Where are all my fellow Daily News readers? Have you read the papers this week? Article after article, one more heart breaking then the next. Each one proving my point on how important respect and communication are in a relationship. All across New York, it seems like you're either battling bedbugs or trying to avoid murder.
The first article was about a now heartsick father of a slain 2 year old boy in Brooklyn. After seeing his kid, just last weekend, running around and dancing like any normal 2 year old, Ameen Foster received that phone call every parent fears. To his surprise, the new boyfriend of the child's mother (whom Davis was unaware was living with his son) had beat the little boy to death. To know that this innocent and adorable child was killed over reciting his ABC's is insanity to me. Now, I blame the mother 120%. A child's mind is impressionable enough, why do you already have another man around your 2 year old son in the first place? You can't tell me that woman saw no signs of an abusive personality. I can assure you based on any sociopaths profile that if a man had enough balls to strike a 2 year old with that type of force, he's without a doubt gone upside her head before too! My deepest condolences and continued prayers go out to this father and family.
Next, we have the continued coverage of Donna Cobb, the Harlem nurse who killed her abusive husband with a knife and a ceramic statue! I honestly don't know how to feel about this case. Trust me, I feel her on killing him for beating her like a throw rug for the last 10 years, BUT, she know left their 6 children fatherless! Why? She can never replace their father. This is what I mean when I said know yourself and your spouse. If you've been with a man for ten years and he's been beating you since year two ... I have to ask two questions. Why the fuck did you marry him and why did you proceed to have children with him, knowing he ain't going to change? After year five, you truly know he's not going to change! There is definitely information missing from this story and I hope for the sake of her children - she exposes that truth during her trial. It'd be a damn shame to see six more children caught in the system cuz their mother thought it would be easier to kill their father instead of just growing her backbone to divorce him. Now you're kids may be without both parents! Did you ever think of that? Or just yourself?
This week was filled with stories like this. If it wasn't murder, it was bedbugs, or suicides. New Yorkers ... get your shit together! Last week a little Brooklyn girl became 50Gs richer because she can text with lightning speed ... this week another Brooklyn child got his life taken with lightning speed. Did I miss the part where we focus on the education of these kids? Nope, I didn't, everyone is too focused on the broadcasting bad to even try to find a solution to things that could avoid these tragedies. If budget cuts didn't shut down Brooklyn daycare facilities, maybe that child would have had a safe place to go during the day!
If you think you got it bad, reread this blog, pick up the paper and read how bad other people have it. Maybe you'll appreciate your life and instead of bitching about it, you'll take the steps to change it. At the end of the day, YOU are the only one who can change it!
Remember, Jo Jo Said It!!!
By Jo Anne-Patricia @MzFilterless
Picture Source: Google Images
New Source: The Daily News
You name it ... I discuss it !!! You have now entered Jo Jo's realm of reality. If you don't like the perspective I'm portraying, feel free to leave a comment, drop an email and take your stand ... I WELCOME ALL opposing views! This is a site where truly ANYTHING GOES!!! Please proceed with the understanding that I speak my mind ... NO FILTER!! A site that you will hear me rant and rave, expose truths that the WEAK don't like to face, and showcase the productivity of the STRONG.
Showing posts with label Voice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Voice. Show all posts
Friday, October 1, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
One Voice
I have but one voice -
for years that one voice harbored in the silent safety of notebooks and napkins.
Though I spoke of and for many -
my voice was never heard.
It took one person to inspire me,
one emotion to carry me,
yet many years to convince me,
that my voice was worth hearing.
That my words were worth listening to.
My opinions changed as I spoke out -
the government gave me more to speak about.
Life gave me more to cry about.
Though I didn't - I wrote.
I wrote til pens ran out of ink,
til pencils lost their edge,
til the tears stopped trying to break through.
I finally had the courage and self-security to speak out.
Yet who would I speak to?
Where could my voice be heard loud enough not to be drowned out by others?
and would it?
I hesitated, I thought, I wrote, I thought some more...
yet I remained silent.
My voice stretched no further than select friends and family.
An abstract imagination grown insecure while rapidly evolving.
The thoughts controlled my creativity -
holding captive at times from the fairy tale I dreamed of.
Then it happened.
A poetry reading -
my friends and family starring up at me on a stage made of cheap wood -
silhouettes and shadows of eight shine on my face making the fear that much more visible.
The music stopped.
I heard my name being announced and I felt liberated - comfortable.
Like the stage of cheap wood was my home -
and the microphone was an object I was born with.
Like a baby's pacifier, it calmed me.
When I spoke - the crowd nodded in agreement with my words.
Their faces showed the same emotions I felt when writing.
My mother shed the tears I had held back in the transition from thought to paper.
Never again did I ask when my voice would be heard.
For now, and forever...when I want to be heard,
I will just speak louder!
Written By @MzFilterless
for years that one voice harbored in the silent safety of notebooks and napkins.
Though I spoke of and for many -
my voice was never heard.
It took one person to inspire me,
one emotion to carry me,
yet many years to convince me,
that my voice was worth hearing.
That my words were worth listening to.
My opinions changed as I spoke out -
the government gave me more to speak about.
Life gave me more to cry about.
Though I didn't - I wrote.
I wrote til pens ran out of ink,
til pencils lost their edge,
til the tears stopped trying to break through.
I finally had the courage and self-security to speak out.
Yet who would I speak to?
Where could my voice be heard loud enough not to be drowned out by others?
and would it?
I hesitated, I thought, I wrote, I thought some more...
yet I remained silent.
My voice stretched no further than select friends and family.
An abstract imagination grown insecure while rapidly evolving.
The thoughts controlled my creativity -
holding captive at times from the fairy tale I dreamed of.
Then it happened.
A poetry reading -
my friends and family starring up at me on a stage made of cheap wood -
silhouettes and shadows of eight shine on my face making the fear that much more visible.
The music stopped.
I heard my name being announced and I felt liberated - comfortable.
Like the stage of cheap wood was my home -
and the microphone was an object I was born with.
Like a baby's pacifier, it calmed me.
When I spoke - the crowd nodded in agreement with my words.
Their faces showed the same emotions I felt when writing.
My mother shed the tears I had held back in the transition from thought to paper.
Never again did I ask when my voice would be heard.
For now, and forever...when I want to be heard,
I will just speak louder!
Written By @MzFilterless
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