What Makes a Grown Man Cry, by Kim Wilson

What Makes a Grown Man Cry, by Kim Wilson
by Basquiat

by Basquiat

Kim Wilson is an original deep author from San Antonio (TX). You can now read two poems and a short story by Kim. Enjoy them! Kim goes directly to you heart.


Women and men whom are accomplished, as you weather the storm trying to build a nest,

but being mediocre and plain, to explore your creative ideas would be insane.

A role model is a strong black achiever, but in you your family is not a believer,

so the act is to disappear, and instill in them a real fear.

Martin Luther King spoke, “I have a dream” out loud, a dream that drew an enormous crowd,

that day still rest in my mind, though the facts are sometimes hard to find.

All Afro-Americans are great and notable, a grown man cries when his life is unsuitable,

caught in a world not innocent, sometimes omitting what’s flagrant.

Aiding in providing for the essential cause of the family, you think the world owes you something,

you’re taking a gamble see; for what once stood for respect of the next man, now stands for less for the blessed at hand.

What makes a grown man cry,

is what makes a grown man lie,

soon makes a grown man die,

some resort to getting high,

on whom can they rely.


by Basquiat

by Basquiat


Adventurous Silence


What can they mean?!

Watching, Waiting, Living, Dying.

Reckless Innocence


Now tarnished unclean.

Crying, Praying, Aching, Bleeding.

Noble Pretense


False domestic scene.

Mending, Defending, Blending, Unending.

Spontaneous Vengeance


Why is your makeup so mean!

Enslaving, Betraying, Displaying, Portraying.


By Basquiat

By Basquiat

The following is the short story titled On ‘E’. In the beginning, Klaudia spiritually, financially, emotionally, sexually and mentally stretch herself out in regards to Gension; absolutely. He blatantly uses her without remorse, but only in their personal space. Forcing her to have to defend being a woman, a lady, his significant other. She hurls herself all up on him and he heeds her not except what he can pull from her ‘within’. She’s officially fed up as best she can be and only a much, much needed escape from his presence can slightly do her any good. Through it all Klaudia remains upbeat and hopeful that she’d rather disappear, not for him to change.

On ‘E’

My car sputters then runs completely out of the watered-down ass Unleaded, $18 worth mind you and during these critical gas-hike prices, a quarter mile from the only gas station in sight, boasting $2.97 a gallon. Mess like this is why I’d left Genison and his stupid ass ego so fast, for the umpteenth time, and in the first place. The reason for this chaotic episode is that I’m fed up with his inconsiderate ass bringing my car back on empty; on top of all the other mess he’s good at doing. I try to reason the significance of him trading in his 1995 gas-guzzling, rigged-up, ran-down, smoke-choking, multi-colored Suburban and get something newer and more economical; something handsome to look at at least, but to no avail; to no freakin’ avail.

When I got with him 3 years ago our first issue was his selfishness towards everybody. He didn’t even exclude me.

Every other freakin’ morning I would have to stop and fill up; rain, sleet, snow or blazin’ sun when my gas, on the norm, would last almost a week because I use it wisely, to include ridin’-out twice a week. He doesn’t care as long as he makes it in from whatever he was doing last night.

In this peculiar season between fall and spring storms are very unpredictable. On this already chaotic day, the clouds are darkening by the hour. Thunder booms overhead. Crackling lightning fast approaching. I don’t give a damn; Genison was not going to have the pleasure of partying this week-end in my 2010 Silver Galant, with custom rims and pimped out system; no way and hell no!

After a quick fill-up I’d drive to Phoenix, get a fabulous hotel room for two glorious days and nights, and me, a 12 pack of Icehouse bottles and unlimited free movies will be MIA until 5am Monday morning when I’d return to Reno, well relaxed, to watch his onion head rush out the door without so much as a kiss, straightening his too-much tie, late as usual and there’d be but one drop in the tank, “Ha!”

I stuff cash, my Visa; never leave home without it; MasterCard and Arizona Drivers License in my inside pocket and zip up my brand new purple & gray eagle-feather stuffed Parka. I load my small brown leather Knoxx Londonberry overnight bag with two pieces of lingerie, one silk the other satin. I include toothbrush, lipstick and comb; anything else I’d need I’d buy. I have no plans on leaving that suite unless I was going to look for some cheating; locking my sadness behind the door with his ass.

The gas can, I know I keep in my well-organized trunk, is not in my well-organized trunk; I almost lose it. After several quiet curses I slam the trunk shut and immediately apologize; it isn’t her fault that I can’t pick a decent, considerate, even caring man.

One car zooms by; then another. Then a semi honks and almost scares me into some un-manicured bushes. I can see him wave his hand out the window to apologize. A quarter mile hike and everything would be alright; so I thought. I pause to catch my breath, leaning against a dirty phone booth. I swear that Genison just passed and blew his horn at me. Ain’t but one ugly ass ‘burban’ like that. I should just choke his ass and let it be done with. The nerve of him; punk. If it wasn’t so in his character to be an ass-wipe, I’d get mad but what’s the use; I’m getting everything I lead myself to believe I deserve.

“Over there” the eleven to seven clerk points, smiling like she really likes being at work or maybe she has a busta’ for a man too. I pick out another five-gallon red plastic gas can and a single Icehouse bottle for my frazzled nerves and head to the counter.

“8.77” placing her half-smoked Newport on the clean ashtray, reaching for my twenty dollar bill.

We exchange thank-yous and I head for the pumps.

By now the deep-gray sky is black, thick with full clouds. I know I have to hurry; the chaos is increasing in frequency. I pump my Unleaded, twist my beer open and set out for my waiting Galant. As I reach her there’s a note under the windshield wiper. Maybe the truck driver turned around.

“Don’t forget that I have a late meeting tonight. It’s very important. Be back around 9:30 so I want be late. G”.

If my week-end wasn’t about to be so on, I would have walked to find this inconsiderate ass of a man and… I knew that was his ass pass me and didn’t even stop to give his girl a ride.

“Boy I tell you.”

I ignore it because I know these next two days will be incredible. All by myself and whosoever I may choose and no wipe like Genison to disturb my groove; “Yeah!”

I collect my wits as I’m finally able to nourish her with the Unleaded.

I sit back in my polished leather seat which always relaxes my nerves because it vibrates and heats. With the radio tuned to the weather station so I’ll know exactly when to hit the road, and the cold beer to my lips, I close my eyes and BOOM!

The God-sent thunderbolt startles my eyes open just in time to see the brilliant bright, searing flash of lightning burn a hole straight through my retractable sunroof. For a moment I’m in pitch blackness. Time is void. My body is empty. My soul is separating. Have I died and it was just registering. I’m swimming into a beautiful but unfamiliar heavy fog of peace-filled light. The white light that’s invading my space is swallowing me up and I’m soaring up alongside a lightning rod like it is a familiar trail. What is left of my being begins to ponder on the life I live and all the forgotten and on-purpose mistakes I’ve made. All the stuff I’ve seen and been involved in people; then everything goes real black.

Genison is now saving my life; the same life he’s ruining. His sharp rudeness comes over my cell phone just when I need him most.

I manage to hit the green phone, “I’m here; what is left of me mumbles. I’m here.”

“Where the hell are you it’s after midnight and I have an early breakfast meeting I need…”

“I’m here…”

“What! Did you hear what I said…?”

“I’m here, wrestling my life from death’s grip. I’m here.”

“Where are you!?”

“I’m here” is all I can whimper.

“If you don’t …” and our connection goes dead.

The ambulance technicians work feverishly in the admonishing rain whipping us unmercifully, to free me from my tomb. My thin fingers are cemented to the steering wheel; my Icehouse boiled and busted in my lap.

“Can you get a pulse” the male tech begs.

“No. I can’t get anything with all this lightning” the female tech alarms.

“We’re going to have to move her. Call the house” Regina orders Travis, accessing a hopeless situation. 4 minutes later Travis slides the MedVac van into the emergency parking lot as Regina connects and directs. Three registered nurses rush out and rush me inside, shouting orders, barking commands.

Nurse Dora Richards re-checks my fluttering vitals. I’m able to hear and is aware of everything around me but am unable to communicate or react as the sterile white room buzzes and beeps and chirps. Dr. Hughes studies my condition on the clipboard with a critical look on his face.

 “Beep Dr. Young 911 STAT” he calls out urgently, yet calmly.

Dr. Shelia Young is a leading specialist on victims of shock/electrocution.

Ninety-three hours pass. I seem to emerge from death’s grip on me.

“Hello Klaudia. What can you tell me about your ordeal” Dr. Young questions me, stroking my shoulder, as Dr. Nathan Hughes, RN Rebecca Richards and, nothing-ass Genison look on. He’d actually thought about me instead of himself or either he wants to make sure he gets something, in front of witnesses. I just know that he has already counted me dead. What the hell had I ever done to him that causes him to treat me in this fashion.

Was it him or me. How can I be so good to him knowing I’m getting nothing in return but heart ache. Is it him or me. Why do I think I can fix him, change him, re-raise him. Maybe it’s just the way he is. Really, is it him or me.

A full understanding is about to be brought to my attention.

The reason for such a heavenly ass-whipping is because I’d sat around on earth doing little that spiritually pleased God and everything that physically pleased Genison; giving my all where it pertained to him. I used my whole life to please sorry ass men and cut-throat home-girls and far-off family. I barely used the gift God gave me and lived thinking that if I was a good person, that if I attempted to make the necessary changes and growths, that that would be enough. I gained all kinds of knowledge and used it being emotionally stupid.

I moisten my cotton mouth with a sip of room-tempered water Nurse Richards holds to my lips.

“Sitting in my car, ran out gas, or, Icehouse. I squint my eyes trying to focus on the journey of meeting the gate-keepers of my Maker. Genison screaming. You.”

“We think it’s time to get some rest” my doctors and a specialist agree.

“Was it painful?” Genison questions, fakin’ concern, squeezing my freezing cold and sweaty hand, as they attempt to usher him from my ‘resting’ space.

“No.” I wish I was able to role my eyes at him, I sure would have.

“I’ll be around to check on you every 15 minutes or so” Dr. Young assures.

Author Kim Wilson

Author Kim Wilson

I attempt to swallow the cotton balls in my throat, praying to be here when they return; I have stuff to do people. I still have to see the look on Genison’s ashy face when he tries to make a whole block on E. I pull the fresh crisp white thin sheet up to my neck, willing myself to fall into a serene sleep that’ll make sense of this horrible but pleasant experience. I send out my thanksgivings in prayer. I tell God how grateful I am that He is my God, the one true God who breathed life into existence. I rehash in prayer all the blessings that are bestowed upon me and how I am able to muster up the strength and attitude to get through some of my crazy circumstances and serious situations; praying that I was okay with not having kids, not being married, especially with Genison. I’m glad you know him Father God just as well as I do and never gave him the nuts even to ask. I began thanking and worshipping God as all the delights of my heart are re-revealed. It led me into praising Him for being God all by himself and up on high and not needing my input, as I ran out the gas He’d filled my life up with.

“Thank you that I’ve graduated college and is able to work my way from junior partner to being considered for senior partner status. Thank you that you’ve kept my family for the most part well and meaningful and that they serve and praise your Holy name. Thank you God that through all my emotional storms you’ve been wholely available via your angelic beings. I’m grateful to you that when I was bumping rather banging my head, insulting well-meaning folks, spewing bad vibes and refusing to be compassionate in others’ time of need; I thank you for your forgiveness. I thank you God that I’m able to be a young black home-owner with good credit and a great job, I smile. I thank you Father God that Jesus raised from the dead on the third day for a time such as this, I PLEAD THE BLOOD OF JESUS! To save my soul.”

I finally, slowly, begin to doze off as a heavenly peace calms my once ragging soul; and I never wake up again.

A ghost’s story.

The End.

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