Charelle Landers
Bio
Published author, (A Serious of Unfortunate Events, pen name Jessica Wright) and mother to six wonderful children. I find that writing is a healing passion of purpose and the ultimate pursuit to happiness.
Stories (38/0)
Good and Bad
Does good really exist? It seems like everywhere we turn there is bad going on, people with national recognition are taking for granted the things God has blessed them to have. It seems as if cops are dying at a faster rate than before, city officials are depleting resources and finding cities plagued with poverty. What has got to change? I believe this country is in a deep setting of karmic debt being paid through the lies of misfortunes, and with the lives of those who believe that justice is a necessity.
By Charelle Landers3 days ago in Longevity
Toddler Blues
Not that long ago you entered the world. Everything seemed fine. I was afraid but open to understanding exactly what I needed to do to nurture every aspect of your life no matter what changes it brought me. Then one day you a had birthday, and things weren't funny-faced photographs and sleepless nights. You began to be curious about so many aspects of life. I don’t know whether to let you do it or stop you from exploring. In my mind, I have to protect you as my life depends on it, but in your mind, you have to figure out the good versus the bad. It's hard when you have the blues. You cry, run, jump, play, yell, scream, and kick. You enjoy bath time and snack time, but you always want snacks. Having you on a schedule is the hardest to say the least because you just run away when I try to keep you there and train you to do what I say. Simply because your little mind is wandering in the paths of growth and stability. I love being a mother, but you toddlers are the most challenging aspects of my daily routine that I choose to live with daily. I can't wait until you grow older, go to school show everybody what you have learned, and continue the exploration of life. Your light is needed and I love the laughter but you also bring me tears, sometimes I want to cry like you and throw a tantrum. But hey I'm a big girl with mommy blues. I teach you and guide you only to be left with the word no at bedtime. I think you're amazing and bountiful with all the little tricks and trades you learn along your exploration and journey through life. I love you, with every ounce of my being and with every bit of my heart and I choose you because you are the smallest biggest joy in my world. It's hard though. I don't remember your older siblings being this hard, you get into everything and I can't close my eyes for two seconds because you'll find something to do that's not what you should be doing, rather it's taking out the pots and pans or playing in things you got out of the cabinet, whatever it may be you keep me distracted from my world of blues. You are the reason I try my hardest, you are the motivation to fight for our love and light, you are my everything and I love the truth you make me see. You're a terrible two, but an amazing form of reality. I still want to run away. I want to run away from the markings on the wall, the stained couch, and the potty training. But I will always run to you and your hugs, your kisses, and your cries. The day I met you I knew you would make me cry, but I never knew it because you wanted to rain on my parade and boss me around all the time. It's funny because I remember you doing that since day one, and I know your mind is not broad enough to understand who you are but I want to be the first to tell you that I have my hands full. You enjoy the simple things but make everything so difficult. I tell myself, when I finally rest that tomorrow will bring new laughs, or new tears I guess it all depends on how you feel about getting dressed and eating breakfast. Oh, the joys of motherhood will never get old. Love you tots!
By Charelle Landers18 days ago in Families
To The Girls Who Don’t Give Second Chances
To the girls who don’t give second chances. The changes that come with heartbreak is like a simplistic give and take, the games he chooses to play leaving you disappointed time and time again and this is all when you’re still getting to know him, but you’re ignoring the red flags, hoping maybe this will work. The inconsistent game of his lies, the problem with his secret time, the sacred heart he claimed was mines, all the while sitting there lying. And you’re trying to figure out when should you go, do you need evidence that he doesn’t love you the way he should’ve shown. You fall in love with his mask then he does his daily tasks. You know the gym, his homies and back in your bed, his confirmation weakens your confidence and everything you thought you were isn’t it. The truth became reality he’s not the man you thought he was, he’s abusive and combative and worst part he’s using and abusing your trust. You claimed you never wanted to feel incomplete in love, a year goes by but you’re hoping he’s changed never really breaking up. To the girls who don’t give second chances, his first mistake was knowing that you deserved better then coming with the same games as Peter, John and Timothy. Too many times he’s left you feeling empty. I mean I get it, refusing to settle because of the games of some nigga. He proclaims you’re the girl of his dreams and for you he’ll do anything, yeah anything to you if you know what I mean. He keeps your pussy wet and your eyes, bacteria vaginosis and loud cries. PH balance all in discord and you pretended you didn’t know where it came from. I mean this man has got to be willing to do whatever for you but makes you act different. Then when you address the problems he claims you act different, but all three months ago he pretended like he didn’t show you any different. Claiming that he loves you like you wouldn’t notice the difference. Say you wanna leave but now he puts you in a position to start birthing his children, he’s knowing you’re willing all the while playing games and telling other women how he loves them disowning his children. To my women who don’t give second chances because they’re so loyal in the beginning. Teach your daughters don’t give second chances because he knows who you are in the beginning.
By Charelle Landersabout a month ago in Poets
Brown Girl, Brown Boy!
Broken homes and broken cities filled with violence and other victims. The compilation of revolution looks to the destruction of America the beautiful. Broken hearts and loud cries the nationality of the designed brown. Inner city youth circumferences referenced by the same mistakes of their parents. Born to teenage boys and girls damaged by the wakes of the world, failed marriages and forced deprivation on so many levels, the socialism of so many devils, underdeveloped. The inner city innocence plagued with statistical endings the killings are headlined as the suppression to the declination of a brown boys potential. Broken homes and broken dream’s landfilled homes and desired streets, the economic fallout of a tailored being. Born a god or goddess just to run into incompatibile desires, the starvation of the urban city. Urban violence and urban changes, the 3rd dimension of urban hatred. Broken harmonies and broken roads the life of a struggle in a brown woman’s household. No one to lean on but the government taken what is given with the definitive definition of assistance. Deplorable situations yet they remain in them. Kids with no father and drug dealers, felons, and criminals, as father figures. Talk about the struggle with addictions. He struggled with addictions, broken promises and broken family values ventured as a means to escape the same society that he lives in everyday. Four corner hustlers, and sexual favors, petty nickel and dimers and solicitation. Can’t isolate them, the brown boys dream found on the court dreaming of finding a Lebron James team. The statistical data always seem realistic when we recognize the difference of societal inconsistencies. Broken systems and broken truths half told lies and broken youth. The urbanization of the broken myth, the brokenness we keep witnessing time and time again. The fight against corruption poverty and destruction the decriminalization of the brown boys struggle.
By Charelle Landersabout a month ago in Poets
Death and Life
Walking amid her desires when she never knew she had any, following the rules of her mother's love when she never knew she had any. Her first try became the first cry, she tried to say it was heartbreak but that was her insecurities first lie. He laid her down on the cold hardwood floor, she was supposed to be at track practice getting ready to run for gold. He invited her with his tongue, salvation imposed on her body, his manhood imported on a journey that she didn't know anything about yet. He fumbled to find the entrance to tie her soul, he finally entered and all she knew was that it hurt. He thrust his body until he finished, per her recollection it lasted only a minute. No protection he said you're the first girl I ever messed with, she knew that was her first time that's why she can't forget this. On a cold day in March, they finished she got dressed and that's where the abuse began to start. He stole her identification and told her his age was older than his indemnification, sixteen with big dreams she didn't know she was laying with satan. The good girl in her had melted away, he mentioned he loved her but punched her in her belly, as he drove her back to her mother's home he made her sit in the back seat, and come to find out the boy was 14. She daydreamed about the hour they had spent, she thought he was her everything. Months go by he still played the game, and ignored her every time she wanted to spend time again. She motivated herself with school basketball and following her mother's rules, but only 4 months later she found another bruise, a positive pregnancy test. As it sat there in her hand she couldn't find the little boy she called her man, he had disappeared, no educational motivation, no plan for his future in and out of juvenile no plan for her in his future. Yet she's now tied to his future. She calls him crying and his mother began denying saying how could she be pregnant by her son she had to be lying. She trusted the only friend she knew at the time so she had to be dying. Sorrow and grief reigned she hid the truth from her mother for as long as she can, until one day her loud mouth friend told her secrets, exposed her, and not to mention when her mother took her to the clinic she contracted gonorrhea, the lies about her being special made her feel even weaker. Still, in high school, he knew this, he would call to see if she made it to class 15 years later she know that was a red flag of the abuse. She thought it was love but he would abandon her, ensure that she cries, not to mention destroy her pride. He was never there in support in fact when the baby came she found herself a single parent absorbed by the cycle of generational pain. She gave birth at 17 to a beautiful daughter the prettiest baby I had ever seen, she spent days and weeks trying to bridge a family, only for him to abuse her every time financially. He would take her for a ride, introduce her to girls he was sleeping with on the side, and please don't mention love because he never even tried, 13 years later Christopher died. She tried to have emotions but she just couldn't he saw his daughter twice and spent all his life in the penitentiary. The day their daughter witnessed abuse he had her against the wall, mad because she messed with other dudes when he suppressed every emotion, and had babies on her with girls to make fun of her emotionally. Yet she walked around petrified hiding the pain of abuse inside, her friends pushed for him to be the perfect father, every time they see them they call her saying he was going to take care of his daughter, yet he never showed her love, his daughter is 15 years old and still struggles to build relationships because she blames abuse on her mother. She realized she was the victim of a circumstance that she never knew the psychological turmoil of abuse can take an angry toll on you, so she fosters her truth and is not afraid to wear it, she was a victim of teenage violence because of the lack of love from crack epidemic parents. Her first love became the father figure she always imagined.
By Charelle Landers4 months ago in Poets
Tech-No 2024
We are living in a society where praying hands symbolizes prayer but word of mouth spring’s forth deceit. In today’s world it seems as if emojis are taking the place of generalized conversations and NPC’s, are taking the place of normal people. There seems to be this screen rant of undisclosed emotions going about in our everyday lives, instead of people explaining how they feel we resort to the screen to have a blast on the illusion of reality.
By Charelle Landers4 months ago in Motivation
Words of Affirmations
No matter what you do, never give up on yourself. You are the light you carry not the darkness that swarms around. Believe in God and trust his plans. He will never fail you. Never become so high up that you forget who made you, who granted you the opportunities to become the best version of yourself.
By Charelle Landers5 months ago in Poets
Daddy’s Issues
You knew what it was like waiting on a stranger to call you to say let's play ball. You knew how it felt when on birthdays and holidays you didn't hear anything at all. You knew what it was like when you got that first hug, felt like all the issues and problems didn't come from him choosing drugs. You knew how it felt to hear that baritone, that guide, that discipline, that love that unconditional feeling without resentment. If you didn't get it from your father you got it from your uncles. You know what it's like to feel empty as combustibles. You know what it's like to look down on a man because he missed out on everything you became. You know what it's like to want to break free to say God where is my daddy or maybe what's his name. You know what it's like to be without a father figure yet the man you want to look up to has helped you grow bitter. You know what it's like to finally get that closure, just don't wait until sports fans or for one to become a solider. You know what it felt like when the bleachers were empty at all your games, wanting to hear "way to go champ" and to feel his embrace. You knew what it was like when you lost your first fight and you cried yourself to sleep because you needed a night light. You knew what it felt like to be empty for a stranger that you didn't know was dead or missing. Mines spent 26 years in the penitentiary and they never want to talk about our abandonment issues. You knew why, but you couldn't help but wonder because, you knew how it felt when he told you your mama wasn't good enough. You know how it feels to see your siblings have what you didn't yet you still go on acting like you don't resent them. You know what it's like to have an absent father so why be one to your kids and give into that stranger's honor? You knew what it was like to cry tears because Mama couldn't afford the new jays. You knew what it was like to watch the struggle unfold in a single-parent household and all the while being pursued to not become one of those.
By Charelle Landers5 months ago in Poets
The Hero
Heroes aren’t made overnight but they’re born everyday. Thinking to myself who’s going to save the hero if she’s fighting this way. Does love save the multitude that’s still scattered in the field. The angels are in the outfield, does victory even feel. The hero wants the best no matter the connection, maybe because she feels like everybody has a destiny in heaven. Her enemies are those she draws near too without weapons of armory. Fully unbalanced hoping and blinded at the weighted harmonies. She knows that she shouldn’t fight this way so instead she prays. Sometimes the poison is seen a mile away, but she knows that running is just the thrill of a chase. Maybe because she’s use to things being this way. Fighting a battle as if a disease was swarming in her face. We live, we trace to become conquers of the conqueror hidden in space. The hero just needs strength each day. Even the hero gets tired but chooses to live each day. The tears, the battles, the changes, the channels, the dignity, the light, the ambiguity from her master. Divine touches placed in the torches of hell, she’s rescued and saved only to find she’s the only one there. Never living in fear, never worried about where life takes her because she knows how to love and for the hero beauty is the covering from above. Inside and out day in and day out she sacrifices, she gives, she enlightens, she uplifts. She sets examples because no one set them for her the ones that were never shown love knows love when they choose to grow. The knowledge is only applicable when you seek him in his words. I know I can’t get to heaven only by good works. Only God can rescue his angels. She takes up that oath, no cape, just tennis shoes, some jeans and her cloak. They tried to take away her power but she’ll forever use words. Changes and challenges come to strengthen her soul. The dark palaces that was placed in her world written on a map that created the girl. Transformation of a transplantation through the evaluation of selfless determination the evolution of evolving into the Woman gods creating. Seeking forgiveness for generations the hero only generates what given and irreplaceable. The life savior, the life changer. No EMT but the creditability of a life saver. She wouldn’t dare let anyone change her. So the hero fights even without a cape. Come dressed in disguise as who else can relate.
By Charelle Landers5 months ago in Poets
Broken But I Am Healed
Broken but I am healed is an understatement when it comes to severing the lines of domestic abuse. Yes, it is true that the brokenness within us is treasured by the healing proportions we give ourselves during those times of silent fears throughout the healing process.
By Charelle Landers6 months ago in Poets
