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This Introspective Language.

Quieter than a whisper
Far more solemn than a ballad
These interactions within myself
Quietly so, solemn so.
I was once asked
What language we speak
Both me and I, when we converse and…
I cant truly say I know
Because I don’t see myself uttering words
Telepathically, you may say,
I just say a hello
And I know, without a doubt, that myself too, is responding…

“hey ma’am, how you been since the last time we ‘seen?”

*Impending discussion*

One can only hope
That the tongue remains
The heart’s messenger
And that it relates
Verbatim
The queen’s words.

Time will tell then,
What will be said
What is felt
In the heart
Where I wish to be
My world.

Death to the Follicles!

If every woman decided not to shave her pubes
Would every heterosexual male get disgusted?
Would he get to chasing her around, with a razor, yelling
“death to thy follicles”?
Would he
In an attempt to please himself
In an attempt to have a muse, a rhythmic being to stroke himself to,
Shave HIS pubes, turn autosexual, and love himself down?
Would he?
Scrub get tubes of Nairs and layer his legs
Protest!
Scream on top of his lungs, for fairness?!
Would he, though?
I wonder…
Only God knows for sure,
But something tells me, he’d be hysterical, Act out,
Pull the disgusting card
And eventually, in the thick of the night
When he’s ready to calm the fuck down
When his dick gets restless, rigid, and warm
He’d come banging on her hairy pube’s door.
8:43pm September 28 2011

Writer's block :(

I need a muse.

Summer 2011: The summer of `~*jewels*~`

I raided Afrofest stalls and a new retro jewels store I just stumbled on.

...Pic's 'a comin ;)

Give it here.

"Am sorry. Forgive me"
"What for?"
*long pause*
"Nevermind"


Something about apologies, makes my love come down.

Give it back.
Come again.
Give it back.

Or I just might have to make you sorry, and have to apologize all over again.

Something about apologies makes me want to go to bed.

Give it here.
Make it last.
Say it now.

Or I just might do something crazy, and make you beg me for my mercy.

30/06/2011

ThE inDePENdent WomAN

Independence.

The independent woman.

She pays her bills. All by herself.
Speaks her mind, as she pleases.

She gets going when the going gets tough.

She just always knows how to put it together.

Every man, wants her.
You'll probably find her in a music video, looking fly as ever, making you wish your woman was her... making your lady feel as though she now has an idol...someone to aspire to be.

Independent woman. She'll be there to make your meals, fix the kids up, AND be ready to make the bangest love at sundown, sun-up, and possibly anytime in between.

She'll be flexible enough for all the positions, and to her, you'll be the world.

If ever or when you get down, she'll be your sheet of bounty; your quicker picker upper, cleaning the mess that you happened to be, wiping your tears away, and best yet, not ever, spilling the beans on just how much of a cry baby you can be sometimes.
Hey, she is independent, right? So no need to tell friends about all the little things that goes on between you two.

The poet in me

This past month, has been quite eventful. So much so in fact, that I found myself thinking up words to write on here, on several occassions. However, I have also been so busy, that getting down to writting them, has been almost impossible.

Truth is though, some things are just better left unsaid, and some of the ones that came to mind, I just didnt want to have documented.

So instead, I ignore the feeling that dares me to grab a pen, and I just move on to the next thought instead.

The poet in me, is about to be given a voice. I feel it coming. I feel it coming.

Turquoise is the color of my Heys carry-on luggage

Tuurqoise-blue is the color of my Heys carry-on luggage
You are just about to realize this
Pink is the color of the lipstick I rock on my liberation days

I wear green everyday but days like today
And yesterday, if I had known the kind of punch that'd be thrown, I would've rocked my black jeans and yellow T since I like to sting like a bee

You wouldnt be any close by to help me pick my copper colored nickels off the floor, by any chance, would you?
True-say even if you were, you'd be too tall to bow down

See my toes? Red nail polish like the fire I felt feel felt and likely will continue feeling
The beautiful thing about feelings is that they are subjective, and anyone can make one up out of anything
You need no $ to have a feeling
Chances are, you're likely to feel when you dont have much $

Lets go back to the color of my locks all shades of brown and counting
You are likely to notice the one strand carefully crocheted at the back of my head as I slap on some pink lipstick, leave you my black n yellow T, and storm out the door with my turquoise-blue. Carry-on.

You believe it too

I shut off my TV, logged off those pages, crabbed a bowl, and got some milk in my cereal.
Determined to take no part in the delusion that you are what I should aspire to be as, I shut you off.
You do not have my consent to make me feel like I am a follower of yours.
I simply refuse.
This is no sheep and herder sort of relationship that we keep long distance-ly in our ever-so-one-way lop-sidedly contrived love.

It isnt.

You are no ALLAH, not my Ghandi, you ArE not Jesu Kristi or that six-limbed God the hindus serve. You do not make water, you breathe air but cannot manufacture it. You cannot fly un-aided, you are NO diety.

Yet, people, watch, listen, gaze, and breathe you in. In awe. Starry-aspiration-eyed as if to say that without you, they cannot dream.
You believe it too.
You are wrong.

I packed up my slippers and wont look back as I stomp out the yard. You will not make me feel less than I was when chance, linked us.

I am humbled by the experiences... watching you live so loud. Laughing out loud, and though its aloud, I must say your cry for recognition is sad.

Humility never was your greatest attribute.

Yet, people, watch, listen, and gaze at you. In awe. Starry-aspiration-eyed as if to say that without you, I cannot have joy.
You believe it too.
You are wrong.

Freedom...

...is sexy.

What one flat ass said to the other.

To the folks who are written within this:

This is for..all these females out there who

-have been asked if they really were black because their backsides were too tiny. Way too tidy.
-whose beauties diminished once they grew old enough to realize that a black woman's beauty is always behind her. Yes, you know what am talking about.
-who have ever said to another "at least i have something, your ass is concaved-in" since its a dog diss dog world out there.
- who spends a considerably great mount of time, feeling like she lackswholeness.
-can walk into any given room at any moment and within 5 minutes, tell you the butt size of every single woman in that room. She brings with her into every situation this question of her goodness...of greatness or best yet, her 'good-enough-ness'.
-who obsessively watches her back since she figured, the whole world must be watching it for lack of its presense.
-who feels too stiffled to speak, too shameful to say it yet lives it too vividly to ignore it.
-who knows just what Claudia was feeling.

Who may have contemplated what she did. Silly though it is, it is no suprise.

Who wants to be the forgotten? Who wants to be seen as a defective being?
We'd all like to be made whole.

I'm just saying though... from one "concaved-ass-woman" to another, I totally, totally, feel you.

You(I), are a victim of a deeply superficial time. A victim of nothingness. Of lips with no voices, of eyes without sights. You, are a victim of a time of words that mean nothing. Meaningless. Empty.

You are to feel shame when you cannot be used as a free sex tool to which men, women, and these days, kids too, can go home to jerk off to. You, do not offer the world what they can fuck without even touching you. Sorry but your arms isnt sexual enough to bust a nut to... and apparently, neither is your butt. And well, your brain? Who on earth wants to give that a crack? Who wants to hear what you have to sare? How DaRE you wish to be recognized for your beauty? How DARE you wish to be considered "good" enough when well, you do not symbolize femininity. Thus, you are not their "it" girl.

Lets shift our thoughts for a second; from us, to these people who I'm calling "they". The "none-us"es; THEM.

Them that have been fed this illusion of what makes a woman. Yes, them. Just for a second.

And done.

I guess we all have been "fed" one thing or another. Been... misinformed one way or another.

And back:
To the folks who have NO choice BUT to re-feed themselves the truth, I urge you to re-educate yourselves in what it is what makes you whole. You are whole. You were MADE whole. Lack of a 2-pound weight attched to the back of your hips does not make you less of a feminine being.

You are whole.

Hey, this is getting long... am just saying. From one "flatass" to another, you are still a woman.
Sincerely,

.

Stop time on time in time.

You can hold it, ask it to take a breather, have a sit and have it do nothing.
You can run it, or let it run you and have you trying to catch up to it and maybe if you’re lucky you may even make it.
You can.
Ask time to stop.
It will keep ticking, for everyone else while you go ahead and retrace your steps...
Going back in time isn’t something technology can afford to offer us yet some of us are living the retro travels each minute
Like me.
Maybe you?
Who knows, maybe you too.
Its one thing to let it stop for you... the boredom kills, you start to feel like you’re in some sort of a space mill.
Drugged on dreams, drunk on regrets and anger of knowing that even when you resume, you’ll still be as behind as the length of time you stopped the time.
It cant ever be thesame, but... well, but... the other option was not going to be a breeze.
Today, I feel like I have retraced my steps. Today, I feel like my errors, have been undone. I feel redeemed. Though I still have regrets, instead of regreting where I am, I am regreting not stoping time in time on time. Still, I thank God that my efforts have not been in vain. Thank God for a great family, great friends and an even greater drive. I am stronger than the sum of my parts. Thank God that God isnt spiteful because I truly, dont deserve this. I'm so blessed.

Finally, I am right where I left off.