testing

testing testing

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.