Monday, March 30, 2009

dumb it down.

the complexities and harsh realities of my mind stand out in my words. i get that. the gravitational pull that I have on you infringes upon my duty to be politically correct. you infringe on my "politically correctness". when you yank and scream and pull at me out of genuine lust, my response offsets your pleasurable view of me and that's fine. because I'd rather turn you off than allow you to disrespect who I am as a young Black woman. call me stuck up. call me rude. talk about my attitude. call me ugly. to me, it's just more $$$ in the bank. see, i like men. i don't find your jungle like behavior satisfying or amusing. to me, it's down right distasteful.

I despise the argument that young women dress for young men. I can't speak for all young women. but this young woman dresses as she pleases because I like the way I look. I know the concept of individuality and poise are hard for your hormones to grasp so let me break it down for you. I like to be intellectually stimulated but not to the point where I feel like every day I'm talking to my grandfather. I like to be complimented on my beauty and not necessarily my body and not necessarily all the damn time. there's more to me than just a pretty face. yes, I'm demanding. cocky ? not at all. however, I do possess standards. I don't get caught up in the superficial glamour or the idiotic clamor of guys who can't hold their liquor and say and do things that they won't remember the next day. that's okay sometimes. but if that's all you are . . .

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Sunday, March 22, 2009

I lied.

This comes straight from the heart. If you don't understand or don't care, it doesn't matter. This one is strictly for me.

I said I would never write anything else about you. but how can I stop when I can't stop thinking about you. The things we've done and seen can't compare to the way our lives have changed . . . or so I thought. Why are we so much alike that we're so damn different ? Why am I afraid to be without you when you have no fear of life without me ? Is that the only reason why I'm with you ? Is that the only reason I've been looking for happiness in the bottom of a cup or on the blade of a knife ? or in people who don't love me and people who barely care ? I thought that happiness was supposed to come from inside of me. But how when you're inside of me ? How could you have impacted my life so much ? and I feel like I haven't affected you at all. What am I supposed to do ? How am I supposed to feel ? I can't put all of my feelings into one setting. Actually, I'm all over the place. I don't see me in you.

You're far from perfect and so am I. But I love everything about you. I never wanted you to change. But you could only see me as your critic when I've only been your biggest fan. All I want is your understanding. I never wanted to push you away. But I think you're only allotted a certain amount of tears per guy and I feel like the well has run dry.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009


Dear so and so,

you're too busy for me now and that's ok i guess. maybe i am
expecting too much. am i asking for too much ? if not, check no. if so, rip this up and keep it moving. if i said i didn't care, i
would definitely be lying. but that doesn't mean i will continue to feel like a trophy that you polish and shine only around basketball season. maybe that's not how you feel, but i won't defend you. i
won't write you another love song. this is the last thing i will
write about you. i won't give up. but i will stop.

Friday, March 13, 2009

labels or love ?

some people look at the Louis V bags and the Marc Jacobs watches, the Gucci purses and the Prada shoes and see their heart. D&G can't hurt you like Diamond or Garrett can. if you make as much $$$ as you can and spend it before you even see it, you won't have time to think about that pain. you won't have time to remember all of the bruises he left across your face or all the dudes she fxcked while you were sleeping. money can't break your heart like her.

your Fendi purse can hold all of your make-up, wallets, money, pens, cell phones and accessories but it can't even begin to possess the burden of the tears you've cried over and over again. guys come and go but those purses last f o r e v e r. they won't leave you slumped over the toilet without a clue. they won't walk out the door and never come back without even saying goodbye. they're yours. you own them and the only way they can get away is if you throw them away first.

when you pull up your True Religions, they can't give you an STD. they can't make you pay child support or threaten your life. they're the closest thing to your body without even making you break a sweat. they can't make you worry where they're going and who they're with. they can't take advantage of your kindness like her. all you have to do is pick them up and put them away if you don't want them anymore. they won't ever betray you. you take it one leg at a time without jumping in too fast and your relationship is perfect. . . at your own will.

why can we find more loyalty in the shxt we buy than the people we "love" ? how can we love people who we can't trust ? love is funny like that. some things catch your attention, like a beautiful woman with long legs in high heels or a tall dark skinned man with style and class, like a Louis V store in a mall or a sheet of glass filled with possessions that only movie stars can buy. are they one in the same ? maybe.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

party girl.

sex. drugs. alcohol. hookah bars. is that who you are ? your shadow resonates on the wall but your face is still obsolete. i can't take advantage of the corner in which you stand. you grab my hand. who are you ? i close my eyes and touch your lips. it's like a dream. and you're my fix. the bass jumps through my feet and crawls into my veins. all i feel is pain. your disposition is rare. it compliments the shallow soul underneath your hood.

the room is white, the floor is bare. i hear the creak beneath my feet as you rip me apart and tear into my heart. i cry. my vision is clear but you're still blurry. as we rock back and forth, i scream. deliver us from evil. for we have sinned. unzipped and UN-snapped. our faces hardly touch but the moment is still there. you shoot the gun and i take off running into empty space where i can feel the bass again and my knee caps pop and the vibe is whole. please fill this hole. we're almost there. incomplete fulfillment. remnants fly across the room. my eyes are forever shut but i still can feel the bass.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009


needles in her arms invade his boyish charm.
when she fell asleep last night she couldn't set the alarm.
and all along he waited.
but it was all she wanted.
he holds her while she shakes at night
in the club, on the stairs, in his bed.
blank stares, blank apologies, blank checks.
it's all bull fill in the blank.
short hair, big earrings.
pink lip balm.
the lines are drawn and crossed like train tracks
all over her face.
amazing Grace--is what they call her.
what they call free fallin . . .

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Moving Cool

A great man once said "Take off your cool, I wanna see you".

But who doesn't want a cool guy?

I like fly dudes with their flannel plaid shirts, their trash bag vests, their funny colored shoes and their solid color hats. I like how they saunter through the crowd giving daps and hugs, flashing their pearly whites while keeping their face so. . .cool. Is that what I like the most?


But I love fly dudes with their flannel pajama pants, their random t-shirts, their solid color hoodies and their Nike flip flops. I love it cause that's when you know you've peeled back the layers of that facade and found the dude of your dreams. I love it.

So now you're in your hooping shorts and white v-neck, I see you. I notice that you're actually a little shorter without your funny colored shoes and you're a little scrawny without your trash bag vest and your flannel shirt and that your head is weirdly shaped without your solid colored hat.

But you're still cool because when you speak, I hear the sincerity in your tone and the way you laugh is dorky but it's cute and so unique and your hugs are not so phony--they last for 53 seconds and you're just . . . like . . . me.

Cause you hate school but you're a great student and you love math but you hate homework and you're sexy and funny but your heart is so fragile and you're quiet but only when you get around me and you know you can wear glasses or switch back to contacts and you listen to Gucci but you can jam to Dru Hill and you're far from the best but you're nothing like the worst.

yeah, that's cool.