Friday, April 30, 2010
"You remember the man that was in the newspaper last year?"
"No"
"Yeah you do..And they didn't know how to contact his family members because everybody thought that he had none."
"No"
"He was your Dad. He died, and Im so, sooo sorry"
And he kept repeating this over and over again..
"Im so, sooo sorry. Im sorry"
He wasn't upset or sorry, but he wanted me to be sorry. He wanted me to be sad..But how could I be sorry or sad for someone that I didn't know.
"No"
"Yeah you do..And they didn't know how to contact his family members because everybody thought that he had none."
"No"
"He was your Dad. He died, and Im so, sooo sorry"
And he kept repeating this over and over again..
"Im so, sooo sorry. Im sorry"
He wasn't upset or sorry, but he wanted me to be sorry. He wanted me to be sad..But how could I be sorry or sad for someone that I didn't know.
Your Fathers Mistake.
Your Dad left the same year your tits started to develop and your ass started to sprout..
He claimed that he didn't know how to love you, because he didn't even know how to love himself
But how could that be true, when he knew how to love your mother?
When you heard her screaming in the late hours of the night, saying something like,"Unnnnnnnnnnnh. I love this"
So you were sure that he knew how to love
How was it easier for him to love your mother than for him to love you?
When she'd cook him a big breakfast he'd respond, "I love you babe"
When she'd iron his work uniform, he'd praise her..
But it was too hard for him to love you
He didn't know how..
So he left, the same year your tits started to develop and your ass started to sprout.
He claimed that he didn't know how to love you, because he didn't even know how to love himself
But how could that be true, when he knew how to love your mother?
When you heard her screaming in the late hours of the night, saying something like,"Unnnnnnnnnnnh. I love this"
So you were sure that he knew how to love
How was it easier for him to love your mother than for him to love you?
When she'd cook him a big breakfast he'd respond, "I love you babe"
When she'd iron his work uniform, he'd praise her..
But it was too hard for him to love you
He didn't know how..
So he left, the same year your tits started to develop and your ass started to sprout.
Only if You Knew
I can't afford your smile..
It is far too wide and beautiful..
Your fingertips glow in the winter..
Causing the sharp weather to retract from my cheekbones, and cut lines into the sidewalk..
You hold the sun with two fingers..
Not struggling..
Not worried about getting burnt..
Your rib-cage is made of gold..
Which I also, can't afford..
Your toenails are made of bronze penny's..
You saved the penny's from your childhood that your mom said you could do without, but you believed in them, so you kept them..
I wish I could tell you how much I love you..
How when you used to hold me, every inch of my body would turn into warm soup...
How my heart would flutter like a dove
And how my eyes would close, and imagine you inside of me..
Holding my orgasms captive until you felt it was time to let go..
I wish I could tell you how your smile healed the children of Darfur..
How it helps old lady's cross the street and suicide victims hope for a better tommorow..
I wish I could tell you how your lips warmed my clitoris..
Causing a sweet, milky liquid to escape and drizzle down my legs to my toes..
Causing my toes to stick upward, and my mouth to remain open with words stuck in the back of my throat..
I can't afford your knowledge..
It is far to vast and exciting..
Your brain has been places that your penis hasn't and I am grateful for that..
Your brain has fed the starving Ethiopians, clothed the Kenyans, coped with Morrocans and built Egyptian gods..
I wish I could tell you how sweet your saliva smelled when it tapped on my eardrum..
I want you to hold me..
I want you to love me like you used to..
I want you to massage my shoulder-blades and stimulate my pussy..
I want you to love my insides like you used to..
I'm sorry that I can't afford it anymore..
I'm sorry that my ribs are made of wood while yours are made of pure gold..
But please..
Just hold me one more time..
I'd appreciate that.
It is far too wide and beautiful..
Your fingertips glow in the winter..
Causing the sharp weather to retract from my cheekbones, and cut lines into the sidewalk..
You hold the sun with two fingers..
Not struggling..
Not worried about getting burnt..
Your rib-cage is made of gold..
Which I also, can't afford..
Your toenails are made of bronze penny's..
You saved the penny's from your childhood that your mom said you could do without, but you believed in them, so you kept them..
I wish I could tell you how much I love you..
How when you used to hold me, every inch of my body would turn into warm soup...
How my heart would flutter like a dove
And how my eyes would close, and imagine you inside of me..
Holding my orgasms captive until you felt it was time to let go..
I wish I could tell you how your smile healed the children of Darfur..
How it helps old lady's cross the street and suicide victims hope for a better tommorow..
I wish I could tell you how your lips warmed my clitoris..
Causing a sweet, milky liquid to escape and drizzle down my legs to my toes..
Causing my toes to stick upward, and my mouth to remain open with words stuck in the back of my throat..
I can't afford your knowledge..
It is far to vast and exciting..
Your brain has been places that your penis hasn't and I am grateful for that..
Your brain has fed the starving Ethiopians, clothed the Kenyans, coped with Morrocans and built Egyptian gods..
I wish I could tell you how sweet your saliva smelled when it tapped on my eardrum..
I want you to hold me..
I want you to love me like you used to..
I want you to massage my shoulder-blades and stimulate my pussy..
I want you to love my insides like you used to..
I'm sorry that I can't afford it anymore..
I'm sorry that my ribs are made of wood while yours are made of pure gold..
But please..
Just hold me one more time..
I'd appreciate that.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Dead Presidents
"...Fuck you mean life? All this shit I did for this motherfuckin' country & you goin' give me lifeeee?"
Freewrite.
Hope lives in the mouths of 17 immigrants..
Swallowing their words and making love to their tongues
It lives in the crevices of homeless mens toes..In the cracks of their hands and in the creases of their eyelids..
It swims in the toilet bowl of the anorexic model..
It hides in the door of that 8 year old child that listens to his parents arguing at night, instead of soft, sweet music..
Swollen lips and stale breath..It lives in between the teeth of the Pastor..
On top of the hairline of a barber and tucked in the uterus of an old woman, of about 50, who never expected to be pregnant..
In the semen of a 13 year old boy, willing to jerk off in his grandparents bathroom
Hope lives in the whirl-wind of Hurricane Katrina, and the crumbling of Haiti's earthquake..
In the breast of that cancer patient..
In the needle of that heroin attack.
Swallowing their words and making love to their tongues
It lives in the crevices of homeless mens toes..In the cracks of their hands and in the creases of their eyelids..
It swims in the toilet bowl of the anorexic model..
It hides in the door of that 8 year old child that listens to his parents arguing at night, instead of soft, sweet music..
Swollen lips and stale breath..It lives in between the teeth of the Pastor..
On top of the hairline of a barber and tucked in the uterus of an old woman, of about 50, who never expected to be pregnant..
In the semen of a 13 year old boy, willing to jerk off in his grandparents bathroom
Hope lives in the whirl-wind of Hurricane Katrina, and the crumbling of Haiti's earthquake..
In the breast of that cancer patient..
In the needle of that heroin attack.
Day 1 out of 10.
She danced at the party..
Denim fitting loosly over her backside..
Just as loose as her hips moved and her eyes juggled to keep up with everyone in the room..
Just as loose as the braid her Dad put in her hair when Ma was too sick to move..
She looked at the boy behind her..
Looked at how tight his eyes were closed, and how flared his nostrils were, inhaling all the perfumes of the girls that danced in front of him..And making them into one special perfume
Her feet were glued to the floor..
She didn't need them 'cause her hips were walking for her..
She had a new tongue that New York let her borrow..
Nothing like the tongue that she had when she was a foreigner, an outkast, a citizen of the Dominican Republic..
She left the party 2 hours before it ended..With the boy that danced behind her..
She kissed him with her new tongue, tasting 100 different kinds of perfumes
I wonder who gave her that new tongue..
Who taught her how to talk like that and forget her Dominican dialect and accent..
I wonder if the boy with the many perfumes attatched to his tongue tasted her old tongue..
The tongue that held Bachata music, two french braids, and sweet bread...
Denim fitting loosly over her backside..
Just as loose as her hips moved and her eyes juggled to keep up with everyone in the room..
Just as loose as the braid her Dad put in her hair when Ma was too sick to move..
She looked at the boy behind her..
Looked at how tight his eyes were closed, and how flared his nostrils were, inhaling all the perfumes of the girls that danced in front of him..And making them into one special perfume
Her feet were glued to the floor..
She didn't need them 'cause her hips were walking for her..
She had a new tongue that New York let her borrow..
Nothing like the tongue that she had when she was a foreigner, an outkast, a citizen of the Dominican Republic..
She left the party 2 hours before it ended..With the boy that danced behind her..
She kissed him with her new tongue, tasting 100 different kinds of perfumes
I wonder who gave her that new tongue..
Who taught her how to talk like that and forget her Dominican dialect and accent..
I wonder if the boy with the many perfumes attatched to his tongue tasted her old tongue..
The tongue that held Bachata music, two french braids, and sweet bread...
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
My Mother Will ALWAYS Love My Ama. (Based on Warsan Shire's: The Song of Old Lovers)
My mother will always love my father..
She knows that she is beautiful because of my father
As a child, I longed for my parents to get back together
Tugging selfishly at my moms heart, pulling roughly at my dad's arm..
I wanted them to be hand in hand..
Staring at old wedding pictures that never happened and pictures from when mommy was in labor..
I'd tape them to my wall and the desks that sat in my room..
I'd stare at them at night..
I'd say,"Goodnight mommy.Goodnight daddy"..
Indirectly speaking to my mother..
I wouldn't talk to her for weeks - Just the picture..Because I was mad at her decision to not be with my father
Of course then I didn't understand that she'd ALWAYS love him..
I'd pry my ears open, and listen to my mothers rhythmetic voice as she talked on the phone..
Not with someone she loved, but with someone that held her interest..Just as much as Pastor did, or our next neighbor, as she'd tell my mom about the rabbits that tryed to climb in her garden..
Mom didn't care..
And so she'd talk on the phone realllll late at night.
Voice almost faint..Held it at a whisper so that I could hear bits and pieces of the conversation..
She'd joke and laugh
She'd seem happy
But at the time, I didn't know that mother would always love father..
"He's a bum...... Candi loves that man though" she'd say.. giggling.
But little did I know..
Mother would always love father..
He's the reason why she knew that she was beautiful..
He's the reason why she showed her legs that summer he drove to MD to get me..
Some songs will always be my fathers..
Some recipes will always be my fathers..
Some dresses will always be my fathers..
He will always be the first man that showed her how to drive a stick..
Mother will always love father.
She knows that she is beautiful because of my father
As a child, I longed for my parents to get back together
Tugging selfishly at my moms heart, pulling roughly at my dad's arm..
I wanted them to be hand in hand..
Staring at old wedding pictures that never happened and pictures from when mommy was in labor..
I'd tape them to my wall and the desks that sat in my room..
I'd stare at them at night..
I'd say,"Goodnight mommy.Goodnight daddy"..
Indirectly speaking to my mother..
I wouldn't talk to her for weeks - Just the picture..Because I was mad at her decision to not be with my father
Of course then I didn't understand that she'd ALWAYS love him..
I'd pry my ears open, and listen to my mothers rhythmetic voice as she talked on the phone..
Not with someone she loved, but with someone that held her interest..Just as much as Pastor did, or our next neighbor, as she'd tell my mom about the rabbits that tryed to climb in her garden..
Mom didn't care..
And so she'd talk on the phone realllll late at night.
Voice almost faint..Held it at a whisper so that I could hear bits and pieces of the conversation..
She'd joke and laugh
She'd seem happy
But at the time, I didn't know that mother would always love father..
"He's a bum...... Candi loves that man though" she'd say.. giggling.
But little did I know..
Mother would always love father..
He's the reason why she knew that she was beautiful..
He's the reason why she showed her legs that summer he drove to MD to get me..
Some songs will always be my fathers..
Some recipes will always be my fathers..
Some dresses will always be my fathers..
He will always be the first man that showed her how to drive a stick..
Mother will always love father.
I Remember How Lonely Taste.
Lonely tastes like eating dinner for two..With only one person.
Like frozen marmalade with chick peas and the vegetable that you HATED to eat as a child, but your mother ALWAYS made you..
Lonely tastes like cold sheets and no sex for 7 years.
Lonely tastes like being drunk ---- with no one there and bad liquor.
Lonely tastes like a word that you can't pronounce and a rhythm that you can't catch.
Lonely tastes like white men playing basketball and Asian girls playing double-dutch.
Lonely tastes like dry-wall and drive-way pavement
Lonely tastes like a wooden heart shoved in an ice-box.
I remember how lonely tastes.
Like frozen marmalade with chick peas and the vegetable that you HATED to eat as a child, but your mother ALWAYS made you..
Lonely tastes like cold sheets and no sex for 7 years.
Lonely tastes like being drunk ---- with no one there and bad liquor.
Lonely tastes like a word that you can't pronounce and a rhythm that you can't catch.
Lonely tastes like white men playing basketball and Asian girls playing double-dutch.
Lonely tastes like dry-wall and drive-way pavement
Lonely tastes like a wooden heart shoved in an ice-box.
I remember how lonely tastes.
When He Forgets To Tell You That He Loves You
When he forgets to tell you that he loves you...
Forget to fix him breakfast.
Forget to give him oral pleasure, and forget that the "pussy is his".
When he forgets to tell you that he loves you..
Forget his name..
Because if you don't..You'll forget yours.
Forget to fix him breakfast.
Forget to give him oral pleasure, and forget that the "pussy is his".
When he forgets to tell you that he loves you..
Forget his name..
Because if you don't..You'll forget yours.
My grandmother.
My grandmother was a brown woman who hated cats..
Who had a deep arch in her back, and dimples underneath of her cheeks..
My grandmother was a secretive woman..
With short hair, and an even shorter attention span..
My grandmother's laugh resembled that of honey..
Long, over-drawn,sweet and slow...
You'd almost wait for it to end..
But you didn't quite want it to..
My grandmother's palms were hard..
She'd tease that she had the palms of a man..
That God knew she'd be a druggie, so he gave her hard hands to roll better j's - Like the men.
My grandmother's first boyfriend was named Jay..
Like the weed.
He'd taught her how to smoke, fuck, and talk properly..
He'd taught her how to get higher than the moon, and forget that she had children..
My grandmother's feet were soft as rose petals..
She'd teased that God gave her soft feet because he had given her hard hands..
My grandmother was named Gwendolyn.
Who had a deep arch in her back, and dimples underneath of her cheeks..
My grandmother was a secretive woman..
With short hair, and an even shorter attention span..
My grandmother's laugh resembled that of honey..
Long, over-drawn,sweet and slow...
You'd almost wait for it to end..
But you didn't quite want it to..
My grandmother's palms were hard..
She'd tease that she had the palms of a man..
That God knew she'd be a druggie, so he gave her hard hands to roll better j's - Like the men.
My grandmother's first boyfriend was named Jay..
Like the weed.
He'd taught her how to smoke, fuck, and talk properly..
He'd taught her how to get higher than the moon, and forget that she had children..
My grandmother's feet were soft as rose petals..
She'd teased that God gave her soft feet because he had given her hard hands..
My grandmother was named Gwendolyn.
Job Interview today at 3
So that I can pay for school..
Because that's where I need to be right now.
Honestly, what "she" said to me yesterday HURT.
But I needed that extra nudge..
I needed that shit talking, to be motivated.
I can do this.
I'm not alone.
I don't believe in pulling out loans, but this is what I have to do.
& Then pay for the rest out of pocket - & get some scholarships.
Soo, thanks for that.
Thanks for being my motivation.
I'm going to be a writer one day - And you, my friend..Will be reading my shit.
Because that's where I need to be right now.
Honestly, what "she" said to me yesterday HURT.
But I needed that extra nudge..
I needed that shit talking, to be motivated.
I can do this.
I'm not alone.
I don't believe in pulling out loans, but this is what I have to do.
& Then pay for the rest out of pocket - & get some scholarships.
Soo, thanks for that.
Thanks for being my motivation.
I'm going to be a writer one day - And you, my friend..Will be reading my shit.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
We Fucked With Our Tongues
We had phone sex...
Intricately flicking our tongues over stolen instrumentals..
Erykah Badu and Jay Dilla playing in the background..
We fucked with our tongues..
Over the phone...
You spit that
And I spit something to match with it..
Fucked with our tongues..
Talked about the rising of Obama, Michael Jordan, and your penis..
Fucked with our tongues..
We discussed shit that the government wouldn't have liked..
Climbing hills with our mind..
Holding hands with our hearts..
We fucked with our tongues..
And for a second, I thought I heard a faint moan when I asked for your opinion on Erykah Badu's "Window Seat" video..
'Told me you wanted a Window Seat..
'Told me that you hated sitting next to strangers, selling their muslim oils, and their ragged bodys.
We fucked with our tongues..
You ate my words, as I sucked yours..
Your words were spiritual..
Had me in a daze..
Your words hit my eardrum like icecream hitting hot pavement on a summer day..
Except I wasn't that little girl that was sad or hurt that her icecream fell..
I enjoyed it.
I licked it..
Fucked it wit' my tongue...
We fucked with our tongues as we rejoiced Lauryn Hill's future come back
And pretended to be Wyclef Jean..
Fucked with our tongues, and didn't even allow the word love to slip out once..
I like when you fuck me with your tongue
When we talk about the stars that never made it to the sky..
About the sun that never rises and the moon that never comes out to play.
Intricately flicking our tongues over stolen instrumentals..
Erykah Badu and Jay Dilla playing in the background..
We fucked with our tongues..
Over the phone...
You spit that
And I spit something to match with it..
Fucked with our tongues..
Talked about the rising of Obama, Michael Jordan, and your penis..
Fucked with our tongues..
We discussed shit that the government wouldn't have liked..
Climbing hills with our mind..
Holding hands with our hearts..
We fucked with our tongues..
And for a second, I thought I heard a faint moan when I asked for your opinion on Erykah Badu's "Window Seat" video..
'Told me you wanted a Window Seat..
'Told me that you hated sitting next to strangers, selling their muslim oils, and their ragged bodys.
We fucked with our tongues..
You ate my words, as I sucked yours..
Your words were spiritual..
Had me in a daze..
Your words hit my eardrum like icecream hitting hot pavement on a summer day..
Except I wasn't that little girl that was sad or hurt that her icecream fell..
I enjoyed it.
I licked it..
Fucked it wit' my tongue...
We fucked with our tongues as we rejoiced Lauryn Hill's future come back
And pretended to be Wyclef Jean..
Fucked with our tongues, and didn't even allow the word love to slip out once..
I like when you fuck me with your tongue
When we talk about the stars that never made it to the sky..
About the sun that never rises and the moon that never comes out to play.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Gang Starr - Moment Of Truth (Rest In Peace Guru 1966-2010)
RIP Guru - My love goes to the Elam family. (my teacher)
Ranting And Random Shit About Me
..... Im kind of obssessed with my face.
...... My favorite colors are the ones that look good on me - Royal blue & peach.
............. Im glad that my mom didn't sleep with that black dude & chose the Filipino.
.. I drink dark as coffee because Ima cliche' ass writer. That dark ass coffee makes me feel OLD.
.... I am Old.
.. I have Lots and Lots of Bffs & I use them for different shit.
.......I live in Huntsville, AL. Huntsvegas my niggaaaaaaa :)
..My boyfriend is my best friend is my brother.
...... My favorite colors are the ones that look good on me - Royal blue & peach.
............. Im glad that my mom didn't sleep with that black dude & chose the Filipino.
.. I drink dark as coffee because Ima cliche' ass writer. That dark ass coffee makes me feel OLD.
.... I am Old.
.. I have Lots and Lots of Bffs & I use them for different shit.
.......I live in Huntsville, AL. Huntsvegas my niggaaaaaaa :)
..My boyfriend is my best friend is my brother.
4/20, Weed Smoking, Sasquatch, Bob Dylan Parody Music Video ...
Even Cartoon Characters Get High- Enjoy your 4/20 Losers.
I'm that girl that grew up..
Literally.
I know this sounds SO cliche'..and you're like,"Duh, everyone has to grow up.."
But I'll make this better for you..
I'll ellaborate - sorta.
Im that girl that grew up.
Im that girl, who two years ago, cared more about what people thought about me..Im that girl who use to OBSSESS over being the center of attention..
Im that girl who used to do stupid shit JUST so people could look at me..
Dance stupid, talk stupid, and act stupid..
Im that girl who used to dress stupid, so that people could pay attention to my face & remember it..
Im that girl who changed her name to Candace - with no legal assistance (Paha).
Yup, I did it on my own..
The summer that I met my lovely boyfriend Chris, I changed my name to Candace, because I always thought it was a cool name, my middle name is Candi, and frankly, I was sick of having an old name (Gwendolyn)
Im the girl that grew up because I no longer tell people my name is Candace..
I embrace my grandmothers name that was passed down to me..
C'mon son..I was even telling TEACHERS my name was Candace..
Half of my teachers from highschool don't even know my real name..
Im that girl that grew up..
Im more serious than ever.Im no longer goofy. I no longer dance or make myself look stupid
Why ?
Cus Im that girl that grew up.
I know this sounds SO cliche'..and you're like,"Duh, everyone has to grow up.."
But I'll make this better for you..
I'll ellaborate - sorta.
Im that girl that grew up.
Im that girl, who two years ago, cared more about what people thought about me..Im that girl who use to OBSSESS over being the center of attention..
Im that girl who used to do stupid shit JUST so people could look at me..
Dance stupid, talk stupid, and act stupid..
Im that girl who used to dress stupid, so that people could pay attention to my face & remember it..
Im that girl who changed her name to Candace - with no legal assistance (Paha).
Yup, I did it on my own..
The summer that I met my lovely boyfriend Chris, I changed my name to Candace, because I always thought it was a cool name, my middle name is Candi, and frankly, I was sick of having an old name (Gwendolyn)
Im the girl that grew up because I no longer tell people my name is Candace..
I embrace my grandmothers name that was passed down to me..
C'mon son..I was even telling TEACHERS my name was Candace..
Half of my teachers from highschool don't even know my real name..
Im that girl that grew up..
Im more serious than ever.Im no longer goofy. I no longer dance or make myself look stupid
Why ?
Cus Im that girl that grew up.
Scarface School Play
Fucking HILARIOUS - They're doing Scarface for a school play. My boyfriend would appreciate this youtube clip.This is his fave movie. Paha
Here.
Here you go..
I know it aint much, but here..
I don't have money for you, an expensive car, or a ring..
But I can unfreeze your cold heart..
Yes, I can..
Here you go..
Take it..
I know it aint much but I can make you feel alive again..
I can make you smile, I can make you laugh..
Here you go..
I know it ain't much, but there aint enough money or gold in the world for you
So Im giving you this..
Its a promise..
Open it up..
My promise to you...
That I will NEVER leave you..
Here you go..
I know it aint much, but here..
I don't have money for you, an expensive car, or a ring..
But I can unfreeze your cold heart..
Yes, I can..
Here you go..
Take it..
I know it aint much but I can make you feel alive again..
I can make you smile, I can make you laugh..
Here you go..
I know it ain't much, but there aint enough money or gold in the world for you
So Im giving you this..
Its a promise..
Open it up..
My promise to you...
That I will NEVER leave you..
Here you go..
Monday, April 19, 2010
My Man (monologue)
I don't tell you how pretty you are everyday, because you KNOW that you're pretty
I see the way those guys look at you..
I see the way they stare in your eyes - And you let them..
Why do I need to tell you that you're pretty?
Don't you have ENOUGH people telling you that?
Oh, I see what it is.. You a little vain muthufucka'
You want me to tell you that you're pretty so they can laugh?
Huh?
So you can throw it in my face?
*chuckles*
See , I aint that type of nigga
I aint got TIME to be sitting in your face, dwellin' on how pretty you are..
Do you ever tell me that Im handsome?
*chuckles*
Yeah , you do but you dont mean that shit..
You don't want to be with me..
Baby..
I aint telling you that you're beautiful
I aint bout to sit up here and tell you how I know there is a God because you're in my life..
How I thank Him EVERYDAY cause I know that Ima have pretty kids..
I aint about to sit up here and tell you that when we argue..
I stare at your face..
Because you are gorgeous..
I aint about to tell you that the reason Im NOT goinna tell you you're pretty is because you goin leave me..
You goin start realizing how pretty you are and how ugly I am..
I see the way those guys look at you..
I see the way they stare in your eyes - And you let them..
Why do I need to tell you that you're pretty?
Don't you have ENOUGH people telling you that?
Oh, I see what it is.. You a little vain muthufucka'
You want me to tell you that you're pretty so they can laugh?
Huh?
So you can throw it in my face?
*chuckles*
See , I aint that type of nigga
I aint got TIME to be sitting in your face, dwellin' on how pretty you are..
Do you ever tell me that Im handsome?
*chuckles*
Yeah , you do but you dont mean that shit..
You don't want to be with me..
Baby..
I aint telling you that you're beautiful
I aint bout to sit up here and tell you how I know there is a God because you're in my life..
How I thank Him EVERYDAY cause I know that Ima have pretty kids..
I aint about to sit up here and tell you that when we argue..
I stare at your face..
Because you are gorgeous..
I aint about to tell you that the reason Im NOT goinna tell you you're pretty is because you goin leave me..
You goin start realizing how pretty you are and how ugly I am..
On Nights Like This.
On nights like this, I rejoice the fact that I'm sleeping alone.
...And then I hate it.
Although, I don't have to share any covers or leg space.. I have no one to hold me..
I dream of you..
Touching me..
Your breath staining the insides of my ear, as you whisper sweet somethings..
Your legs..intertwined with mine..
Your toes kissing my toes..
On nights like this, I pretend..
That you are here, laying next to me..
Your hair, covering my hair..
The love below pressing up against the bottom of my spine..
On nights like this, I pretend that you are here..
I hold myself tightly..
My 115 lbs being suffocated by your t-shirt
You can longer see me..
Just my bones, and my hair, and what was..
On nights like this, I don't close my eyes until the morning..
I fall off of the bed, because my dream becomes SO hectic..
And this is when I realize that you are no good for me..
When I hit the floor with a "thump"
I realize that I was having a nightmare..I dream no longer.
...And then I hate it.
Although, I don't have to share any covers or leg space.. I have no one to hold me..
I dream of you..
Touching me..
Your breath staining the insides of my ear, as you whisper sweet somethings..
Your legs..intertwined with mine..
Your toes kissing my toes..
On nights like this, I pretend..
That you are here, laying next to me..
Your hair, covering my hair..
The love below pressing up against the bottom of my spine..
On nights like this, I pretend that you are here..
I hold myself tightly..
My 115 lbs being suffocated by your t-shirt
You can longer see me..
Just my bones, and my hair, and what was..
On nights like this, I don't close my eyes until the morning..
I fall off of the bed, because my dream becomes SO hectic..
And this is when I realize that you are no good for me..
When I hit the floor with a "thump"
I realize that I was having a nightmare..I dream no longer.
My mother never taught me how to talk to boys..
How to sex a boy..
Or how to seduce the one you love..
My mother focused on teaching me how to respect my elders..
How to set the table for Thanksgiving, and how to articulate my words..
My mother forgot to teach me how to tell if a boys interested in you..
Or how to tell if a boy LOSES interest in you..
She forgot the other things..Like, how to cook for your husband, and make sure that it's perfect..
How to tell if you're pregnant..
How NOT to get pregnant.
We never had sex talks..
Boy talks..
Or grown-up talks..
She never put me on birth control, because she was in denial..
And although, I'm 20 years old now..We keep our conversations simple and short..
My boyfriends name does NOT come up in the conversation..
We are not to talk about him, my sex life, or what I cook for him when he gets off of work..
My mother never bought me condoms, or camasutra books..
My mother never bought me lace tops, or short skirts..
My mother taught me how to iron my shirt properly..and what kind of materials to put in the cleaners..
She taught me how to worship God, and how to speak in tongues..
My mother forgot to teach me how to raise a child..
Or how to cook for someone other than myself..
How to make kool-aid, because according to Dianna, "Koolaid is the devils drink. Sugar is f the devil"
My mother taught me how to be flattering..
My mother never taught me how to be sexy..
...And so Im awkward.
My mother taught me how to love her.
But never taught me how to love him.
...And so Im struggling.
My mother taught me how to cross the street
But never taught me how to look both ways in my relationship
...And so I got hit - on multiple occassions
My mother never taught me that if a man turns his cell-phone off EVERY time he's with you..he's hiding something or someone
My mother taught me that appearance is everything, but she never taught me that there are two different types of appearances..
The ones that men think are beautiful, and the ones that we think are beautiful
My mother taught me that the ones that never show that they love you, love you the most
But she also said that if he doesn't show that he loves you -- kick his ass to the curb
My mother taught me that girls are supposed to hang with girls..and the girls that DO hang with boys are whores..They get pregnant, they have multiple baby-daddys, and they end up on welfare
But she never taught me how not to be that girl..
My mother taught me how to set a table for dinner and how to pick out quality shoes
But she never taught me how to pick out a quality man.
How to sex a boy..
Or how to seduce the one you love..
My mother focused on teaching me how to respect my elders..
How to set the table for Thanksgiving, and how to articulate my words..
My mother forgot to teach me how to tell if a boys interested in you..
Or how to tell if a boy LOSES interest in you..
She forgot the other things..Like, how to cook for your husband, and make sure that it's perfect..
How to tell if you're pregnant..
How NOT to get pregnant.
We never had sex talks..
Boy talks..
Or grown-up talks..
She never put me on birth control, because she was in denial..
And although, I'm 20 years old now..We keep our conversations simple and short..
My boyfriends name does NOT come up in the conversation..
We are not to talk about him, my sex life, or what I cook for him when he gets off of work..
My mother never bought me condoms, or camasutra books..
My mother never bought me lace tops, or short skirts..
My mother taught me how to iron my shirt properly..and what kind of materials to put in the cleaners..
She taught me how to worship God, and how to speak in tongues..
My mother forgot to teach me how to raise a child..
Or how to cook for someone other than myself..
How to make kool-aid, because according to Dianna, "Koolaid is the devils drink. Sugar is f the devil"
My mother taught me how to be flattering..
My mother never taught me how to be sexy..
...And so Im awkward.
My mother taught me how to love her.
But never taught me how to love him.
...And so Im struggling.
My mother taught me how to cross the street
But never taught me how to look both ways in my relationship
...And so I got hit - on multiple occassions
My mother never taught me that if a man turns his cell-phone off EVERY time he's with you..he's hiding something or someone
My mother taught me that appearance is everything, but she never taught me that there are two different types of appearances..
The ones that men think are beautiful, and the ones that we think are beautiful
My mother taught me that the ones that never show that they love you, love you the most
But she also said that if he doesn't show that he loves you -- kick his ass to the curb
My mother taught me that girls are supposed to hang with girls..and the girls that DO hang with boys are whores..They get pregnant, they have multiple baby-daddys, and they end up on welfare
But she never taught me how not to be that girl..
My mother taught me how to set a table for dinner and how to pick out quality shoes
But she never taught me how to pick out a quality man.
I Have the Most Beautiful Pair of Eyes.
My eyes speak a language that I do not..
My eyes touch shit, that my hands cant..
My eyes listen..
When my ears wont..
I have the most beautiful pair of eyes..
My eyes are black.. Fuck science and there browns..
My eyes walk places that my feet cant..
My eyes sing, my eyes dance
And though they never cry...My eyes hurt.
And this is when they're most beautiful..
I have the most beautiful pair of eyes..
My eyes take pictures better than your camera..
My eyes are sometimes lonely..
My eyes sometimes needs a soulmate..Someone to stare into them..
I have the most beautiful pair of eyes..
When I blink..
My eyes look like mini-clocks..
My eyes tell time..
My eyes tell the future..
Damn, I have the most beautiful pair of eyes.
My eyes touch shit, that my hands cant..
My eyes listen..
When my ears wont..
I have the most beautiful pair of eyes..
My eyes are black.. Fuck science and there browns..
My eyes walk places that my feet cant..
My eyes sing, my eyes dance
And though they never cry...My eyes hurt.
And this is when they're most beautiful..
I have the most beautiful pair of eyes..
My eyes take pictures better than your camera..
My eyes are sometimes lonely..
My eyes sometimes needs a soulmate..Someone to stare into them..
I have the most beautiful pair of eyes..
When I blink..
My eyes look like mini-clocks..
My eyes tell time..
My eyes tell the future..
Damn, I have the most beautiful pair of eyes.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
When Rain Fall, It Don't Fall on Just One Mans House
My mother carried me on her hip until I was 5 years old..
She couldn't afford a stroller, and she was scared to put me down..
Said if she put me down, I might stray off..
She enjoyed the attachment
She enjoyed the way I smelled, when I placed my head on her bosom..
She enjoyed the way it felt -- the protection, that sense of security.
My mother didn't allow me to talk to boys, until I was 18 years old..
And even still, it wouldn't be boys my age.
It'd be boys that were 5 years younger than me.
She said, I could learn from them..
They could teach me things..
They could strengthen my memory, so that I could remember when I was 13 years old..
My mother didn't allow me to think on my own, until I was 20 years old..
She said that her brain was more capable than mine..
So she held my brain hostage..
Kept it in her safe..
The one with her dildo and pictures of my Dad.
She couldn't afford a stroller, and she was scared to put me down..
Said if she put me down, I might stray off..
She enjoyed the attachment
She enjoyed the way I smelled, when I placed my head on her bosom..
She enjoyed the way it felt -- the protection, that sense of security.
My mother didn't allow me to talk to boys, until I was 18 years old..
And even still, it wouldn't be boys my age.
It'd be boys that were 5 years younger than me.
She said, I could learn from them..
They could teach me things..
They could strengthen my memory, so that I could remember when I was 13 years old..
My mother didn't allow me to think on my own, until I was 20 years old..
She said that her brain was more capable than mine..
So she held my brain hostage..
Kept it in her safe..
The one with her dildo and pictures of my Dad.
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