Stories by A'Leah D. Richardson on Medium

Dominate me Make come Make me stay Mold me into what you'd like Bend me into shape Bend me, I won't…

A'Leah D. Richardson — Mon, 13 Dec 2021 18:06:36 GMT

Dominate me
Make come
Make me stay
Mold me into what you'd like
Bend me into shape
Bend me, I won't break

Take me
Here, there
I'll follow you
You can lead me as long as you have "follow through"

Show me
Control me
Open me up, lay me out, hold me while you fold me

Do what you you need
I'm here to please
Give what you think I can't take

Fill me up
Crash into me
Bend me, I won't break
Hurt me in a good way
Make me say your name

Stroke me until you're finished, blank canvas when you start.
Claim me
Then mark your territory
Paint me with your love, I am art.
Admire the view
My melanin with an added drip of you.

Grab me
Force me to take it all
Drown me in desire
Urgently
Swiftly
Cool my fire
Satisfy my hungry ache

Position me to receive you
Help me stretch
Handcuff me to your frame
Boss me I'll follow
Feed me I'll swallow
Just give and I take

Dominate me
Make me come
Make me stay

12 years a baby mama Breaking the chains of stereotypes Forward: This book is a very honest…

A'Leah D. Richardson — Tue, 19 Oct 2021 16:14:02 GMT

12 years a baby mama
Breaking the chains of stereotypes

Forward:
This book is a very honest collection of very real stories. My writing this proves everything I thought would kill me did not! Laugh with me, Cry with me, learn with me, grow with me.

Dedication: to Jayden Amari. Your name, Jayden, means God has heard. Amari means strength. I want you to always know, God hears you even when I cannot and you are stronger than you know. Don’t doubt those things.

Chapter 1: Pregnant with possibilities
My phone rings.
I let it ring too long before picking up. I was hesitant to answer the call from the doctor’s office. I had told my family I was sick with the flu. I was very sore, and tired. What I had not told them was that I was throwing up everything I ate (including salad which is gross coming up), my hair was falling out, I could barely concentrate in class because I was terribly nauseas all the time. I was loosing my shit. And fast! I also hadn’t told them that I hated life now, I was lonely, and afraid. What I had not told them is that I had changed, I did not really know who I was anymore.
I pick up the phone, and I learned that I was about to meet a new person. A stranger. A stranger was inside of me. I was pregnant. A child, lost and afraid, was about to have a child. Shit was getting real and fast. I should have never answered the phone. I was hoping I was just sick. I didn’t even have money for medication if I was sick. Now, I need money for a baby? Or an abortion….
You read that right. An abortion. I can’t lie. I considered it. I did. Let me give you some background before you judge me. I was 17 years old when I went to college, the first one in my family to go off to school might I add. I was different. I was an honor roll student athlete. I worked hard and I was funny. My high school class voted my “class clown”. I was well liked for the most part, and had a very bright future ahead of me. Had.
Now I made myself part of a very serious statistic. I was pregnant, I had just turned 18 and it was my freshman year in college. I was supposed to be living my dream of making something of myself, not making someone else. This was not the plan. So yes, I considered it. It was not my decision to make alone, so after some sleepless nights and hard conversations , I decided to keep my stranger. Who oddly, wasn’t such a stranger anymore. I had no clue what I was getting myself into, but I knew what I wanted to get out of. I wanted out of the thing that had become my life. I don’t mean that in a suicidal way. I mean, the girl that I was when I entered college realized very quickly how sad, lonely, poor, and unprepared she was, and she hated it. I missed being sure of things. And when I made the decision to keep my baby. I was sure. I have never been more certain of anything in my life. Suddenly, I was confident enough to make a choice for someone else’s life. It was my induction into motherhood. It was the first time I willingly sacrificed anything for someone else. My baby would live. Quality of life was yet to be determined. I was still very lonely, poor and unprepared, but I was sure!
So here I am, the different one, picking up the phone to make a call that proved I was the same as so many other girls. My throat nearly closed as I struggled to get the words out. “I’m pregnant”, I told my father. The man who raised my sister and I. The man who worked so hard to get me where I was. The man who cried as he walked out of my dorm room just a few months ago, not wanting to leave me. The man who I loved so much and owed everything. My father, the man who’s heart I just broke. I wanted him to hold me, and fix this.
I wanted him to pick me up just so I could touch the ceiling. I loved when used to do that. I wanted, more than anything to be small again. I felt small, but I wasn’t. And I had to face whatever music that played because nothing would change my mind about this.

I was pregnant, with possibility. I was scared out of my mind.
I finished the semester. My father came in a Uhaul and we loaded up the truck full of stuff he bought for a dorm room. I put that stuff in my room at home. I stared at it almost every day. Sinking lower and lower into self doubt I almost killed every piece of who I was before I was pregnant. I literally felt so low. My family was disappointed in me, I could not even bear to look at them so I stayed away as much as possible. Confined to my room, I became captive to my circumstances. I had no job, no car, I was college drop out with shrinking self esteem and a growing belly. I was nothing. Except sure. I was still sure that this child would live. I did not know how at the time, but we would make it.
I told my child’s father that he would never have to worry about the child we made together. We loved each other. It was puppy love, but love, none the less. He was doing well in school. He had found his place. I hadn’t. I could ask him to give that up. I was also sure of that. I would do this on my own. We would all be happy, he would graduate from school and come save me and the baby. We all live together in a big house on a hill that our baby enjoy rolling down. He would look up from his reading to see me working in my garden as the sound of our baby’s laughter was carried to our ears by the warmest breeze on the perfect Sunday afternoon. Every thing was going to be just fine.
I managed to convince myself that this was the life I wanted. I was not happy, but I was patient. I would wait on my baby, and my happiness. It had to come!
Days went on. I stopped going to church because I hated the looks people gave me. I only went out to places other people went to, because I did not have a car. I just pretended this was ok. I obsessively threw myself into pregnancy books and research. I read to my baby. I ate balanced meals every day. I started to take better care of myself . I did not realize it then, but my baby was saving me. I never told a soul how sad I was, how much I cried. The nightmares that stole my sleep. I never told a soul that by giving me something to be sure about, my baby saved me.
I can remember going to my doctor visits, them telling me all the statistics about children born to unwed mothers in poverty and all that. My life had become a series of people telling me the “odds” that were stacked against me and my baby. Then they told me I was having a boy, and someone said it. “You know its hard for black women to raise men alone”, There. There it was. That’s all it took. I was going to prove everyone wrong. I was going to raise this child perfectly, and I would marry his father and laugh in the face of all the naysayers. (Are you rolling your eyes yet?)
I had no idea what I was getting into. But I was ready. I aced pregnancy, just like the star student I was! We were healthy as can be, because I did everything right. I did that on purpose. I even handle contractions like a pro! I finshed the NBA game that was on TV before I even headed to the hospital. My baby came on his exact due date. I guess he was sure too. Little did I know, this child was sure of so many things. The world was about to find out!
Jayden waited until his father made it to the hospital to come. It was beautiful! Our life was going to be beautiful! I could feel it!
Happy Birthday Jayden!

I feel like I've been running since I got here Since I crossed that big river...

A'Leah D. Richardson — Tue, 19 Oct 2021 16:06:28 GMT

I feel like I've been running since I got here
Since I crossed that big river...
I was so young when I got on that boat
Wide eyes, riding
Not knowing it, just...too and fro' with it...
I didn't know.
I was so young
I was so new
I was so scared
Things inside me grew
And I been running ever since I hit the shore

I just wanted to take a ride, on this big boat, I just wanted to float...

And now, I'll never be free...
You see... what's inside me is special

I'm running, holding it tight
Running in the dark.
Holding light
Black as night
It's dark and I ain't got much but I am the only one who can figure out how to keep myself and this, what's inside of me, safe.

I feel trapped between the things that's chasing me and the things I want to chase.
Everyone else seems so free.

And I'm stuck, on this block.
I'm sold to this place.
I am tethered...
Even when severed, the tie, is in place.
This is my load to bear...
So I bear... with a grin on my face,
I feel so bare
With this grin on my face

I birth my light
So now i work all night
And train him all day to shine how he should in the master's face, but I also gotta train him to not shine in certain ways.
This is a tricky place.
To birth a light black as night and run and fight
to protect it.
To neglect myself, and not neglect it.

It gets hectic and I been running.
My feet bleed and nobody cares
Nobody is there.

I fix myself and I fix my light.
I harness all day
I plan at night
I don't sleep
I barely eat
I am just here navigating these waters, uncharted waters, never seen.
Just my me, my light and my idea of what we could be

So I do what I can
I work like a man
And I hope to earn some piece of what it means to be free
I run until I see a face that cares for me.
So I can stop.

I just wanted to ride the wave of life and watch the tide ebb and flow...
Instead I find myself here.
Sold.
Hard and soft at the same time. I'm gold.
So... I'm touched, appraised, and sold repeatedly.
I'm gold...
Hot, liquid, and still just running.
With my value and my lights.

I run all day, crouch low at night.
A slave to this life... I'm solo here,

Who was with me on that ride...
Long ride... on that big boat, I just wanted to float.
I got sold.

And now it's just me and my lights running to and fro. Here to there. Staying safe, so I pack light...
If something goes bump in the night...
It's me who fights.
I stay strong, if stability left
I stay right.
I stay right for my lights
And I cry out of sight
And I dress them up
And dress my own wounds
Cause I been running a long time
I am tired

This is hard to do, and every day I see others choose, different views, different hues, because they ain't chained to nothing...
They ain't got the same rules...
The light, dark as night, is tethered to me
Perpetually,
Solely you see.
I took the ride, I just wanted to float
And I didn't know...

I'd just be running.
Wild, but never free.
But I'm going so fast and hard
Doing all I can so that my lights will be.
The life that's free...
Come and go as I please.
With ease.
The dawns and horizons I never got to see.
Because I took that ride
And sold my golden self
Solely
While I watch who took the ride with me, be set free.
And living life.

12 years a baby mama……

A'Leah D. Richardson — Wed, 22 Nov 2017 02:46:57 GMT

12 years a baby mama……

Day. 1 — year 1

I’m probably going to write a book about this…..

Why SUNSHYNE?

A'Leah D. Richardson — Tue, 17 Oct 2017 17:18:45 GMT

Why SUNSHYNE?

My fiance calls me diamond Cinnamon Sunshyne. Yup, all that. I am all that. He has truly boosted my confidence. Sunshyne was the first nickname he gave me. Like the sun, I can be warm and inspire growth, i cause change, and can be harsh at times.

These blogs are dedicated to him. The courage to be myself, and write my truth for others to see. I’ve been afraid to do that, Until Now. He is the “now” in until now. The resolution to my story….. I love him.

Hey boo!

~Sunshyne

Truth Is

A'Leah D. Richardson — Tue, 17 Oct 2017 17:06:38 GMT

You know that Fantasia Song…..

The one about the guy she never got over….. wishing she was standing in “her” shoes…. Well, truth is, I never got over a lot of things. Until now. Most recently I have been on a path of self discovery and found a bitch. Yup, a bitch. Truth is, when I need to protect myself, I am a bitch. I build walls, I shut people out, I run away, because I can’t deal. That is quite bitchy, yes, but I needed to realize that I never got over my initial heartbreak. My mom (who is a wonderful woman) went to work one day, and never came back. That is how I remember it. I knew home life wasn’t perfect but it was my life, and one day a piece of my puzzle left, and everything changed. I started to discover all the “clues” i missed. The signs I overlooked. The lies in people’s faces that I was too quick to believe. I could no longer trust myself to judge others, I had it all wrong already at 8 years old. That made me a bitch. I never fully gave my all in a relationship. Never. never trusted anyone to return love. So each time a guy broke my heart, I turned back into the girl who was waiting on her mom to return home. I never stopped blaming myself for that, or any other situation that left me broken. It was always my fault. Until Now. My bitch had a purpose, she shielded me. When I felt the need for protection, she would emerge to slam a door closed or drive off, to end a friendship or quit a job when it didn’t feel right. Truth is, I needed my bitch. because that eight year old girl refused to grow up, she never felt safe enough to do so. Until now. This is my journey, growing up, at 30 years old.

Thanks for reading! Until next time…

SUNSHYNE

First lady

A'Leah D. Richardson — Thu, 29 Sep 2016 02:51:43 GMT

First lady

I am the first lady up at dawn
The first to yawn
The first lady to walk my younger brother to school and come back with a pail of water for my hut.
The first lady to tie my young to my back to walk miles into town
I am the first lady to wear my struggle like a crown.

I am the first lady who sees them
The first to be afraid
Confused and amused
First to be betrayed
The first lady to be dragged as my brown brother cracks a whip
I am the first lady on the ship
The first lady to see this much water.
One of the ladies who did not drown
I am the first lady to wear my struggle like a crown.
As i watch my heritage coast off the coast of my homeland....

I am the first lady lady to smell the stench of broken dreams and flesh
First lady to feel the fullness of fear and emptiness of distress
The first lady to lift a song in my native tongue as the waves crash around.
I am the first lady to wear my struggle like a crown.

I am the first lady yanked of the boat and onto a platform
The first lady to see a grown man with his back torn
The first lady to witness a soul cry so deep as i watch my brown kin herded like sheep.....
I am the first lady sold. Handpicked like fabric for a gown
The first lady to wear my struggle like a crown.

I am the first lady awake.
The first lady to take
My dignity and strength and a basket to the field
.....My fingers quake
My back aches
I am the first lady to bend but never break
..... For my daughter's daughter's sake
Sun up to sun down
I am the first lady to wear my struggle like a crown

I am the first lady to run
But not the only
The first lady to survive when the loss of brown men left me lonely
The first lady to continue on, no matter the brown man's condition
He was kept captive
I was forced to refuse submission
The first lady to run hard with feet so light they didn't make a sound.
To be hard and soft...
I am the first lady to wear my struggle like a crown.

I am the first lady in Harlem.
The first lady to be the new black
An inevitable rise to stardom
I am still the white man's fascination
I sing
I dance
I write
I invent
My mind is as strong as my body
My epic ethnic ethic is heaven sent
I am gold
That is not what i am told
Still captive
Still sold off
For money and admiration
I am the first lady told to enter from the back to display my talent...a muzzle on my aspiration
A pain so profound
A queen and a jester
I am the first lady to wear my struggle like a crown

I am the first lady in white schools
The first lady to pass
The first lady in college
With style and sass
First lady to have my fortitude confused with attitude
The first lady to demand what, to others, is just handed to
The first lady to be mocked and mimicked
Big lips hair thighs......
Products sold in stores to volumize what i was told to diguise
But to everyone's surprise

I rise.....
I am the first lady
I am me, her, she
I am a survivor
A mother
A represenatative for my regal race
A queen
I am grace
A worker
A supernatural being
The first lady
Literally
in case you haven't noticed
We are FLOTUS.

The force world renowned
I am the first lady to wear my struggle like a crown

You're welcome.

Dear Everyone,

A'Leah D. Richardson — Thu, 29 Sep 2016 02:48:15 GMT

Dear Everyone,

I am afraid. Fear has changed the way I parent. Growing up, white people always acted like they could not pronounce my name. It still happens. I gave my child a "simple" first name and a version of an African middle name. I chose to protect him from what I went through. I feared for his self esteem before he was born. That is just one example.

My son is smart. Fluent in Spanish at 10 years old. I am proud of him. I cringe everythime he learns a new dance or when he recites a hip hop song because I have seen on lookers smirk when his curly haired head bops, they may think that is all he knows. So, I quiet him. I hush him. Am I killing him in ways? Am I still that slave mother who knows that quiet is best? If he is too bold, too proud, too loud, he will be seen as threatening. He will be thrown into a box and I fight hard daily to keep him out of it. That is another fear you see..... Fear of him only being able to travel as far as people's view of him. It is not illegal in 2016 for an employer to deny employment to a person with dreadlocks. So I fear for my black son. I know he is judged so I instinctively tone him down. Out of fear.

This last fear, is a bit more suffocating. I cry when he gets a note home from school. I. Cry. Every. Time. Simply because I know his personality. He is fun loving, forgetful, strong willed, passionate and a BOY. Those things are often a mix for trouble. As I scream at him I have to blink back tears. If he can't stay seated in class what if he can't stay still for a cop. He got a note home for throwing trash away at the wrong time. Yea, its trash, so he thought he was right. What if he thinks it is right to reach for his ID? What if he is being himself, black and right..... But he dies because of how he is viewed. That paranoia has changed how I parent. I see myself in slave movies and books. Wanting my child to keep his head low and stay out of sight. To do what he is told and he will make it home to me.

How much has america really changed when that same fear lives inside of me? I want him to be proud, but i want him to live even more.

What do I do when the system is broken, just like my heart?

Tearfully,

Black moms..... Everywhere