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.