Think Like A Man- Review

I recently had the surprising, pleasure of viewing the movie, Think Like A Man. I say surprising because from the time I received a text asking me to join a friend at the theatre, until the movie began, I was skeptical about enjoying this film. The layout of the movie, with Steve Harvey interjecting excerpts from his book added to the entertainment value of the movie. Without being preachy, this script combined comedy with reality to provide insight into the mind of a man, as well as the confusion of woman when it come to man.

The movie showcased different types of women and men, exploring the reality of today's relationship dynamic. Truly men have more power today than they ever have before. Steve Harvey and the cast put ideas that force both men and women to think outside of the relationship box and examine some of their non-negotiables. Sometimes they can be unrealistic and hurtful to both parties.

Of course, the film offered a happily ever after, fairy tale ending for the characters. I mean, who wants to leave a movie depressed; we go to the movies to escape our reality. Real world love has enough crushing disappointment as is. This movie showed hope to figure out the tangled web of romantic love, against the backdrop of awesome music.

The movie inspired me to work on a blog series for men about women. The fact remains, men and women often operate at cross purposes in a relationship; more often than not it is due to a power struggle. Of course women know that there are women who operate by the so-called "man playbook". In such a case, well, there's really little hope for success until someone decides to take low.

I digress. I highly recommend this movie, and if you like soulful, R&Bish music, the soundtrack isn't anything to sleep on, either. If you want to see a fun, insightful comedy... If you're looking for the perfect date movie, Think Like A Man is it.

Screaming

I'm yelling.
Screaming.
Hollering.

Crying out hoping to be heard.
But I won't be.
No one is where I am.

Like insidious, I'm trapped inside
With all of these thoughts, fears, uncertainties
Bleeding, seething wounds
Breeding new ways to be hurt.

My dreams are nightmares of dead hope revealed.
Light shining, coating my consciousness, does battle with effort.
The will to move, to do, to live on.

Do I scream, outing my heart into the effort of expelling every dark specter lurking in mt subconscious?
So that when I reach you see.
When I speak you hear.
When I cry your arms rescue me.

Like some scary movie insecurity flows out.
Reaching back, it grabs hold.
I'm your security blanket, it wails.
You need....

No, I don't need you.

Angrily, claws dig in.
No one will ever be there for you.
No one truly likes you, loves you.
Without me, you're alone.
Live with me or die alone.

In the face of my ego's ire, my legs want to buckle,
Tempting me to fall back into the pit of quiet noise.
A place of silent rage, it calls to me.

Seconds before my knees touch the earth...
Moments before surrender comes,
I square my shoulders, lock my knees and rise.
Standing I see that other me that does what I would not.
I recognize that I which feels what I refuse.

Seeing, I reckon that this wrecked psyche is not the I that I am.
Turning from it, ignoring my whispers,
I run from that fatal me to the I am who loves herself.
The I am who is eager for what's next;
Who knows that fire tempers steel.

Soldiers don't run from the enemy;
Warriors cry out for more.

Being cognizant of my deployment, I eagerly take a stand for now, tomorrow.
I release yesterday; allowing it to remain dead.
Dead success, dead sorrow can't touch me.
I'm all about what's next.

In the face of adversity, to life's Commander in Chief, I reply
Sir, yes, sir.

(c) Pamela Shropshire 2012

The Greatest Promise

The urgent desire to push and you’re ready.

There’s no formal training; it’s all on the job.

You’re ready, eager.

Anticipation is a drug coursing through your veins;

You’re high.

People surround you, love and well wishes rain down on you.

Your child is blessed.

You’re ready.

No one hands you an official training manual as you leave the hospital.

The one that says your kid may be such a polar opposite to you that it’ll be scary.

They don’t tell you how to handle the shy child that would rather read than shop.

The little genius content in their own world.

The wild bohemian running through your house with enough energy to light a small country.

No one showed you how to deal with potential hurt and personality clashes.

When your joy looks at you with disdain and your heart breaks.

No one told your baby, your promise, that you had no training.

No one explained that you were doing your best with the greatest love, the best joy in your life.

No one told your promise to be patient; you’re not perfect.

None of that matters now; it’s not precocious yet.

You are god and there is no talking back.

Your baby hasn’t slammed a door, rolled an eye, made you cry.

Yes, you’re ready; still high on the anticipation of this promise.

Then you wake up one morning and your baby knows everything.

They’ve eaten the forbidden fruit of life and are now wiser than you could hope to be.

Heads bump, moods shift, peace is rocked; love stands.

You are no longer ready.

As a mother, you weren’t ready for this.

You always said, not mine.

Yet today, it is yours.

Because there is no manual,  you don’t know is that even when no longer answer on the first call.

Even though their bedroom door stays shut and the music is loud,

When their friend knows the important thing before you,

In the heart of your baby is a flame called mom.

Mother.

Mama.

Mommy.

That flame is protected and tended as carefully, as faithfully, as you tended your newborn babe.

Fuel is added when they receive a smile, when you brush a kiss across their forehead.

When you crack the bedroom door just to make sure they’re ok,

Even though they think they’re grown, behind the disgruntled mumble, their heart’s flame flares.

When you have occasion to say no,

When harsh words are exchanged, cold shoulders presented,

Your promise, covers the flame so that the winds of discord don’t touch it.

As you remember the day you brought them home,

Reminisce at their sweet smell and the way they snuggled up to you,

Your child remembers, also.

I remember the kisses when I fell,

The shelter when I was cold or frightened.

I remember that even when it seemed the answer was no more than it was yes,

Your yes stood for something.

I remember the security of your love.

Remember that even as I slammed the door and swore I hated you,

My heart cried and called me a liar,

Reminding me of the laughter and joy I only found with mama.

When I grow older, there is still a part of my heart that cries out in times of trouble.

The part where the flame is still protected that screams,

Mommy!

Our hearts memory recalls that in the deepest times of distress only you, mama, could offer comfort.

Now, as you sleep,

A part of my heart still cries out,

Still yearns.

My heart wants your comfort through this loss.

My brain screams as it scrambles to deal,

Only mama could get me through this, the toughest of moments.

 I need you back to get me through this.

I know you can’t, and that’s ok.

I go to my hearts flame and am warmed.

Standing by that fire, I know I’ll make it still.

Knowing I would need more than you,  you  placed me in the presence of a great opportunity.

Crying, kicking and screaming.

Pinching, popping, glaring and smiling, you put me in the presence of a greater family.

Gave me the knowledge of a greater Father than even my natural father.

It is this Father and this family that offers me comfort and strength as you leave me.

They surround me with reassurance and love; joy.

It is this, the greatest gift a parent can offer their promise that I  lean on now that I am unable to lean on you.

This is your promise, your legacy.

You, beloved, didn’t know it all.

You weren’t perfect.

There were times we didn’t agree.

You loved me.

You loved God.

You gave your girls a foundation built on the word of God.

I loved you.

I love you still.

(c) Pamela Shropshire 2012