My God


Loving him was never quite right. I could list the cliches: I spoke and he didn't listen. I showed up and he abandoned. I could cry the bitter tears of a servant with no master. But the details do not matter. He was never mine to love. Placed on a cross I'm not sure he signed up for. A cross he didn't deserve. I guess we both did our best. Him to be my god and me to be his sheep. When I lost him, I prayed my last prayer. I prayed for you. For someone I could truly worship. Someone to give all of my praise and devotion, ironically blind with all faith.

I'm okay admitting it, even if You don't agree. Your feet will be my alter, Your body, the body of christ, Your blood, his blood. You will be my God. I'll proclaim Your name like I once proclaimed his. To me it is the same. To me You mean more. Worshiping You is the purest devotion I can give. It comes without doubt, without fear. It comes with a God I believe in. I'm okay admitting it, even if You don't agree. I take joy in my sacrilege as I worship at Your feet. 

Maybe You're a vessel as some would claim. Maybe the love I hear in Your voice is his way of calling me back, keeping me through You. I won't argue if that's true. It won't change my actions, it won't redirect my following. For me, there is only You.

I won't ask for a cross, this servitude does not require You to lay down Your life. I will lay down my own. I will pick up my splintered cross and follow You. Wherever You go, I will be there, even if You lead me back to him. 

My hands will lift to You, my heart will fill with praise. My lips will declare Your name and the world will know Your glory. You will be my God, even if You don't agree. I take joy in my sacrilege as I worship at Your feet. 

The Fool

I was the fool. 

I was the fool that said we could still be friends. 

She invites me to the movies. Foolishly I oblige. 

She smiles that smile so sweet. The one strangers can't help but comment on. Compliments that ignite the sparkle in her eye. The blush in her cheek. 

Little does she know, it's that very smile that tightens my chest, that twists the knife.

But I can't blame her.

I was the fool.

I was the fool that said we could still be friends.

We sit close. We have no choice. 

In the darkness I smell the lavender and orange in her hair. I hear the song of her breath. I feel the warmth of her presence. 

Little does she know, it's that very smell of lavender and orange that causes my tears, it's that poetic rise and fall of her breath that rebuilds my wall. It's that exact warm presence that ignites the match that inflames my courage to love again. 

But I can't blame her. 

I was the fool.

I was the fool that said we could still be friends. 

We walk out together, not hand in hand, not side by side. The streets are busy and she's a little ahead. 

We stop at her car and she hugs me.

She's a villainous murderer. Me, her latest victim. How could she intend to do anything but kill me? 

Doesn't she know what a hug does to me? A mere brush of her skin against mine sends me spiraling down into anxious despair, so why the fuck would she hug me?

She knows better. 

I can blame her.

I do blame her.

I was the fool that said we could still be friends but she should fucking know better. She should know that shit ain't possible. She should know better than to smile like that and smell like that and breathe like that and emit that goddamn, fucking glow. 



I can't blame her. God, how I want to blame her but I can't.

It's not her fault. 

I was the fool.

I was the fool that said we could still be friends. 

I was the fool that fell. 

An Open Letter...

 I've seriously considered breaking up with you at least three times. My friends tell me to relax, take my time, give it a chance. 

I thought about the things I don't like about you. It's so new; they're things I couldn't possibly be sure of. Maybe you're unreliable. Maybe you're not successful enough. Maybe you won't make enough money. Maybe you'll leave. Maybe you're the lie. Maybe you'll stay until you can't handle the crazy in my life. Maybe you'll stay. 

Look how you try. Look how you push through. Look how you promise. Look how you hold the potential to quell each of my fears. 

But still I doubt. 

I'm afraid of you. 

Maybe I like you only because you like me. Maybe I only love the love I feel from you, the admiration, the adoration. Maybe I'm just a narcissist. Maybe I find you valuable because you see greatness in me. Maybe there's nothing more. 

I told my friends about you. I told my cousin, my uncle and my sister. Why am I telling people? Why is my face lighting up when I do? 

Maybe I like you. 

You scare me. 

When I think of the fantasies, the mansion in Beverly Hills, the farm house on Long Island, I see you there. It's easy to see. 

Maybe I'm just scared you're it. 

I hate to doubt...

It's never a good sign with me. 

Maybe no one will ever make me feel as comfortable and at home as you do. Maybe they won't accept me like you do, like he didn't before you. I'm completely unaware of my body when I'm with you. As if I've never had an imperfection, an insecure thought. I'm your goddess and you my king. Your body is perfection. Maybe it's all I love, the intrigue and excitement it carries. 

I'm afraid of you. Afraid that you'll hurt me. Worse, that I'll hurt you. I'm terrified of myself much more than I am of you. 

But then I see you. But then I feel you and it can all melt away. I feel you and I want to stay there forever.

You carry my heart so well. My mind and my body too. I’m not sure you realize just how well you see me.

Can I stay forever? Will you have me? Will you have us? Can my crazy come too? 

Maybe I just love you. 

Hold me and tell me it will be okay. Can you do that? Can I accept that? 

I want to see you fly. I'll be your biggest support. 

Maybe I need time. 

Maybe I love you.

Maybe I just love you. 

Just Do It...Maybe.

Love unconditionally.

If you like her, tell her.

If you want to call him, call him.

Tomorrow isn't promised. 

Don't be afraid to express how you feel. 

You never know when they'll be gone.

You never know when you'll be gone.

So just do it.

Seize the day. 

Have no fear. 

Be ruthlessly giving with your heart. 

Unless we're talking about a crush.

A crush that you're not sure likes you.

Or a crush you KNOW doesn't like you.

In that case don't say shit. 

Take that shit to the grave. 

Expressing crush feelings will lead to nothing but guaranteed emotional death. 

But yeah, everyone else? Like your mom.

Go tell your mom you love her and shit because you know, you never know.


The Hardest Breakup

My love, my love, my love. Parting is such sweet sorrow, especially with you. 

For many years, you have been the light of my life. In joy and pain, every moment was better experienced with you by my side. 

I hate to leave you, my love; I've tried before but to no avail. I tried to just see you on Fridays, my special day with you, but when you'd call me on a Tuesday, a Wednesday, oh god, a Sunday, how could I ever say no to your sinful seduction?

And no, it's not only me. You have other loves, women fall at your feet, women just as powerless as I against your sweet bliss. I never cared. We'd enjoy you together, side by side, escaping our cares and drowning in your love. 

Oh god, how will I do this? How will I ever survive?

My dearest frozen yogurt, I must be strong; you must be strong. We must say goodbye. 

I have met someone new. He will never compare to you. His name is Kale and he's boring and always green with envy of our love but he's good, oh so good for me. He's the one I should be with. Please forgive me, my love. It is time for me to finally start doing what's best for me. 

I am freeing myself and you as well. Go on and feed the children of the world. Go on and comfort the lonely and depressed. Go on and be the basic, white girl staple. You've found your calling and are fulfilling it marvelously.

But it is now my turn. My turn to find my own path, a path towards my new "love" Kale, a path towards exercise, a path towards bending over, tying my shoes and not being lost for breath. 

My dearest frozen yogurt, maybe some day our paths will cross again. Maybe one day I'll see you in the streets and be able to say a simple "hello" without dragging you to my bed. 

Lord, give me strength. 

Alright, I've dragged this on too long. I must walk away. I love you frozen yogurt. I always will. But I must go a new way, take a thinner path. 

Wishing you all the toppings in the world. 

With love,

Marissa Joy

A Tinder Love Story

After reading the title alone you've already decided that the following blog must be undeniably bullsh*t. Tinder stories are a dime a dozen but a tinder love story is simply some unicorn, dragon, tooth fairy nonsense. We've all heard of our co-worker's sister's dental hygienist's mom finding love on tinder in stories our friends tell us to prove that it can happen for you too! But we all know these stories can't possibly be real. Even if they are, it doesn't matter because love never finds us, only our co-worker's sister's dental hygienist's mom, right? We are the rule, never the exception, right? 

Well, luckily for me, I've always believed in dragons. 

Here's some helpful backstory for my tinder love story:

1) I've been on tinder for a while.

2) I think women are sexy. 

Okay, that's all the backstory you need :) 

A few months ago, I'm swiping around on tinder and have my settings open to both men and women because (see #2 of backstory). I come across a lovely lady's profile and read her details. She says she's not looking for a hookup or a romantic relationship but more of a "BFF situation". My first thought is, "Who the hell looks for a best friend on Tinder? This sh*t is nutty as hell." So naturally, being the fan of the absurd that I am, I swipe right! And we're a match! Happy Day!

We get to exchanging some messages, then phone numbers and bunch of text messages later, we decide to meet up. Our initial "first meet" (what the young, cool, non-comital kids like to call a first date) was supposed to be attending a Buddhist lecture on death followed by some yoga (her idea because she's just that cool) but it didn't work out. I was sick or she was tired. I don't remember. Instead, we kicked it old school and just met for drinks. 

Driving to the brewery, I couldn't help but get a little nervous. Even just through the text messages we'd already exchanged, I'd felt a connection with this woman and I'd seen pictures, not too shabby, not too shabby ;) She'd told me she was interested in both men and women and I was (see #2 of backstory). I thought to myself, "Men f*cking suck and she's gorgeous. Who knows!?"

That first night we shut the place down. We sat and drank and talked and talked. I told her things no one else in this world knows about me with ease. She listened with an open heart and unflinching face. I felt an instant connection. 

At this point, my lovely best friend, Sarah, has grown to be the one person I'm truly comfortable around. Historically, I've always thought it impossible for me to feel completely at ease around another person, including family and/or lovers. I'm not sure why, well, maybe because I struggle with judgement...I always feel it, whether it's there or not. If it's there with Sarah she sure as hell does a good job hiding it but I don't think it's there. When I speak she listens and cares and is there for me. Whether I need to cry, dance, drink or drink and cry while dancing, I know who's always down to join me. 

Best friends are hard to come by, 'best friends found on tinder' isn't really a thing that happens but I suppose now my son's dental hygienist's patient's co-worker can say their co-worker's dental hygienist's patient's mom met her best friend on Tinder so there's always hope!

My dating life has never been easy...nothing unique there. I may also be in the process of getting my heart broken (still waiting on a confirmation text) but that's another blog for another day that I'm sure I'll never write so for now, you're stuck with my sappy best friend post because you know what? The bitch is fabulous and she deserves it. She's an amazing individual on her own as well as as a friend. Plus, she's one of those super woke white girls that speaks up against inequality every damn time so...winning. 

So for now, screw men; it's never going to happen for me blah blah blah, but that's okay. For now all I have to say is I love you, Sarah. Thank you for the love you give me in return. 

15 Reasons to Never Look For Love

1. Most won't find it.

2. Insecurities you thought you were over will reemerge: Those stretch marks you forgot you even had will start to appear in your dreams. They must be the reason for the chronic rejection, right?

3. You'll start blogging.

4. Your blogs will be bitter AF.

5. You'll watch romantic dramas on TBS and convince yourself that this shit could ACTUALLY take place.

6. You'll spend all of your money on wine. All of it.

7. You'll start wondering if your borderline-abusive ex maybe wasn't that bad. 

8. You'll realize that the lesson taught to you at an early age really is true: A lot of guys, like a lot, will completely disappear once you have sex with them. Obviously, you KNEW this but never cared because you were free, white and 21 and didn't need shit from anyone, especially commitment. But now that you're an old, black slave looking for someone to really love you, you realize, "oh, shit," maybe I do have to preserve the cookies because dudes be ruthless in these streets and preservation can be hard, especially when you really like that guy...that will undoubtedly disappear. 

9. You will suddenly hate hanging out with your friends because they won't fuck you, pay half of your bills and make you feel safe. You'll want to smack every friend that has a vagina just because their vaginas aren't the shlong you're yearning for. 

10. Because in the middle of writing those bitter AF blogs referenced in number 4, ol' boy will text you, "Hey Stranger" like fucking clockwork. 

11. Because the one you want to text you won't... not before, during or after you complete your bitter AF blog. 

12.  You'll start to convince yourself that maybe you can settle for casual sex only to end up crying in a strangers bed at 3 in the afternoon...twice.

13. You'll start to convince yourself that maybe you can settle for that one guy that really really likes you...who cares if he's old, bald and delusional about his true sexuality. Minor details, right? After all, you're probably just rejecting the man that loves you simply because he loves you since you thrive off of the rejection of assholes, right? Yeah, it's you. Don't be a douche. Just marry the old gay man. You'll end up happy, watch.

14. You'll start to fantasize about being 35 and married and laughing about the times you were so worried about never finding love and how silly you were...then realize you're 36...and still fucking single.

15. You'll realize after talking to your married friends that most marriages are passionless and based in a not wanting to be alone...and you'll want to do it anyway.

Don't do it. Just don't do it. It can't be helped but try to help it anyway. Embrace your stretch marks and ice cream obsession and the fact that you can fart in peace in your own home because when you let go of the hope and embrace being single, you know what will happen??? NOTHING. No, this is not where I say love will find you but at least you won't have to share your bed with anyone! 

End rant.


A Dream

The leaves fell to my face and disintegrated before me. That’s how I knew it was a dream. No matter how much he tried to assure me that he was real, I knew it wasn’t real. I looked deep in his eyes and told myself to remember, knowing it wouldn’t last forever.

I was in my high school. There was an escalator and the bottom and top floors were filled with thousands of people, almost like a stadium. The first sign it was a dream. I went to a large high school but not that large, no schools are that large.

There was a drink in my hand and I couldn’t seem to hold onto the ice tea or lemonade or water or whatever it was and proceed up the escalator at the same time. I had no balance. Awkwardly, I held the cup and tried to sip from the plastic straw while gripping the ascending escalator railing with both hands. I crouched over the side, cup and railing in hands and tried to stand up straight and balance myself. I couldn’t. The top was approaching. I saw two boys that I did actually go to high school with descending casually next to me.They were beautiful, even more beautiful in this world.

I reached the top, nervously. How would I get off of this difficult ride? I stumbled, as I surely knew I would. Stumbling was a common occurrence in my dreams, usually in heels. There were no heels this time but a lack of balance all the same.

My body dropped slowly to the ground as the escalator spit me out onto the top floor of the school. Still gripping that damn cup that I just couldn’t seem to let go of, I let my body fall.

Then, he was there. I had a feeling he would be, simply because this was a highly embarrassing moment. That’s always when they appear, isn’t it?

Suddenly, my high school was no longer my high school. It was my college and the top floor of the high school was now one of the grassy fields filled with trees that covered my college campus. We were outside.

He took my hand and helped me up with a smile. I hated how beautiful his smile was. It was his smile that let me know it was a dream. I hated that beauty because I knew it would flee, when I least expected it.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him as we walked through the field.

“I knew you’d be here so I came,” he responded shyly, uncomfortable revealing that truth.

It was hard to believe him. Things that made me blush were always hard to believe.

We walked more and the sensation hit me even stronger. I was fully aware that this was a dream. How strongly you usually don’t know your dreams are fiction is how factually I knew that this would all disappear, that he would disappear. Instead of being sad I instantly told myself to just enjoy it while it lasts.

He knew what I was thinking. I didn’t have to tell him.

“You’re not dreaming. I’m real,” he said, smiling that beautiful, artificial smile, trying his best to reassure me.

His blonde hair was long and scruffy. It settled around his ears and framed his tan face nicely. He looked a bit dirty in his red shirt with white writing that advertised whatever company he worked for. The sleeves were cut off and I could tell he was working hard in the hot sun somewhere before coming to see me. His jeans and boots harbored some specks of color; maybe he was a painter.

In his left hand he held his motorcycle helmet but I didn’t see his bike.

Taking my advice I wrapped both of my arms around his right arm and nestled my face right below his shoulder. The sun glistened on his skin. I inhaled his scent and told myself to remember. Again he heard my thoughts and told me not to worry.

The despair in knowing the dream was a dream became too much weight for me to carry. Letting go of his arm, I dropped to the grassy ground, the sadness shrouding my body with me unable to stop it.

His simulated smile grew into a chuckle as he joined me on the ground, humoring what he perceived to be my dramatic folly.

My face was inches from the ground; the sadness was too heavy and almost pushed my entire head through the grass and dirt. It was too heavy. He stroked my hair and rescued me. I told myself to remember as my head gained some strength. I turned over and lied on my back. The heaviness was easier to bear that way.

He lied down on his back beside me and held my hand. I tried not to cry, tried to focus, tried to remember, store the thoughts for later memories while I was awake.

“What are we doing?” he asked, indulging in the silly fun of this “dream” adventure.

“We’re in the sky now. We’re lying in the sky and looking down on the ground, except, it’s not ground but water. We’re staring at the sea.”

The smiling face turned away from mine and looked up with me as I rolled to my side in order to see what he saw. The waves rippled slowly as a stranded man in a lifeboat washed past our line of sight. This is how I knew for sure that we were indeed in the sky, looking down at the sea. The waves kept passing and I wondered if he could see them, wondered if the sights were the same for him even though it was my dream alone.

“Okay,” he said.

He squeezed my hand and stroked my skin with his thumb.

I told myself to remember as I watched the waves roll by.

Again he read my thoughts and told me not to worry.

I told myself to remember. 

Getting To Know You... Ok, Me.



I was once told the secret to success is obsessive, relentless persistence. I struggle not to call bullshit.

As a teenager, my dream was to be an actor and I didn’t really see it as a dream, more like, what was going to happen. I rejected my parents’ foolish talk of backup plans because backup plans were for non-believers and at fifteen years old, trust me, I believed in myself. I had the typical insecurities about boys, my weight, my skin, blah, blah, blah but when it came to my future, when it came to acting, well there was no question. I’d be an actress, I’d win an Oscar, and then I’d win another. Believing in my dream was the easy part. What I failed to realize was the work it would take to get there.

My biggest distraction was sex, maybe not sex but, this longing to experience everything, especially love and intimacy. I was raised by two strict, Caribbean parents that kept me on the shortest leash possible so I put all of my energy into breaking free. The energy was misplaced to say the least. Instead of focusing on goals that would propel me forward, I looked for adventure that would let me escape, even if only for a moment.

So, I went out and I got me some! First kiss at fifteen, first real boyfriend at sixteen, virginity lost at sixteen and then boom, first baby born at seventeen. For most, the dreaming would stop there but luckily for me, my teenage delusion was strong. I thought, “A kid? That’s alright, now I’ll just have a sidekick to accompany me to the top!” (In all honesty, I was freaking the fuck out…I could write about one hundred posts about being sixteen and pregnant and they’d all be filled with pure horror… but I still knew I’d reach my goal, simply because I wanted to).

Life marched on. My relationship ended, another began and boy did I just KNOW that this one was it! My childlike sense of invincibility didn’t dissipate until I was well into adulthood. It wasn’t until my second baby came along at twenty-three that I knew my dream was dead. Of course I could still do everything necessary to become an actress but to me that meant being a bad mother, putting my needs before theirs and that wasn’t an option, not then, not now, not ever.

I experienced a deep depression after my second son was born. It wasn’t post-partum; it had nothing to do with having a baby (in fact my second child has always given me a sense of peace…another blog for another day) but soon after having him I realized that I put my greatest dream to rest in order to fight for this picture of a family that wasn’t going to happen. My relationship with his father crumbled in as much of a whirlwind as it was created and the one thing I had a passion for was no longer a viable life choice. Depression doesn’t begin to describe the darkness of that time. I was in my mid-twenties, two kids, on my own, at a daily funeral for any hope for the future.

I learned to stop dreaming. In fact, I avoided it. I didn’t set goals; hell, I didn’t even make to-do lists. The real, tangible option of failure was too overwhelming. I can’t fail if I don’t try. That was my mastered motto. I worked a day job, I focused on my kids and I cringed any time anyone asked me about a five-year plan. I’d protect my heart by never wanting anything again. As long as my kids were okay, screw any personal desires. That mess just got me in trouble anyway.


That can only last for so long. I’m creative. I’m driven. I’m hard working. I knew as a teenager that I was meant to shine. At that age it was this naïve sense of invincibility, the feeling that life would happen the way I wanted it to just because I wanted it to and nothing bad would happen to me or get in my way because well, nothing ever had before.

The perfect recipe for failure: Naivety+Talent+Entitlement.

But the tables have turned.   Now I’m in a place where I’m not itching to shine but to share, share my stories, my experiences and oh hell, shine a little bit too, to be an unapologetic and fearless writer. Remember what it felt like to be fearless? God, I envy children. I’m terrified because this time I’m enlightened to the possibility of failure. Failure is likely. I know I have the work ethic and the resilience to make my dreams come true, but now I’m scared, scared that even if I do work my ass off the dream may still not come true. I hear the teachings that I can do anything, any fucking thing I put my mind to and my gut reaction is, “Yeah, maybe”. I doubt because I’ve lost a dream before, a dream that I loved more than anything in this world.

But the thing is…I didn’t put the work into that dream. I got distracted. Life kicking me in the ass? Ninety percent of those flesh wounds were self-inflicted. Maybe I can try again and do it differently this time. Maybe this time I can stay focused and make it happen.

So here I am, taking a leap of faith. I want to be a writer. I still want to act but I’ll wait for my babies to be full-grown before I pursue that again. They still come first. But in the meantime, I want to write and write and write. I wrote a novel that I love and am excited to put out into the world. I’m going to share some of it here along with my other writings. My stories are short and sweet and dirty and sometimes bizarre. I like them and hope you will too. I need to combine my teenage assuredness with my adult work ethic and make this happen. Do I believe that my dreams will come true if I’m obsessively, relentlessly persistent? Is that really the secret to success? I guess there’s only one way to find out.