Oh man, I look like shit right now. It's taken me 2 sittings to watch Antwone Fisher and I'm still not done. This movie is incredibly powerful, but I keep crying and have to stop. I haven't cried so much over a movie since watching Monster's Ball. That whole scene with him getting molested by that woman, and then when he reads the poem to Denzel's character...wow. God, I want to work with healing people so badly. So many wounded people who are scared children deep down inside just need a little love and guidance and you know what? I don't care if people call me naive to think that love can heal. Because I've been through shit and I've seen some shit, but I've also seen how love and light can give a person more strength than he or she ever imagined existed within to stand. And because it's the duty of those who have managed to find their legs and stand, to reach down and help those who are still struggling, to open your heart up and take the risks to try, rather than to watch the hurt live on and on in the brother and sister souls around you and live with knowing that you could have given but you made the conscious choice to withhold.

On a lighter note, I tried playing basketball for the first time in a long time tonight to test out my back. Some guy was being an obnoxious shit. We were all shooting around and sharing the balls so I got the one he was waiting for, then hit 8 three-pointers in a row so he had to keep giving me change. I hate guys who disrespect just because I'm a girl. In the one pick up game, I was 1-2, scoring on a crossover spin move under the basket around this big black guy who tried to go up for the block. I'm pretty rusty but that was sweet. I'm going to pay for it tomorrow though, because my back is screaming right now.

I'm out. Here's the poem from the movie (reminiscent of Langston Hughes, one of my favorites). It really hits the pulse of every adult who still holds an immense amount of buried pain from childhood inside of him or her. Amazing when he recites it in the film:

Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own?

Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps.

Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand.
Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man.

Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again.

Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?