| beauty. |
i have a headache. so that means that something, somewhere is off balance with me. tell me something i dont know.
*************
they call me beautiful
fawning over the loveliness of my hair and eyes
not knowing the truest deception
lies with in their own minds
they merit external looks
with that they deem as perfection
but this is ultimately unwarranted
as i reject my own reflection
yes, i see beauty all around
in the trees, flowers, and sky
but unbeknownst to those that surround me
i can't see my beauty with my own eyes
all i see is a tattered being
with a tired and wretched soul
all i feel is a ghostly emptiness
begging to be made whole
all i know is that if i am beautiful
then perhaps, it is to no longer be admired
because the only beauty i used to know
has left me
and retired. |
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| passion. |
i write about sex sometimes.
it makes me feel naughty, but i do it anyway...cause deep down i really like it no matter how vulgar it makes me seem.
****************************
my pussy is pulsating
because you have perpetuated a passion within me
that cannot be penetrated by any other
you have proclaimed a profound pact between your lips and mine
BOTH SETS
no regrets
no upsets
no backsteps
into a blundering bottomless pit of belligerent beasts that some would prefer to call: men
i was never the one for them
but you fill me with a perfect passion
if you requested a penny for my thoughts on you
i'd properly write you a blank check
so you could fill it in with: "everlasting"
these other women arent even a pint sized picture of a distraction
but if you ever have any doubts...
dont ask me
...just plainly ask them.
EVERYBODY KNOWS.
your touch fills all five of my senses
with a sensation i cant describe
and everytime i see, hear, touch, smell or taste you
i get a natural high that i cant deny
you have proven to be the one
your love heats me with a perfect fiery passion with the power of a thousand suns
im powerless under your prowess
and that is why:
my pussy is pulsating
i have to squeeze my legs together
just to keep my knees from shaking
i have to pinch myself a little
hoping things are really what they seem
cuz for the first time in my life
reality is better than my dreams. |
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| scarlet. |
i am not supposed to write a poem about you
for you
by me
for us
no we
but you and i
i am not supposed to put these words onto a concrete canvas
because we
well...
you and me
make love
in secret
i am not allowed to express these things freely
because we love
in bondage
in seclusion
in my refusal to acknowledge the truth in being
number 2
the other woman
so on my back i face nothing but the ceiling
on my knees i turn my back to true feelings
on my side i lay low from my pride
and succumb to you
unmercifully
i have no name
no face
no permanent place
and as your fingerprints are engraved on my fingertips
everything i touch
is now marked with an S. |
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| my love. |
my love is deeper than the bowels of an elephant’s carcass
more vast than the deserts of the sahara
more evident than the existence of man
and more prevalent than a saint’s hands
my love is raw
more raw than the feast of a vulture
more fascinating than the heroes of our culture
because my love is bright
like a shining star
my love outshines the sun and
my love is hot
hotter than the realms of venus
my love
for you that is
cant be exceeded by another because
my love is real.
hidden within the pages of history
i hand you the clues to unfold my love’s mystery
just tell me where to begin
best friend. |
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| feel. |
idk what kind of battle i am fighting with my art. its so odd. im still writing tho. im glad i started again because i have a great piece in the works. first time im actually writing something like this, but, its a first time for everything. as i write this, i have a feeling that its going to touch someone and that is what i love about the poetry. its not about how the words sound. how the voice inflects. how the hands move. how the tongue lashes.
for me, its all about how the words feel. thats what i love. when i hear a love poem and FEEL the sensation. its all about the way the words touch a person. thats what a lot of artists are lacking. almost anything you say can hit a person, but its what touches them, that makes the difference. i want someone to hear what i have to say and then say "i feel that" and mean it. if i cry as i write, i want my audience to cry as they listen. if anger is what evokes me, then that is what i want them to emit upon reading. its all about the feeling behind the words. its all about the feeling.
and true. u can SAY things with feeling. you can the best dictionary that webster has concocted and the best thesaurus that money can buy. u can be as eloquent with your writing as possible but what is eloquence without PASSION? what good is a star quarterback if his doesnt really want to play the game? why boast about having a pretty horse if you only groom her to show her off? am i rambling? i hope im making sense. because all im trying to say is that...writing should come from the heart. not the mind. not the head. not the brain. poetry shouldnt be thought about. it should be felt.
its just hard. cause i really thought this was going to be easy, but as difficult as this is for me, i am grateful. i am thankful. and i am willing, ready, and able to deal with this. especially with all the new things i have learned about the people i used to work with/for. it is utterly AMAZING really. but i dont wanna go there. im just going to follow my heart like i have been doing. it always seems to lead me to the right place. im excited to be actively writing again tho.
today i heard a man sing. his voice wasnt great, but his simple rendition of "amazing grace" brought tears to my eyes.
how odd.
how one simple thing,one slight situation, one moment in time can conjure up feelings that i once thought were null & void. i thought i hated poetry and i figured that i hated performing, but thats not it at all.
(i honestly, dont know what it is, but its not hate.)
he made me miss performing. he made me miss giving my all. and most of all,he made me crave the stage. |
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| retired. |
it has been done.
idk why,
but performing is no longer something i enjoy.
instead of something that
calmed and soothed me
and felt like leasure,
it became as mundane as a 9-5 in a sock factory.
*sigh*
i used to love my art.
i'd sit for minutes, hours, DAYS perfeciting. harnessing each word and phrase like an infant that needed to be nurtured until the entire piece was complete. until it had sprouted and grown into yet another one of my masterpieces. poetry used to be:
MY THING.
but that all changed.
cause now, to me, poetry is a
FAD.
and not that i hate fads. i normally dont like things just because they are fads, but to me, when something becomes a fad. when it becomes the "cool thing" to do, the quality is downsized because the quality is in abundance, and welll...
i dnt want to be a part of anything like that. i have had some great opportunities, met some awesome people, performed at some cool venues, made some NIIIIICE money, but at the end of the day, i was still disatisfied.
i hate watching talentless people. and yeah, saying this may seem like im on some type of high-horse, but i just dont condone giving people opportunites that they dont deserve! not everyone can write, and just because some can write does not mean they can recite, and perhaps, even if a person can recite, they can't
SPIT.
everything is not for everybody. so idk. i figure. this...is no longer for me. i aint feeling it. and i aint digging this "poetry scene". i hate scenes. im so low key. i dnt go to venues cuz the hottest dj or photographer is gonna be there. i go there for the artistry. i go there to view the craft of the hard-working artists who wrote something to touch someone.
i used to feel like a lot of the poets wrote things that touched me because they came from a relatable place when they write them, but now its all about...
nothing.
and it sucks. because i am more than nothing. i am all of something, and i kinda think its something that people are beginning to mock because i swear, on more than one occassion, i have seen some bitches jocking my poetry swag. and although i claim to be swag-less, i do feel like everyone has their own poetry swag. no matter how minimalistic.
ppl do shit they never would have done had they not seen ME DO IT.
ppl writing shit they never would have writter had they not seen ME WRITE IT.
ppl spitting in ways they never would have spit had they not seem ME SPIT IT.
so wtf is up with that.
the last promotor i worked for told me not to stress this cause "there's nothing new under the sun", and thats cool and all...cause i dont wanna bask under the son's glory.
i'd rather hide my life...
behind the moon. |
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| its been a long time... |
i shouldnt have left you
without a dope beat to step to
just kidding.
thats just in my head.
but it has been a while since i truly blogged about how i feel.
but...
not today.
or maybe today,
but just not now.
later. |
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Name: Andee.Black
Home: Houston, TX, United States
About Me: mother first. artist second. student by day. guitarist by night. too complex for the masses. & thats how i like it.
my words come from a place that i cant describe. all i can say, is that the place, is pure, beautiful, raw, and real. an oxymoron in its greatest portrayal.
See my profile...
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Brushes by Gvalkyrie
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posted by Andee.Black at 
