Fighting Words and Other Loving Thoughts

By T.K. Long and Kyle Holland

Fighting Words And Other Loving Thoughts is a collection of poems and short stories deeply rooted in the human condition. It speaks to the dichotomy of love and its many forms. An emotional and mental radio of sorts, it is written with the understanding that one page may be the introduction of a character you merely admire from afar whereas the next will read like a summary of your life. It does not shy away from speaking out on the subjects that tug at the heart and boggle the mind. Its language is brash, gentle, metaphoric, in-your-face, decorated and stripped bare. It is a wild and unapologetic journey through the heart and mind that will inevitably leave you changed. If you have ever loved, hated, laughed, cried or existed, you will want to read this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499050004

T.K. Long

About the author to follow

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Copyright © 2014 by T.K. Long & Kyle Holland. 642457

ISBN:      Softcover         978-1-4990-5001-1

                EBook              978-1-4990-5000-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 08/21/2014

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Before The Fighting Words

Voice Of The Brokenhearted

Catch Me If You Can

Let Me Be Your Refuge

For Page & Poem

Cool

Sick

Mercy Rule

I Got A Blues In My Soul

The Truth About Women

Dat Black Man

I Always Identify With Broken Things

You’ve Got Me

Empty Space

Unrequited (Been There?)

Unpretty II

It Happens In The Bathroom

I Am Trayvon Martin

Monika

Writer’s Block

Music Man

Legs

Naked

Why Couldn’t You Be Pretty?

Sing

The Nurse

Homeboy

’Til Death: A One Woman Deception

Homeboy Revisited

Miss Mabel Watches Television

Land Of The…..

Nigger

Family Tree

The Haunting Of George Zimmerman

I Wanted To Write You A Thank You Note

Careful, Or You’ll Be In My Next Novel

The Whore Of Corporate America

The Wrong Alice

Hurts Like New Shoes

Why I Hated Gabrielle Union And What She Taught Me About Myself

The Wait

Taking Back My Freedom

Exit Stage Left

27th Heaven

The Black Sea Of Trees

Miss Used And Abused

Morning Routine

The Beauty of Bedlam Part I

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Photo by Kyle Holland

BEFORE THE FIGHTING WORDS

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This book is for anyone who has ever felt anything at all. But it bears special dedication to My Amazing Mother Mary (Thank you for being my first best friend and for continuing to talk even when you felt I wasn’t listening. If I never win a Pulitzer, I have the greatest prize in you.), My brother (Brandon), my sister (Jallisa), My G-Bird (Louise) and My best friends (Tara, Angela and Cheryl) for always being my ROCK; My niece (Braelynn), my aunts, uncles and cousins (all of y’all), My Brothers From Other Mothers (EJ, Nate, Byron and Tim), My Sisters From Other Misters (Kenisha, Jade, Ladara, Samantha, Danielle, Allison and Darshena), Deborah, Michele, Renada, Nino, Vozzy (You were SO tapped in with this book cover), and my Impeccable Partner In Ink, Kyle Holland, for always keeping me on a ROLL. Thank you to all those who have contributed to this beautiful project.

This would not have happened but by the grace of God, the strength of coffee, the glory of power naps, the warmth and bitterness of love, the sting of heartbreak and the tough love of my dearly departed mentor Michael Ballard (The Scumdog finally did the work, Mr. B). From anyone else, You’re a stark, raving, mad, f*cking lunatic. Let’s use that some more would have sounded like an insult. But from you, it started something big. I love you. I miss you and words can never say how you have inspired me.

To my Dad: We have come a long way. Thank you for all you’ve done.

To my Daddy: I thank you for believing in me and loving me beyond bloodlines. Your kind words, warm heart and listening ear meant so much. Rest In Peace and I hope I make you proud.

Thank you all for being patient until I reached the level of insanity that could someday pay the bills.

—TK

We as writers and readers are members of the greatest secret society the world has ever seen. We have the power to learn the inner workings of everything while reserving the right to reveal nothing at all. –Michael Patrick Ballard

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An artist doesn’t create art for money or social status. We create because we would go mad if we didn’t. An idea flashes in our brain and we become obsessed with getting it out of our heads and manifesting it in reality. This makes artists very unique creatures. Therefore, those closest to an artist have to be very special in order to deal with the manic states brought on by the creative process, the scatter brained behavior, and overall weirdness. I’ve been fortunate to be surrounded with a family full of very special individuals. The people who’ve had a lasting impact on my life are for too many to be listed here. That would require a book all by itself. What follows is a short list of people who helped shape my love for the written word:

Aiden Holland: My daughter and muse. Although she’s only three years old she’s taught me more about being a man than anyone in my life. She is my ultimate truth.

Bill and AnnMarie Holland: My parents and biggest cheerleaders in life. Whenever I felt overwhelmed or inadequate they’ve always managed to say just what I needed to hear right when I needed to hear it. Even when I thought my writing was only good for lining the bottoms of bird cages they kept me aiming higher. I’m lucky to have them as parents.

Barbara Hogan: My Grandmother who’s love of reading rubbed off on me at an early age. On top of being the kindest person on the face of planet she’s probably read more books than most people would get through in three lifetimes.

Mrs. Cianello: My high school creative writing teacher, as soft spoken as a librarian with the patience of a saint. She taught me how to write what I feel which may sound like an easy thing to do but requires great introspection and subtlety.

Professor Suedo: When I was a freshman in college I took English with Professor Suedo. One day he asked to me hang around after class. He said that my writing was spectacular and that I should speak up more in class. He told me that I had things to say which other people needed to hear. It was only about a five minute conversation that he may not even remember but it completely changed the way I viewed myself.

VOICE OF THE BROKENHEARTED

I am the voice of the brokenhearted.

I speak for the little girl whose father

Didn’t love her enough

And for the classmate whose father

Loved her too well, too often and too passionately.

I speak for the boy who could have been in the NFL

If his parents could have afforded the cleats.

I speak for the ones who wanted to

Heal the world, but have been called

Too stupid, too poor or too Black.

I speak for that teacher who could

Create world leaders if the parents would

Stop treating the classroom like enemy lines

(Their accusations and My child would never speeches are the best disguised WMDs ever.)

I speak for the girl who thinks of

Her third grade teacher calling her Chunk

As she binges and purges.

I speak for the guy called crazy as he burns

Love letters from the love of his life

Who slept with his best friend.

I speak for him as he throws away the

Ring and goes to spend some quality time

With his tears and his rifle.

I speak for those children who always heard

They were not good enough and had no one

To convince them otherwise.

I speak for the girl who opened her heart and got rejected,

So, she opened her legs repeatedly

And the world closed all windows of opportunity.

I speak for those who are not free to love their lovers

Because society can’t see past genitalia and see hearts and souls.

I speak for the faithful mother of three

Whose husband wouldn’t give her another baby

But brought her full-blown AIDS with a shiny red bow.

I speak for that man whose child support

Turns into Mama’s new Gucci,

But on Father’s Day, makes him a

No good, ain’t shit deadbeat.

I speak for the man who has been told he

Needs to make six figures

To win the affection of a woman who will

Leave him as soon as a zero falls off.

I speak for that husband at home with

The kids while his wife is out

Raising her skirt and lowering her standards.

I speak for that woman who had company

In her bed, but never realized she was all alone in love.

I am the voice of the beaten,

The downtrodden and the damned.

I am the poet.

I am the hand that writes the world.

—TK

CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

the world wants me dead

because they found out

what i’ve done

i have spoken to the young tyrant

before he painted his first

swastika upon a nation

we played with his dog in the yard

he told me about his plan and pain

and i understood

then i went to georgia as

a man gave his young son

his first white sheet and hood

i went with them as they rode horseback

setting fire to the night

and i understood

i was shackled to the man

on the slaveship whose body

was decorated with whip lashes

i helped him chop off white heads

as we both refused to let our children

live in the same shackles as we

i sat with the aryan brother

in his cell

and helped him carve his shank

i smiled and i understood

how he was filled with life

by taking another

i hid behind walls

built by the al-qaeda and

read plans of american destruction

i am filled with pride

as my corner of the world

is painted with red, white and blue blood

chase me

mark me

shoot me

stab me

condemn me

i am human thought and emotion

catch me if you can

—TK

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Credit: Photo: Silhouettes by Dan Hogman

LET ME BE YOUR REFUGE

Let me be your refuge.

Let me be the place where you take off your skin

And let your insides glow.

Know that you can hide yourself in me

And I will find beauty in your secrecy.

Know that you can tell me your deepest thought

And I will help polish your mind.

Let me be the place where dark becomes light

And senselessness rests comfortably on the lines of rationality.

Let me be the place where old cuts of love and disappointment

Become new grooves of peace and sensuality.

Let me be the place where you collapse in fits

Of orgasmic satisfaction.

Let me be your someday.

Let me be your forever.

Let me be your joy.

Let me be yours.

—TK

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