlier that day. This was the man that had awakened her spirit with the press of his body between her thighs. That had been real. He wanted her to know that. He wanted her to see and remember the pleasure he had known as he had moved inside of her. When she was close enough to let the palm of her hand reach out and touch the closely trimmed hairs that edged his jaw line, he bent down to taste her lips and kiss her deeply.

She seemed so small standing in front of the massive man.

“I said fuck her,” Edger’s gruff voice reminded them.

“Careful old man,” Carl said, a graveled warning in his tone.

To her, his voice was thick and velvet, low and dark. “This is about you and I. Forget that he is even there. This is the only way he’ll set you free. Don’t even look at him.”

He slid out of his jacket.

She nodded in submission as her fingers undid his tie.

In a matter of minutes, he stood naked before her. Sidney let her eyes follow the incredibly defined lines of his body. His well-formed chest was covered with an intricately designed tattoo that flowed across his muscular shoulder downward and sleeved one arm to just above his wrist. It was black and beautiful against the warm glow of his brown skin. She ran her creamy fingers across his chest and down his arm with familiarity. This man was beyond sexy.

Carl took her hand in his and led her until they both stood in front of the desk. He did not blink when his eyes met Edger’s.

Edger’s eyes dropped to the top of Carl’s strong thighs with the realization that this was really about to happen. There, rooted in neatly trimmed, thin, dark curls hung Carl’s long, thick, semi tumescent manhood—a true instrument of pleasure.

It was an instrument that called out to Sidney and made it easy for her to turn her back on her husband and drop to her knees.

“Sid, you don’t have to do this,” Carl urged.

Sidney was already gladly attempting to wrap her fingers around his thick shaft as he spoke those words. She lifted him up and buried her face in him, kissing the base and sucking at the thick chord running up the underside of his cock. The tip of her tongue played with that sensitive V spot before circling the mushroomed head. Then Sidney looked into his eyes before sliding the bulbous tip fully between her sweet lips. Slowly, her lips stretched over him and she took him deeper into the cavern of her warm mouth. Now, she could feel him growing against her tongue, becoming even thicker and harder.

She moaned with pleasure.

This caused Carl to close his eyes and throw back his head. Both of Carl’s hands rested on her head and he fed himself to her in shallow rocking motions, giving her only his head and half of his length before pulling back—time after time.

Sidney was hungry for him and grew desperate, trying to force him deeper even when her attempts were obviously too much.

The intimacy of this exchange angered Edger.

“I want her over the desk,” Edger said harshly with a glint of animalistic perversity.

Carl wondered how long the man before him had been thinking about this scene. Was it before Edger had lost the ability to satisfy Sidney or after? He wondered what the man would do if he knew just how many times and ways Carl had made love to Sidney. Would it send the old man over the edge? They had once been friends. But, the man that sat in the chair studying him so hard was no longer Carl’s friend. Over the years, before Edger’s health had begun to fail, Carl had seen the man evolve into someone he did not recognize. He had watched him do things to people that others would never believe—things to Sidney. Carl’s hands were bloody too, he knew this. Sidney had somehow made Carl more conscious of who he truly was.

The way that woman looked at him…

Sidney made Carl want to bury himself deep inside of her and come out new. She made him believe that he could.

Sidney spread herself once again over the desk, not bothering to look at her husband and already lost in her own need. She was slick with just the thought of having Carl part her lower flesh and drive himself inside her.

Carl hooked her hips and repositioned her slightly before his cock penetrated her. Being with him was still something new to her body and he had no desire to hurt her, ever. Pressing forward, he stretched her beyond comfort, moving her into another zone of discovery and sensations. Sidney had tried to move away from the intensity of the pressure descending inside of her, only to find herself being pulled closer. Carl’s hands gentled her and he murmured calming words, careful to not say too much but fill her mind as well as her body with nothing but him.

Soon Sidney was fully relaxed and began to whimper, arching and tilting her back. She wanted all of him and began to plead.

When Carl felt that she was ready he went deeper. The exquisite rhythm, the pain and pleasure of his slow plow caused her to cry out when he hit home. She shook with an unbelievable sensation that only seemed to gather and expand, growing larger within as he repositioned himself to go even deeper–again and again, harder and harder. When she exploded, Sidney called out his name in a way that was so distinctively possessive that the implication was undeniable. She was fully his, thoroughly mated. The ruthless, guttural groan that followed was the inimitable sound of a man reaching that level that made him feel one with a power beyond himself. Hot liquid pumped in mass strands deep inside of her, sending aftershocks that made her beg him not to stop.

That was the soundtrack that played over and over again in Edger’s ears as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut and a tear ran down his cheek.

The loss of his wife and his friend, paid for in full.


Copyright © ©AvrgBlkGrl, 2015. No part of this material may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, or used in any other fashion without the express prior written permission of the owner.


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A Regina-ism: Seriously, The B**** Ain’t Loyal!!


A friend of mine is having a hard time. His no love, no job, no idea what to do with myself state is getting to him. Hope is on the horizon. I’m absolutely sure of this for him. Why, because he’s my friend and my love does wonders. In the meantime…Blah, blah, blah. Survival is tough mentally.

My advice to him: Write.

He’s talented. It is a side thing for him, I know. However, writing is in him–if you know what I mean. He has imagery, fluidity, depth, incite and one of the most impressive vocabularies I’ve ever run across. Besides that, he rhymes well (I’m rolling my eyes right here). What more could you ask for in a poet?

His response: But I need a Muse for that.

What the hell!

I’ve had this love hate relationship with the concept of the “Muse” and how artists (and writers are artists) feel like she is an absolute must in order to be creative. I’ve known writers to wait on their Muse to bless them with her presence before they will lift a pen or put finger to the keyboard. They are lost without her, having fallen into that deep pit where writers go to mourn success. I for one do not trust that b****. She ain’t loyal! No, I’m not talking about the people that depend on their Muse but the actual Muse herself.

I have a quote that I love, but I can’t remember where I picked it up. “You can’t trust inspiration. If you turn your back on that b****, she will steal s*** from your house and run off. She won’t even leave a note on your bedside table.” Replace inspiration with “THE MUSE”. Now, multiply that times ten. Seriously, believe me when I say that she does not care about you. You are the sorry side of a one sided relationship

Here’s my response to my friend:

The problem with needing a Muse is that it has made you forget that you are your best asset, your best thing. What you need most, you have to give to yourself. No one has to feed you thought in order for you to think, touch in order for you to feel, love in order for you to be able to love. You don’t need a Muse to whisper life in your ear. You’ll spend more time waiting than living if that is what you need. You are already alive. You already have what you need. So, write. It will help you through this moment–any moment. Your friends that are not creative will not understand what I am saying, but you do. You already knew it. If writing is in you, if talent is somewhere deep inside of you crying to escape, why have you placed a qualifier on it.


Having said that, it doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in the Muse or the value of the gift that she brings when she finally shows her behind up. I respect her. I’m scared of her. She can be vicious. So, I really have no intentions of pissing her off. I really wish she would pay me a visit. We can hang out, trade a few lines. I have fun when we do. I may even miss her when she’s gone. I’m just not waiting her fickle butt. She’s a tease. I don’t recommend that you rely on her either. Most likely, you are feeling her. She is not feeling you. If she isn’t there, forget about her and write anyway. Cry over her later.
Being a writer means that you write. It’s just that simple. You write when you are in a good mood or a bad mood, happy or sad, crying or with a dry eye. Be ambivalent, there is glory in the irony of that. But for Gawd’s sake, don’t wait on that whore. She ain’t loyal.

Shameless plug, read The Muse’s Poem .


Note: You can put he where I have chosen she and apply the advice appropriately.

Copyright © ©AvrgBlkGrl, 2014. No part of this material may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, or used in any other fashion without the express prior written permission of the owner. This manuscript is specifically written for Stories Space.

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