Emotionally Unavailabe {DiAl mY hEaRt}*

Sorry, lovey-dovey Enigma can't come to the phone right now. Your calls for weekend getaways and trips to the circus with 'the kids' will not be answered at this time. I'm not available for long talks about your dreams of our tomorrow. I woke up a long time ago. . .your sleeping and dreaming alone, my dear.

Your calls for love and marriage cannot be completed at this time. Please, check the number you are dialing and try your call again. . .when the memories of past calls are not seared into my brain and when my voicemail box is not so full. Oh. . .did you think you were the only one dialing my number????? Sorry . . .I get calls everyday from people just like you trying to sell me dreams without sending me something in writing. . .yes, right now your in the same league as those damned telemarketers. .. trying to sell me something I don't want or need right now, just to fill your own quota and agenda. . .not today. I'll try to get back to you at my earliest convenience, but now just isn't the time.

Yes, I know that I have free-incoming. . .I'm only 25, so it costs me nothing to hear what you have to say... time is on my side. But, in all honesty, I don't want to waste my voice-mails on any unsolicited calls. . .they just confuse me. Perhaps you can draw me a picture and mail it to me since you can't reach me by phone. I'm much more responsive when the actions are shown as opposed to told to me. Yea. . .draw me a picture of that house that you'll buy me with the picket fence and 'the kids' playing in the yard that you just mowed. . .cause without that in front of me, I. just. can't. see .it.

Maybe you should just hang it up, and try your call at a later time. As much as I'd hate to have you forget my number. . .or decide that I'm not the woman you want to call. . . I'd understand. We have different long-distance services that need to be met, and frankly, all I'm doing is burning up your daytime minutes.

So, a word to the wise, try me again when you have the minutes to spare, b/c I don't want to be the reason that you miss out when a more-available woman tries to reach you. Please, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that I don't want to ever speak to you, but when I'm ready, I'll call you. But until that time comes, don't be suprised if I'm emotionally unavailable.

*Originally written for Myspace on May 21, 2007

An Open Letter to "Mr. Big"

I had the unexpected pleasure of seeing a picture of Her today and, all hating aside, I am not impressed. I can see what it was that drew you to her though (didn’t we always joke about how you love the chickens?) lol From her blunt-blackened lips to her bra-less, saggy breasts, to the blotches on her exposed "cleavage" that heavily resemble smudges of newspaper ink {wash much, bitch? I keed lol} she is all that you desire and more (the rooster haircut was more than even I had bargained for). Being able to put a face to all of the many . . . interesting . . .things you’ve already told me about her has opened my eyes quite a bit.

As much as I hate to play prophet (though a facebook quiz I recently took confirmed that prophesy is my calling) I can see your future clearly. In another year or so, Her will be pregnant with your child (well, this won’t actually be able to be confirmed until the DNA test results are in, but let’s hope for the best, mmkay?) and two years from now you’ll be racking your brain trying to figure out how you got yet another Bonequisha-esque, hoodrat chick pregnant. You’ll be at home with all of your little “chicken nuggets” while Her is out at the club dropping it like it’s hot right next to your first babymom’s (whom I affectionately have dubbed “Chicken Hut”)

Now I understand why you and I could not be. Despite your claims that Chicken Hut’s hoodrat ways came as a shock to you (even tho in the every next breath you told me how she was 14yrs. old drinking 40’s when you met her), I can now see that that is what you like. It’s ok, really. As much as they enjoy it, not every man can handle a real woman. Some men need their woman to be out in the clubs every night, neglecting their kids, flirting with their best friends and taking days off from work so that the can get high. I now understand why our deep discussions on everything from the best rapper dead or alive to gentrification to the state of the black family or our mutual interests in the works of W.E.B Dubois, Karl Marx and Herbert Spencer or us being able to go from homies to lovers to confidants to (respectful) debating opponents was not enough for me to preserve your affections. I can now see why despite my ability to “ride” for you (without you even being my man for most of our time knowing each other) and notwithstanding the fact that my strength was something you have always complimented me on (along with my mothering skills, cooking abilities and oral techniques . . . but I digress). As I was saying, in spite of the fact that you labeled me “The BEST, hands down” in my sexual abilities, today I can clearly see why it was Her that you chose and not I . . . .


You sir, are a pussy.

An Open Letter to "Lucifer (a.k.a. my son's sperm donor)

Dear Lucifer,

I hate you so much. You are the scum between my toes.

I hope all the bad things in the world happen to you and only you.

Please die.

Signed,


Enigma Jones