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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

fated flowers.

he doesnt listen to me.
every time i open my mouth to speak
he talks over me and beyond me
he speaks thru me
rather than to me
in attempts to prove his masculinity
and weakened with femininity my tears come

one by one

one by one
then two by two
then ten by ten
i let my tears win and have their way
because they say:
"april's showers bring may's flowers"
and i've cried enough tears this season to put the rain to shame
i've watered the seed of this relationship
until it bloomed and then drowned under the strain of my pain

and luckily now...
its may

but he's fuming like a canine in the midst of summer's heat
and his words lunge at me
like he's sinking his teeth into the depths of my heart
blinded by my emotional beating
only my ears are wide open
because i still cant stand to watch his love depart

so no
i dont see him leave
but i listen as he goes
i hear his feet brush against the carpet
and the loudness of the silence that reminds me that im alone
because the king of my castle
sometimes chooses to depart from his throne

then my
fears bring more tears for the love i have to mourn
and im wondering where all the flowers are
cause all i see are petal-less roses that prick me with their thorns

until my head begins to spin

so now my head is spinning
because as sunny as it is outside
the brightness of our future is once again dimming
cause im in a battle for his love
and im never winning

maybe its because im always forgiving
and somehow forgetting
which has me forever regretting the reopening of my arms everytime he leaves
wondering if he'll ever stay stagnant
or just keep changing like the look of autumn amongst the trees
morphing from a healthy specimen
to a dry & brittle irrelevance
until he falls to the ground into a cold,harsh reality that bites him harder than winter's frost

cause without him
i used to think i'd be lost
but now its his turn to pay the cost for his loss
because desperation is no longer a stench i want to wear
and paying the price
for his past relationships is no longer a burden i want to bear

so now im hotter than houston in july
and im sweating out the agony from all the tears he made me cry
im solidifying the fragments of my heart
that he melted with his angry rays
and instead of trying to water this drought of love with my tears
i'll just help him dig the grave

instead of begging him to stay
i'll pack his bags as he begins to leave
instead pulling on his shirt for him not to go
i'll just cut off all his sleeves
instead of blocking the door so he cant escape
i'll kindly open it for him
so he'll see the smirk on my face

cause now...
he's the one who's crying
shock and stuck with disbelief
that i'd actually help him bury the love that is dying
and his tears cant water this lost love seed
cause its rotten to the core
and the only flowers i need
will be buried at lost love's cemetary
as soon as i close the door.

OPEN MIC NIGHT.

liberation.freedom.beauty.

his image.

so yesterday i cried. HARD. like really hard. idk. i just like...have insecure moments sometimes. i saw that my old love had found a new love, and i called and asked my mom if she thought i was ugly.

of course she said no. but still, i went to bed puffy eyed. i didnt really know why i was sad tho. i dont love him, want him, need him, but i guess...i just dont want him to be happy because i feel like he doesnt deserve it.

ah well. i should pray on that.

anyway, i woke up feeling renewed, and here is a poem to describe the experience:

**********************************
this morning
GOD told me i was beautiful
whispered in my ear
to look in the mirror
tapped on my heart
to feel my soul
gazed into my eyes
so that i could see my reflection

his image.

imperfectly perfect.

he kissed me with the sun.
cooled me with wind
and reminded me that he
was my Creator.

the one who held the brush
against the canvas of my body
the pencil that carved
the etchings into my inner beauty.

no.
no pencil.
because pencils have erasers
to make room for error
and HE
...

HE makes no mistakes.

so yes.
he painted me.
inside and out.

in his image.

perfect.

poisonous ego.

egotistically...im somethin like a serpent
and with these words
i strike down weak ones
just like vermin

i slither onto the scene
sometimes hiding amongst the grass
knowing that my talent speaks for itself
so i dont have to boast or brag

they try to catch me
but their slow
they reach out to grab me
but they fumble
they try to replace me
and debate me
but on the mic they surely stumble

cause i spit poison thru my teeth
as i recite my words with venom
til the audience
is stuck
from the paralysis within them

leaving them to their defeat
i often creep away feeling humble yet bold
while they have become paraplegic to my words
that all come from my poisonous ego.

black man.

im searching for my nubian king
equipped with a mahogany halo
adorning his brow
like an aura of adoration
eyes deep like the wells of my psyche
shoulders broad with arms that are always inviting
feet planted so solid that he seems to be sprouting from the ground
hardly able to move, stir, or make a sound when im around
because he is enraptured by my beauty

his hands are sturdy but smooth
his lips are soft but cool
his words are dignified
as they soothe
and im searching for him

im seeking my midnight dream
or my caramel concocted melody
composed of the hints of melanin within him
and the sun that has kissed him
im looking for he who is the words to the songs i play
the laces to my shoes
that keep me tied tight when my heart wants to stray
the lemon to my aid when im thirsty for love
the ends to my sentences when i dont know what to think of
the raft to my life when i need to be rescued
the brick to my house when i need a place of refuge

im on a hunt for my ebony epiphany
i want to feast on his mind
til his intelligence fulfills me
i want to be enamored by his presence
infatuated with his essence
smitten by his life and all the things he represents
i want to devour him like the delectable creation he is
pull him close to me and indulge in the savoriness of his kiss
gain cavities from his sweetness
til he becomes my addiction
combine him with the perfect ingredients
where i am the secret addition

my nubian king
my midnight dream
my ebony epihpany
my caramel concocted melody
i am on this quest for him
cause to this duty
i am bound
and i'll be looking for him
until
he is ready to be found.

© 2009 by Andee.Blakk

disappear.

a lot of people are saying that lately i have been "quiet" or have "disappeared" but until my number and/or address changes, im still here.

so i dont get the whole,

"where have you been?" thing.

i've been working.
eating.
writing.
and sleeping.

i've slowed down on my shows because they are not what pays the bills, and i figure if something is THAT crucial, if someone wants me to see their performance THAT bad, if its really that serious, ppl will stop complaining about where i've been, and hit me up.

i didnt disappear.

i look in the mirror every morning.

and im still here.

JUNE 21ST!

unpretty.

so i am thinking of doing a piece in either a bra only for a top.
or a t-shirt and no bra
because my stomach and my breasts are my most insecure places on my body.
so yeah.
here is a short piece that kinda talks about that a bit:

************************************
after tonight
i wonder if he'll love me.
i wonder if he'll still view me
as his perfect beauty

now that he has seen my imperfections.

we kissed gently
as i searched for the darkness.
blinds up?
check.
lights off?
check.
curtains drawn together like the wings of an upside down bat covering his face in his most nocturnal state?
CHECK.

but he craved illumination
he wanted to watch my skin glow
he needed to examine our shadows move on the wall
as he honed his lustful skills
inside my flesh

so he lit a candle.

i cringed as he lifted my shirt.
exposing the scars left on my skin from its lack of elasticity.
showing the wounds of the battle my skin fought with my body for 9 months
revealing my skin's most natural defect
the marks of my stretched melanin
covering my belly like a shield.
my body's tarnished armor
after almost a year's combat with the being that brewed inside me.

i winced as he unhooked my bra
and my breast tumbled under the weight of gravity
leaned to the sides of my chest
failed to stand erect like the eighteen year old beauty i used to be
before my breasts served as natural bottles
and swelled and formed milk under the command of a hungry child
spewing warm liquid for ten months
before shriveling and drying
like leaves in the fall
void of moisture
and descending towards my navel
like the collapse of plants in the winter

perhaps i should boast
and be proud of these blemishes
these proofs of my woman's work
my mother's worth
but i am not
and now...

now that he's seen me.
i wonder if he'll still love me.
i wonder if he'll still view me
as that once perfect, now imperfect, beauty.

© 2009 by Andee.Blakk

minute man.

i teased him.
mocked his urgency to have me
laid beside him the still of night
and kept my womanhood to myself
in march
april and may
he proved to be stronger than i had previously assumed.

so in june
i went to him.
"im ready"
is all i cared to say.

we sat and talked.
thickening the air between us
intensifying the intensity that had become us
we anticipated our next move
as our best move.

he took me to his bed.
laid me down on his sheets
crisp enough to be fresh out the package
a courtesy that most men didnt take the time out to consider.

he kissed me
i kissed him back.
allowed my tension to flow out with every breath from my nostrils
the rise and fall of my chest
with my breath
represented my body's yearning for pleasure.

he kissed me in my core.
took me in his mouth like he had been here before.
touched me
caressed me
felt me
met me in a place where i had never been.

i shook.
squirmed.
fought my own satisfaction
before he took my hands
held them
and made me his again.
he became addicted to my waterfall
as i fell into a subconscious state of passion

this was something new.
i saw stars
moons
satellites
epiphanies of orgasms that swarmed me like flies.

he made his way up.
kissing my fleshy folds
embracing my navel
licking my stomach
biting my nipples
and cupping my breasts.

we met.
lips on lips
i tasted my sweetness that had drawn him in.
and i touched him.

led him to my centerpiece
eased him into my birthing canal
released to him a place of warmth
and kissed him as he choked on his breath.

this
was
good.

we danced in the dark
black upon black
we created silouttes that mocked tangos and rambas
he lifted me as tho i was weightless
and before i pressed down upon his manhood...

it was over.
bitter
short
but sweet.

© 2009 by Andee.Blakk

**write**

i havent written in days. im not blocked, just busy.

life seems to do that to me at time.

work,
school,
motherhood.

its sometimes too much on my plate and if i were a camel, taking a breath would be the straw that breaks my back.

im tired. as much as i hate to admit, i often seem to have an S on my chest, but im weak.

so i havent written in days.

im not blocked, just busy.

chasing time & hoping i can catch it. hold it. keep it still for a milisecond. just for a chance to think.

*sigh*

i want to write. i want to transform my thoughts onto a page and let it be a clear tunnel into my soul. i want to express myself through similes and metaphors. i want to compare my life to nature. i want to write. i want to free myself. i just want to be myself.

honestly, i'm tired.

im only human, but often times, i wear so many hats that ppl become consumed by the fact that i can do everything. but i can only do some things.

til im too tired

to do nothing.

but write.

this is me.

i'm going thru a phase where i'm trying to get myself right with GOD, and cleanse my life of a lot of toxicity that i have permitted myself to be, encounter, and endure. even if it means that for the rest of my life, all i will ever have is me & my son. i'm content with that. cause the love of GOD is incomparable. man is just too full of himself to realize it.
so yeah. thats that.

**
this is me.

a five foot two
one hundred and twenty pound
brown-skinned beauty
my acrobatics with my pen
are merely a skill
and not a duty
every line that i write
is an emotion from within me
as i rid my life of negative vibes
and the toxicity that seems to cripple me

im a statue among others who are pretending to be hard
im in a battle with myself
and not afraid to show my scars
on a road to self-destruction
i've chosen to cease my own corruption
even if it means an earthly solitude
to rid myself of outside disruptions

a certified realist
i speak truths even tho they may hurt
im called pathetic for these actions
but im not easily hurt by words
cause oftentimes those who are falsely fulfilled
refuse to see the insecurity that surrounds them
as they constantly seek security
from ill-fitted beings that defoul them

eager to speak their minds
and more eager to close their ears
they ban themselves from hearing
and acknowledging facts
like its a phobia
like its a fear

at times i'm seemingly emotionless
cause most dont know i wear my heart on my sleeve
but in times as these
i'd rather go sleeveless
than be robbed by heart-stealing thieves

so as i change my life
and change my ways
i bare my soul for all to see
cause without a doubt
no matter who's around
i'll proudly proclaim that
this is me.

© 2009 by Andee.Blakk

the air that i breathe.

i have a two year old son.

in case you didnt know.

lol.

Andee.Black

dreams.

i wrote this just because people are always askin how i got started with this new "poetry/singing/guitar" thing, and all i can honestly say is that i went to an open mic night, and got discovered. LITERALLY. i wasnt lookin to be, i was just venting cause my boyfriend broke up with me, but hey, different blessings happen to different people.
so yeah. thats that.
***************************
i was born into a culture
where we perfect our talents for money
reject our companions for something
that quickly divides into nothing

i'm being chased by the masses
to hit up studios and lay tracks
but everybody is neglecting to inform me
that this often involves being asked to lay on my back

but i retract my steps
cause im not searching for fame
i did one open mic night
and now everybody's chanting my name

in a society where everyone is a
rapper
model
singer
or actor
i dont fit into any mold
cause im just a beautiful disaster

and i guess partially
a part of me
is starting to feel bad
cause all my life
all i've ever been equipped with
is a pen and a pad
to express my emotions

and with a swift motion
i stain permanent lines formed from trees with ink
as if it were bloodcoming from my pores and seams

i breathe life onto pages
with alphabetical transformations
i give birth to stanzas and verses
as i contract with daily frustrations

i spit fire onto paper
and spew fuel with my pen
and i ignite my soul with literature
from beginning
until end

i was never meant to perform
and i dont crave the lights or stage
i dont get the rush of adrenaline
that everyone else seems to portray

im content with performing in my living room
and reciting on my bed
im satisfied with singing to my wall
the melodies in my head

i already have a 9 to 5
so i dont really need to extra cash
and im gratified with being sex-less
so im not down for giving up ass

even tho im an artist
things are hardly what they seem
cuz i see
poets
musicians
and writers
constantly chasing a dream
but since this is all i've ever known
its the dream thats chasing me.

green.

i used to call him my yellow and blue
because when i combined the brightness of his mind
when the coolness of his body
it made men green with envy
every quality i had ever looked for
he had plenty
alone like a damsel in distress
he found me
and we quickly
became the epitome
of what a love jones was meant to be

we were infallible
we were compatible
and we were drawn together like bees to honey
like pimps to money
like comedians to funny
like a dunce cap to a dummy
and together
we climbed an eternal ladder towards bliss

his kiss:
made me breathless
his touch:
made me restless
his love:
was so effortless
that he seemed to mock a perfectionist
but that was just him

he made love to my body until i was limping
he words became eargasms
as i became addicted to listening
his comfort was a cloak of warmth that i was permitting
to engulf me

because if his love was flames
then i wanted to burn
and if his love was a teacher
i was eager to learn
if his love was a star
i wanted to be a constellation
and if his love was hurricane
then bring on the devastation
cause like a linear equation
we combined like terms
and the sum of us was a straight path
with no curves or turns

but i digress
because in the midst of our content
these words i did not express

i guarded my heart with brick walls
and cement doors
and i hid my true feelings between steel ceilings
and titanium floors

and for 12 whole months
he tried to fit his way in
and even tho i adored him
part of me was not up for confessing
and as 12 months became 24
we have gone on and parted ways
and now i wonder if he counts the months
the way i have begun to count the days

because the tables
have been turned
my lesson
has been learned
and now
i am forced to walk in his shoes

but with every ounce of my being
if i ever saw him again
i’d never hesitate to say

i’m in love with you.

innocence.

I don’t watch the news while he's awake. For fear that the prevalent disarray in this world will seep into the hollow spaces of his thoughts and cloud his innocent judgment. It saddens me. That although, at this stage in his life, he is carefree, he will one day have to come to terms with the fact that the world outside of my arms is not welcoming him into its own.

Right now, I'm content with the fact the he isn't knowledgeable in the areas of racism, sexism, discrimination, and prejudice. He’s unaware that his abundance of melanin as beautiful as it is, will one day force him to work twice as hard as his paler counterparts, and that the stereotypes he’ll face as a black man in a sea of hate will attempt to bog him down, keep him down, and annihilate him with vengeance. He’s oblivious to the fact that not everyone he will encounter in his life will have his best interest at heart. He’s numb to the pain he’ll experience from the knives positioned in his spine by those who once befriended him. He has no sense of betrayal. He doesn’t know that as quickly as someone asks about his day, they’ll turn the corner, and pray for his demise. He doesn’t have to face the fact that he’ll only be home-schooled because the safe haven that was once a classroom is continuously corrupted again and again and again. He has no clue that the woman he views as his mother, as the epitome of grace from which an abundance of love will always flow, is viewed by some as nothing but a nappy-headed hoe, a gold-digging bitch, or a welfare queen doomed to milk the government of it’s so called…riches.

At this stage of his life, he fears one thing: that I will leave him. In the dead of night, as he lays beside me, and I am awaken by own screaming thoughts, I rise from my bed for my nightly dose of online intoxication, but within minutes I hear the faintest sound: a voice, trembling in fear, and eager for an answer. “Mama...mama?" As though he senses that the beat of my heart is no longer aside his, he awakens from his slumber alone and troubled. I return to our room to find him sitting up, in an abyss of black, arms wide open, eagerly anticipating my return. I lie beside him and wrap my arms around, and as though he was never awoken, he is back asleep. He wraps his arms around me, the best he can, and in that moment, I have achieved the ultimate feat once more: I have preserved his innocence yet again.

deadbeat.

it is with immaculate precision
that i have made the decision
to no longer allow you
to lay eyes on the being
that i have raised from birth

you are unable
unstable
and incapable
of ever formulating the emotions
needed to realize our son’s worth
and if i could ejaculate your sperm
until it ran dry
i’d bottle your liquid children
so they’d never have to cry
i’d harvest your seeds in glass containers
til they crusted over
and there was never a remainder
of the bullet that shot eggs
and left them abandoned
without a male counterpart
and a fatherly companion
i would flush them down the toilet
in a swift and murderous mission
so they’d no longer lay awake at night
crying and praying and wishing
to see ya face again
so they’d never stumble upon your picture
and wonder
“why isn’t daddy my friend?”
if i could suck all of your nut
and pretend to swallow it whole
i’d then spit it into space
and pray that it collapsed into a black hole
i’d vomit it onto a canvas
and paint a picture of fatherhood gone wrong
then hang it in a hall of fame for:
“MEN YOU SHOULD IGNORE WHENEVER THEY HAVE A HARD ON”
so now…
it is with immaculate precision
that i have made the decision
to no longer allow you in our son’s line of vision
cuz he is one of the lonesome ones
constantly crying
constantly praying
constantly wishing for you,
his father,
who is constantly dismissing him.

greek.

i remember when men had to beat each not for pride or glory
but to to see another day with the master they were abhorring
only to then be whipped by their overseer
in attempts to make him a better man
til the blood ran cold
and fell from his hands
and when he fell to his knees
it was not at his own submission
but because he was weak with defeat
and even had to ask permission
to die

yet today’s men
proudly beat each other
to bring meaning to their lives
til their backs are cracked
and their skin turns blue
til they regurgitate from the agony
and collapse from the abuse
til they cry from the torture
yet refuse to beg for it to stop
all to be made a man
or to be seen as a rock

they bend their knees
and bend their might
they bruise their backs
and some even lose their lives
all for this right of passage
all for the glory
without realizing that they could be the latest front page story
of hazing gone wrong
and overuse of power gone bad
of rituals gone awry
and lives that have past
because history has taught them nothing
but to repeatedly tear down their brother
and convince him that in his pain and his suffering
he will one day adversely affect the life of another

BUT HE WON’T.

still they claim to be martyrs of our time
and service our community
but when their union is stemmed from persecution
there is no common unity
they are a disservice to our society
cause their woeful tactics are like a plague
internally corrupting minds
and externally showing a masquerade
of mass proportions
like an ill-fitted fetus
these outdated practices are in need of an abortion.

when their union is stemmed from persecution
how can they possible carry out their duties
cause there is no service to our community
when their organization is based on cruelty

claiming to be alphas and omegas
and other titles of the latter
they have failed to realize
that there is only one alpha and omega that matters

so I cry
and I plead
and I pray for their minds:

GOD show them your way
cause in the darkness they are blind
guide them to your path
and resurrect their minds
feed them your spirit
and your body of bread and wine
cast them out of the past
and bring them here to our time

show them their wrong doing
and the error of their ways
because without you
they have formulated themselves
to be nothing but modern day slaves.

AMEN.

its on the tip of my tongue

and the sound of your voice
the look of your texts
the feeling i get when i see you
evokes it
im trying to hide it
and fight it
but internally im wondering how much longer i can deny it
its how i feel
its hard to say but not so hard to describe
its easy to feel, yet hard to subside
i cant get rid of it
and as time elapses
my courage relapses
and i am unable to speak what needs to be said
my heart
my being
the essence of me
that was once surrounded by positivity
is dead.

because you are toxic
you breathe my air
and release it back as poison
killing me with every word you say
every action you take
and every heinous display
of your ill being
it is only fitting that my
train of thought has been wrecked because of you
and what used to be dreams of tranquility
are now nightmares of life without serenity
its hard to bare

its on the tip on my tongue

because you learn no lessons
yet are quick to judge
you have no morals
yet are eager to maintain a grudge
your values make no sense
your time is ill spent
all the while
im in denial
thinking...
you're not the cause of it
but you are
and thus far i have played your game
never casting towards you the blame
of things gone wrong
but now

its on the tip of my tongue

and now it exhales through the tips of my hands
its soothes because now it is i chooses to reprimand YOU
I LOATHE YOU
i loathe your vile, foul, nature
and your futile behaviors
i loathe your denial of your sins
as though you are an infallible creation
my intense hostility
has boiled, bubbled, and brewed itself to a potent consitency within me
I HATE YOU
i exclaim these truths with the passion of hot summer nights
with the fury of a hungry lion's plight
i am ravenous towards this truthfulness
oh how my disdain for you
has remain secluded for so long
like a caged bird alone in a forest
singing a lone song of redemption
and with these words
i am redeemed
i am esteemed
like a monarch looking out on his trusted regime
i have been vindicated
and like a thief in the night
i have stolen back my joy
i have robbed you of my light
because my positive aura
you had absorbed
the goal is finished
i am tired and worn
but my spirit is no longer diminised

i have won
because through the tips of my hands
i have released the words
on the tip of my tongue.

There is something very...disconcerting to me about adults who do not take care of their business. Something...annoying, yet alarming about people who dismiss their responsibilities and run from their problems.

I dont get it.

As a single mother/college student/software developer, I tend to have a different set of responsibilites of most people my age, yet and still, almost everyone has some sort of responsibilty, and throughout it all...I am still surrounded by those suffering from what I like to call:

"THE SLACKER SYNDROME"

• People who know finals are coming up, but wait til the last minute to bum the review off someone else


• People who claim they are seeking independence yet refuse to save money because they live in the mall
• People who constantly get STD's, refuse to use condoms, and then use their bodies as lethal weapons
• People who sit home and watch TV all day yet complain about being broke and uneducated
• People who know they only have enough gas to get to work but drive around downtown club hoppin and then depend on others for monetary assistance
• Peoplewho register and attend classses just long enough to receive refund checks

Sorry. That just got personal. But I dont understand. What train of thought does a person have to truly have to be so...SLACKERISH, for lack of a better term of course? And to make matters worse, I see this the most in MY people.

BLACK PEOPLE.

And no, its not because I'm only surrounded by black people, but its the truth. Its almost like, some people consider running from a problem the same thing as dealing with it. Or relying on someone else to handle it, is the same thing as solving it. *sigh* Its just saddening. Because there is no way I could no I have things to take care of, yet, choose to concern myself with other, unimportant, trivial matters.

And it seems to me, that these slackers make up a multitude of people suffering from another ailment I have noticed lately:

"The Complainer Curse"

(I'm sorry. This is getting more personal that I initially intended, but I'm just frustrated. People like this are endowed with toxicity and for the life of me, I dont understand how my people went from being the hands, feet, blood, and backs of this country to the ones now sitting, waiting, and wandering around...for a handout. I just want me people to...WAKE UP!!!!!!!)

Although the issues I stated are miniscule amongst the larger scheme of things, they are the formulation of a horrid habit!!!!

What is to become of my generation if not enough of us have the drive and initiative to actually do enough with our lives to contribute to society? Have we not yet grasped the concept that has been engrained into our heads since elementary days...WE ARE THE FUTURE! Yet if the present is indicative of the days to come, the future is undoubtedly grim. How long are some of us going to sit around and watch while everyone else does all the work? While everyone else becomes intelligent, independent, and steadfast in their ventures...what is to become of the multitude of those of us who do not?

Swine Flu is not the pandemic dear friends: SLACKERS ARE.

too many questions...not enough answers.

my car has been in the impound since friday & i cant get it out til tuesday.

great.

whenever stuff like this happens it always take me back to that age old question:

"why do bad things happen to good people"

but as i was talking to a friend he said:

"and what makes you such a good person"

idk.

really i dont.

because in the eyes of GOD i am totally flawed, even through my vague attempts at righteousness. i tend to feel that every time i get a strong grasp on my faith something happens to deter me and make me really questions GOD's role, purpose, and place in my life. its a dauting task. to want to believe in something, someone who you feels fails you.

until of course, you realize, how much you have failed them.

*********************
i seek GOD
but only thru mediocre attempts
as tho i think
he is only half worthy
when it is i
who has proven
to be unworthy
ungrateful
and unmindful of the pain caused by my sins

i am not eager to learn of him
just eager to see him
touch him
as tho he was famous
or worst yet
infamous for his deeds
as if the gift of death from his son
could be seen as such

i pray
not to hear his response
not to gain his insight
but to hear myself speak

i am a selfish soul
hellbound
and without care.

adios.

i lost a friend this week.

someone i loved, admired, and adored because they wanted to "leave me to my confusing life". i must admit that i was taken aback by this but...

life goes on.

i am learning that when people choose to walk away, it is always for a reason. good or bad & whether you like it or dislike it doesnt really matter. there is a reason...and thats what matters. i no longer try to change people's minds or even get them to see my POV. i have decided that once a person's mind is made up...to just let them be.

i know that some ppl see this as me not caring about the person, but...i just see it as me caring more about me.

***************
inner beauty

there is a non-sensical conclusion to this situation
a slight
confusing ending
to this sudden deprivation
of emotion
when your needs
are over shadowed by my wants
and kindness is no longer outweighted by perfection

but im not perfect
i am not sculpted from a flawless
infallible being
i am sinful
full of faults
and in that sense
imperfectly assembled to be a beacon
for whomever chooses to wait for my inner light
to come forth and shine intelligently

because now it blinds those
unworthy of me
so bright
and effervescent
so honest
and compassionate
so foolish.

i am not perfect
because my heart is too kind
but i fear for my solitude
because hearts are not as smart or strong as minds.

too much.

i guess this should have been the first entry

but...oh well.

i write a lot.

too much it seems at times.

im a scatter brain.

so this is my disclaimer.

**********************

she smiles and without words
u enter her soul
she opens her mouth to speak
and the stanzas swallow you whole
enter if you dare
if you are brave
and/or bold.
brace yourself for her...

she is an artist.

today.

i just did something i shouldnt have done. which...of course, i now regret. it just never ceases to amaze me how i can think i've dealt with something & have really gotten over it, but the slightest notion can make me face the reality that i havent.

its cause im a hypocrite i guess.

perhaps, it really is time for me to stop dishing things that i just cant take. but as humans, arent we selfish souls? dont we want for the betterment of ourselves most times? dont we aim to please our own wants & needs over others--without thought most times.

i do.

its not good, but its true.

and for the life of me, i just cant seem to grasp the concept that everything that feels good, just aint good. everything that looks, smells, & tastes like love...aint love. cuz love is about what you feel which is why to me...its amazing. that the one ex i have known for the longest...is the one i am no longer cool with. he is the one who has done me the worst, but yet & still the one i hate to see with anyone else.

why is this?

i thought i fell out of love a long time ago.

********

i sensed that things had come to a close
long before we had shut the door

but perhaps we were afraid of the words
and didnt realize our actions said more

maybe it was hard to say
but somehow not hard to do

to leave without saying goodbye
when you already know its thru.