He said
“Ay Yo Shay…Why you walk like that?”
and I paused…..
Back straight,
shoulders lowered and back.
I walk like…..
I walk like I can’t be broken though my cracks are clearly visible
to anyone who dares to look close enough.
Intertwining to weave my history into my skin…
Run your fingers down my forearms,
see if you can feel my sacrifices.
Linger at my wrist and you’ll find scares that resemble those of He
who was nailed and hung from parallel trees.
I’ve been crucified
multiple times,
just in different formations…
Age 18,
arms cuffed behind back.
Faced pushed against hood.
Penalized because the melanin in my skin made me fit the description of guilty.
My skin tone mimics molasses,
which must mean my fingers are sticky.
Age 15,
body pressed against his living room wall.
Right arm locked behind my back.
Left arm pinned to my side by wall,
and his body weight.
Hair gripped tight in fingers.
Head yanked back,
he said that he’d be damned if I left him…
and then he told me he loved me.
Age 8,
body sprawled on concrete.
Arms bound at wrist and held over my head.
Legs spread wide like an upside down crucifix
to unwillingly welcome snakes into my garden of Eden.
And then after he was done,
I was left behind.
Discarded as carelessly as the rag he used to wipe himself off with.
I can still picture it clearly on the floor…
tattered and bloody,
worn and covered in his viscid explosion.
The mirror reflection of my hymen.
“Ay yo Shay, why you stand like that?”
A pillar of defiance,
I stand so I can be knocked down.
Broken,
and rebuilt
so mold me.
Transform me into everything they told me I could never equal up to.
But please,
leave Me pieces of yester Self so I be reminded
that She was always beautiful.
I was worthy…
once.
Before,
I use to walk like I held God’s envy in my womb.
Before,
I use to love Me
who was in love with Self.
But Self broke Me’s heart too many times,
and I couldn’t pick up the pieces
so now I’m choking on pieces of potential self acceptance.
He asked me,
“Ay yo Shay, Why you walk like that?
Always gotta stand off to the side like that,
like you to good to look at people?”
But looking at people makes cracks visible,
and the thing about cracks is…
they have a tendency to be contagious.
So I try to keep mine to myself,
‘cause under pressure,
they stretch,
then they might reach yours,
and the pain gets transferred.
Then your cracks grow longer and branch out,
then those branches spread like trees,
and then everybody ends up broken…
like me.
Looking at people,
usually leads to eye contact,
and eyes are the windows to the soul,
and souls tend to be reflective,
and it should be clear by now…
I don’t really like looking at myself.
So I walk like my feet are tectonic plates.
Slow…but with purpose.
Feet sometimes brushing against each other,
that’s why I stand like mountains.
He kept asking,
and I finally answered.
I walk,
back straight.
Shoulders lowered,
with the bible tattooed on my spine,
and Lucifer’s sin sitting in the dip where my ass meets my back
so that with every step I take,
Hell quakes under me.
An angel walking through a fire pit with scorched wings.
I pulled my own feathers out my back burning
just so I could write the sky a lullaby in the form of lightning…
thunder mimicking my heartbeat.
I walk to set an example.
I walk,
because my grandmother
and mother had to.
I walk,
simply to remind myself…
I still know how to.
Words motivate me to move mountains. Cast light into the shadows that hang darkness over my valley. I construct cathedrals of conscious thought. Move me… Flow through this thicket of thought and caress purpose. Feel me… I am hidden in plain view. Waiting for you to stop trying to use your eyes to catch a glimpse of vision. See me… A rarity like daylight accented by the moon. I have so many stories for you to stroll through…
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Answers
I saw God on a northbound 300 going back to Heaven
He sat,
three seats over to my left
hunched over
skin looked just like rain
he smelled like forgiveness
like a thousand halos and angel wing kisses
he held the blueprints to the civilizations in his fingerprints
and the secrets of the world were tucked in the crevices of his wrinkles
his hair matted and kinked,
twisted beautifully
and if you looked closely you could almost feel were his roots started.
Mother nature was sitting behind him
corn-rowing his mane into life lines
that reaches as far back as
when D.C snipers shot bullets into the ignorance of African American’s who thought our people could never do this
When burning crosses on the front lawns of niggas was considered a community service
when raping 3 year old virgins was considered the cure for AIDS
as far back as
when I wouldn’t even be considered 3/5 human beings
when children picked up their own pieces
in the hopes of being pieced back together to continue the search for blood diamonds
when slaves sung songs strung together wish secret messages
when Jesus first utter the word mommy
when Adam first laid eyes on Eve and thought he was not worthy
He sat,
and I watched him
anger boiling beneath the surface of this thick skin I was given
And I wanted to ask him
how could you lay dormant as these things weaved into our history?
You created stars and galaxies
but sit idly by as the light in innocent eyes die
I stood,
with the intent of crossing this purgatory
hell bent on getting my point across.
He turned to me,
and as he read these thoughts that lingered on my face
he placed a single finger on my lips and asked me
“Who do you think you are?
Where were you when I had to take the lost spirits of abandoned children,
dead orphans,
miscarried babies
and aborted dreams and give them homes in the light of stars?
Where were you when I had to eclipse my fallen angel morning star
and leave him to burn in a pit of his own hatred instead of standing by my side?
Tell me where you were when I had to watch my son suffer,
carry the world’s sin on his back and welcome the cold kiss of death,
arms spread open like the wings of the sparrow my eyes be on?
Then separate my spirit in two,
create a paradise suitable enough for sinners
birthed from the loins of my soul,
my breathing labored after I created the safe haven
for those who repented for the rules they had broken
even after I had already put them in action.
Where were you when I realized man was not strong enough to handle creating on his own.
When I broke Adam’s rib and created a creature able to birth miracles.
A creature whose strength that even I as God am envious of.
Took feathers from my army and laced it in their skin.
Where were you?”
And I looked into his eyes,
saw were the billions of selfish prayers were hidden in the folds of his crow’s feet,
saw were his father Time had taught him lessons a mere mortal could never understand.
heard his heart beat whisper every wish ever made.
and the word sorry danced on the tip of my tongue,
teasing my taste buds.
“Do not apologize.
The answers to your questions are hidden in the eyes of war vets,
blinded because they were not ready to witness martyr’s souls being freed by exploding rainbows.
So now they see through my eyes.
They exist in the touch of the ones who can’t remember their own name because they have been blessed,
their mind is over loaded.
Battling butchered thoughts encased in loveless memories produced from hearing to many angels cry,
and seeing too many halos broken.
So now their mind flows as freely as my mine.
These answers linger in the aurora of those who walk as crooked as the lightning cutting across the Heavens due to the damage done to their exterior from the hell they call a life makes them walk like God, like I.
Do you understand?
I don’t punish my creation,
I just painted you in the image of me
so now I’m finishing my master pieces.
So know that for every tear that you shed,
one of your feathers is stitched back into your wings.
And one day they will be reattached to your back.
Do understand now?
You are all…
just homebound.”
He sat,
three seats over to my left
hunched over
skin looked just like rain
he smelled like forgiveness
like a thousand halos and angel wing kisses
he held the blueprints to the civilizations in his fingerprints
and the secrets of the world were tucked in the crevices of his wrinkles
his hair matted and kinked,
twisted beautifully
and if you looked closely you could almost feel were his roots started.
Mother nature was sitting behind him
corn-rowing his mane into life lines
that reaches as far back as
when D.C snipers shot bullets into the ignorance of African American’s who thought our people could never do this
When burning crosses on the front lawns of niggas was considered a community service
when raping 3 year old virgins was considered the cure for AIDS
as far back as
when I wouldn’t even be considered 3/5 human beings
when children picked up their own pieces
in the hopes of being pieced back together to continue the search for blood diamonds
when slaves sung songs strung together wish secret messages
when Jesus first utter the word mommy
when Adam first laid eyes on Eve and thought he was not worthy
He sat,
and I watched him
anger boiling beneath the surface of this thick skin I was given
And I wanted to ask him
how could you lay dormant as these things weaved into our history?
You created stars and galaxies
but sit idly by as the light in innocent eyes die
I stood,
with the intent of crossing this purgatory
hell bent on getting my point across.
He turned to me,
and as he read these thoughts that lingered on my face
he placed a single finger on my lips and asked me
“Who do you think you are?
Where were you when I had to take the lost spirits of abandoned children,
dead orphans,
miscarried babies
and aborted dreams and give them homes in the light of stars?
Where were you when I had to eclipse my fallen angel morning star
and leave him to burn in a pit of his own hatred instead of standing by my side?
Tell me where you were when I had to watch my son suffer,
carry the world’s sin on his back and welcome the cold kiss of death,
arms spread open like the wings of the sparrow my eyes be on?
Then separate my spirit in two,
create a paradise suitable enough for sinners
birthed from the loins of my soul,
my breathing labored after I created the safe haven
for those who repented for the rules they had broken
even after I had already put them in action.
Where were you when I realized man was not strong enough to handle creating on his own.
When I broke Adam’s rib and created a creature able to birth miracles.
A creature whose strength that even I as God am envious of.
Took feathers from my army and laced it in their skin.
Where were you?”
And I looked into his eyes,
saw were the billions of selfish prayers were hidden in the folds of his crow’s feet,
saw were his father Time had taught him lessons a mere mortal could never understand.
heard his heart beat whisper every wish ever made.
and the word sorry danced on the tip of my tongue,
teasing my taste buds.
“Do not apologize.
The answers to your questions are hidden in the eyes of war vets,
blinded because they were not ready to witness martyr’s souls being freed by exploding rainbows.
So now they see through my eyes.
They exist in the touch of the ones who can’t remember their own name because they have been blessed,
their mind is over loaded.
Battling butchered thoughts encased in loveless memories produced from hearing to many angels cry,
and seeing too many halos broken.
So now their mind flows as freely as my mine.
These answers linger in the aurora of those who walk as crooked as the lightning cutting across the Heavens due to the damage done to their exterior from the hell they call a life makes them walk like God, like I.
Do you understand?
I don’t punish my creation,
I just painted you in the image of me
so now I’m finishing my master pieces.
So know that for every tear that you shed,
one of your feathers is stitched back into your wings.
And one day they will be reattached to your back.
Do understand now?
You are all…
just homebound.”
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Father, I....
Father, I…
cry sometimes as you speak.
Cry sometimes in my sleep
as I question the many insecurities that you have gave me.
Am I pretty?
Did you want me?
Are you proud of me?
Do you even love me?
It’s funny how you can father strangers,
isn’t it?
Wasn’t it you who laid this seed?
So why take it out on me,
I didn’t asked to be in this world,
and can’t even remember how many times
I’ve thought of making my exit.
But it’s not like you’d notice,
just like you didn’t notice how my favorite color changed to green
or notice how my walked changed after I lost my virginity
to somebody who told me the words you never could…
I love you.
Shit, do you?
I wouldn’t know,
because it’s not like you act like it.
And yeah you provide for me,
but what I need can’t come out of your pocket.
I don’t want you fucking money…
I just need you to start acting like daddy.
And it’s sad that when somebody motioned the word father
the first five people that pop into my head aren’t you.
sad that sometimes I wish my father,
wasn’t you.
And the person that I would call daddy,
is maybe a foot or so shorter than you,
a little bit thicker than you
lighter than you.
My dad…
is a poet.
And it’s sad that I admire him more than you
and he doesn’t know it.
Sad that I seek his approval as a substitution
for the absence of yours.
I’ve closed doors,
and thrown away the keys to locks,
so now the old me
is so far behind behind me
that I no longer know her.
And you always told me I shouldn’t speak to strangers.
But she’s there every morning,
in my mirror,
waiting for me,
and this little girl looks so lonely,
I wanna help her
but she’s helpless…
locked everyone out,
she refuses to get up
cause she doubts herself
she’s stuck holding her knees to her chest.
Hugging herself
‘because you never did.
Never did man up to the result of you getting your man up,
Never took the time to understand the product of your semen,
Father, I…
never really knew how to start this conversation.
You are about to lose me,
I’m drifting….
Doing things that I never thought that I would be.
Talking to you has now become a burden
instead of being the treasure that I once thought of it as.
This resentment that I feel has grown,
so now it has consumed me,
and is slowly turning into something stronger.
This wildfire is to damn big,
ranged to damn far,
spread my tolerance to damn thin…
and now my weight has decided to mimic my patience.
I guess what I’m trying to say is…
father, I…
hate this.
So now I’m gone,
and my only regret is
that I lacked the alphabetical structure to make me the little boy that you always wanted.
And once it was told to me that your mother didn’t believed that I was yours
and now I think that somewhere in the back of your mind you don’t believe either,
that would explain your actions.
Explain why you treat me more like a chore,
instead of a blessing.
But I’m not sorry,
it’s you that should be…
you’re missing out on my life,
you’re blind
and this will be the last time I make any attempt to give you your sight back.
Again here I stand saying to you
“daddy, daddy
you bastard…
I’m through.”
cry sometimes as you speak.
Cry sometimes in my sleep
as I question the many insecurities that you have gave me.
Am I pretty?
Did you want me?
Are you proud of me?
Do you even love me?
It’s funny how you can father strangers,
isn’t it?
Wasn’t it you who laid this seed?
So why take it out on me,
I didn’t asked to be in this world,
and can’t even remember how many times
I’ve thought of making my exit.
But it’s not like you’d notice,
just like you didn’t notice how my favorite color changed to green
or notice how my walked changed after I lost my virginity
to somebody who told me the words you never could…
I love you.
Shit, do you?
I wouldn’t know,
because it’s not like you act like it.
And yeah you provide for me,
but what I need can’t come out of your pocket.
I don’t want you fucking money…
I just need you to start acting like daddy.
And it’s sad that when somebody motioned the word father
the first five people that pop into my head aren’t you.
sad that sometimes I wish my father,
wasn’t you.
And the person that I would call daddy,
is maybe a foot or so shorter than you,
a little bit thicker than you
lighter than you.
My dad…
is a poet.
And it’s sad that I admire him more than you
and he doesn’t know it.
Sad that I seek his approval as a substitution
for the absence of yours.
I’ve closed doors,
and thrown away the keys to locks,
so now the old me
is so far behind behind me
that I no longer know her.
And you always told me I shouldn’t speak to strangers.
But she’s there every morning,
in my mirror,
waiting for me,
and this little girl looks so lonely,
I wanna help her
but she’s helpless…
locked everyone out,
she refuses to get up
cause she doubts herself
she’s stuck holding her knees to her chest.
Hugging herself
‘because you never did.
Never did man up to the result of you getting your man up,
Never took the time to understand the product of your semen,
Father, I…
never really knew how to start this conversation.
You are about to lose me,
I’m drifting….
Doing things that I never thought that I would be.
Talking to you has now become a burden
instead of being the treasure that I once thought of it as.
This resentment that I feel has grown,
so now it has consumed me,
and is slowly turning into something stronger.
This wildfire is to damn big,
ranged to damn far,
spread my tolerance to damn thin…
and now my weight has decided to mimic my patience.
I guess what I’m trying to say is…
father, I…
hate this.
So now I’m gone,
and my only regret is
that I lacked the alphabetical structure to make me the little boy that you always wanted.
And once it was told to me that your mother didn’t believed that I was yours
and now I think that somewhere in the back of your mind you don’t believe either,
that would explain your actions.
Explain why you treat me more like a chore,
instead of a blessing.
But I’m not sorry,
it’s you that should be…
you’re missing out on my life,
you’re blind
and this will be the last time I make any attempt to give you your sight back.
Again here I stand saying to you
“daddy, daddy
you bastard…
I’m through.”
Monday, March 23, 2009
Suicide Note
I was asked what the bravest thing that I’ve ever did was,
and my answer was….
“Not making my wrists smile hard enough”
Then I asked myself,
Is this enough?
Is this ink I shed on this paper enough for you?
Or would you prefer me to give you the real stuff?
Would you rather me cut open my wrist for you?
I’ve done it twice before,
and I can do it again it need be.
It comes so naturally to me.
Last night,
I laid in my bed and almost embraced death…
See sometimes I swear I can see God
and he’s telling me to come home.
Sometime I swear He’s pissed
I haven’t listen to the signs He gave me,
the knives He gave me,
why the fuck hasn’t anybody tried to save me?
Am I really that crazy?
Lately I swear shit been talking to me like…
sheets and ropes be telling me we should go for a swing.
Pills be like the can heal all of my pain,
if I take enough of them they can fix everything.
Pools, rivers, and bathtubs tell me that they can hold me under their waters
and protect me from that evil thing called life.
Now knives,
they just wanna hold my wrists.
And guns,
they just wanna kiss my temple
and soothe me into an eternal peace.
They all seem like they wanna help me,
care for me more than you motha fuckas ever did.
So what’s stopping me……
these knives,
are thirsty.
Waiting to get drunk of this wine that flows through me.
1991 was a good year…
Too bad I was born and fucked it all up.
What’s wrong with me?
I can’t stop crying…
My soul is drowning,
and it doesn’t feel like fighting back anymore.
Sometimes I lay down,
and I don’t feel like getting back up.
Sometimes I put this pen down,
and i don’t feel like picking it back up.
What’s the point of writing this?
Don’t nobody care…
Don’t nobody give a fuck what happens to Shay.
They say they do,
but they don’t…
not as much as they care for others.
I’m at the bottom of everybody’s priority list,
so please tell me who the fuck would miss me?
Nobody.
Sometimes i wonder why i really carry pocketknives…
is it really for my own protection?
Or is it just for the satisfaction of knowing I always have an exit?
Maybe it’s to protect me,
from me.
I’m tired of carrying the world on my shoulders.
Tired of trying to help.
Tired of bending over backwards,
being everybody’s stepladder,
helping them get where they need to be,
when they just turn around and shit on me.
My heart is bleeding,
and it’s on it’s last everything.
I feel like I’m screaming silence,
like my tongue has been snatched from me,
like my miscarried baby.
I should have fought harder for the sanctity of my womb,
and now it’s just a wasteland,
uninhabitable,
because it’s been polluted,
cleaned up,
and polluted again.
This is my fault…
I should have fought back.
I’m drained…
These 18 years
have felt more like 18 lifetimes gone to waste,
amounted to nothing.
So useless.
I hate this,
but everybody seem to get a kick out of watching my pain,
so I hope this is a good enough show for you.
Sorry if it comes to an abrupt halt,
and you collide with my misery,
and I’ll tell you,
in it just float…
and consider this,
my suicide note…
and my answer was….
“Not making my wrists smile hard enough”
Then I asked myself,
Is this enough?
Is this ink I shed on this paper enough for you?
Or would you prefer me to give you the real stuff?
Would you rather me cut open my wrist for you?
I’ve done it twice before,
and I can do it again it need be.
It comes so naturally to me.
Last night,
I laid in my bed and almost embraced death…
See sometimes I swear I can see God
and he’s telling me to come home.
Sometime I swear He’s pissed
I haven’t listen to the signs He gave me,
the knives He gave me,
why the fuck hasn’t anybody tried to save me?
Am I really that crazy?
Lately I swear shit been talking to me like…
sheets and ropes be telling me we should go for a swing.
Pills be like the can heal all of my pain,
if I take enough of them they can fix everything.
Pools, rivers, and bathtubs tell me that they can hold me under their waters
and protect me from that evil thing called life.
Now knives,
they just wanna hold my wrists.
And guns,
they just wanna kiss my temple
and soothe me into an eternal peace.
They all seem like they wanna help me,
care for me more than you motha fuckas ever did.
So what’s stopping me……
these knives,
are thirsty.
Waiting to get drunk of this wine that flows through me.
1991 was a good year…
Too bad I was born and fucked it all up.
What’s wrong with me?
I can’t stop crying…
My soul is drowning,
and it doesn’t feel like fighting back anymore.
Sometimes I lay down,
and I don’t feel like getting back up.
Sometimes I put this pen down,
and i don’t feel like picking it back up.
What’s the point of writing this?
Don’t nobody care…
Don’t nobody give a fuck what happens to Shay.
They say they do,
but they don’t…
not as much as they care for others.
I’m at the bottom of everybody’s priority list,
so please tell me who the fuck would miss me?
Nobody.
Sometimes i wonder why i really carry pocketknives…
is it really for my own protection?
Or is it just for the satisfaction of knowing I always have an exit?
Maybe it’s to protect me,
from me.
I’m tired of carrying the world on my shoulders.
Tired of trying to help.
Tired of bending over backwards,
being everybody’s stepladder,
helping them get where they need to be,
when they just turn around and shit on me.
My heart is bleeding,
and it’s on it’s last everything.
I feel like I’m screaming silence,
like my tongue has been snatched from me,
like my miscarried baby.
I should have fought harder for the sanctity of my womb,
and now it’s just a wasteland,
uninhabitable,
because it’s been polluted,
cleaned up,
and polluted again.
This is my fault…
I should have fought back.
I’m drained…
These 18 years
have felt more like 18 lifetimes gone to waste,
amounted to nothing.
So useless.
I hate this,
but everybody seem to get a kick out of watching my pain,
so I hope this is a good enough show for you.
Sorry if it comes to an abrupt halt,
and you collide with my misery,
and I’ll tell you,
in it just float…
and consider this,
my suicide note…
Monday, March 9, 2009
Dreams
I needed you last night.
So bad that my mind started playing tricks,
cause I swear I saw your face reflected in the moonlight.
This was nothing sexual,
it was purely spiritual.
I was feigning for your soul.,
though we just got off the phone
not even half an hour ago.
You still got my heart beating fast…
and for the past couple of weeks
you where all I could think about.
So I feel asleep at 3
listening to old school R&B
and writing this to you.
Trying to make sense of how you got me feeling.
You got me daydreaming about your eyes…
swimming through your irises.
I had to remind myself to breathe
when I imagined you kissing me.
You made me forget
that I forgot.
how to forget about my past…
made me open up to you.
I dreamed about listening to your heartbeat
tell me the stories of your history.
I see your scares as nothing more
than mere beauty marks that accent you perfectly.
You are beautiful to me.
You had me smiling all day
as I replayed our conversation over in my head.
Losing myself inside everything that you said to me.
You got me hooked like…
your fingertips were laced in nicotine,
and it’s been too long since I had a drag.
Now I’m fighting the urge to call you.
My phone is betraying me,
it keeps playing with me.
Why hasn’t it rung yet?
I’m waiting to hear your voice on the other end of my phone line,
waiting for your tone to send these shivers down my spine.
I’m waiting…
just…
waiting.
Watching time go by slowly.
I have dreams of you holding me,
treating me the way I need to be.
I’m dying to be your Queen,
dying for you to make me acknowledge my beauty.
Come save me…
for me.
This throne is empty,
come take your place.
Let me crown you.
Show you that my hands were made
the perfect tools for loving you.
Smile life into my soul.
Baby,
I didn’t just want you…
I needed you last night.
Without you I didn’t know what to do,
so please…
come make my dreams come true.
So bad that my mind started playing tricks,
cause I swear I saw your face reflected in the moonlight.
This was nothing sexual,
it was purely spiritual.
I was feigning for your soul.,
though we just got off the phone
not even half an hour ago.
You still got my heart beating fast…
and for the past couple of weeks
you where all I could think about.
So I feel asleep at 3
listening to old school R&B
and writing this to you.
Trying to make sense of how you got me feeling.
You got me daydreaming about your eyes…
swimming through your irises.
I had to remind myself to breathe
when I imagined you kissing me.
You made me forget
that I forgot.
how to forget about my past…
made me open up to you.
I dreamed about listening to your heartbeat
tell me the stories of your history.
I see your scares as nothing more
than mere beauty marks that accent you perfectly.
You are beautiful to me.
You had me smiling all day
as I replayed our conversation over in my head.
Losing myself inside everything that you said to me.
You got me hooked like…
your fingertips were laced in nicotine,
and it’s been too long since I had a drag.
Now I’m fighting the urge to call you.
My phone is betraying me,
it keeps playing with me.
Why hasn’t it rung yet?
I’m waiting to hear your voice on the other end of my phone line,
waiting for your tone to send these shivers down my spine.
I’m waiting…
just…
waiting.
Watching time go by slowly.
I have dreams of you holding me,
treating me the way I need to be.
I’m dying to be your Queen,
dying for you to make me acknowledge my beauty.
Come save me…
for me.
This throne is empty,
come take your place.
Let me crown you.
Show you that my hands were made
the perfect tools for loving you.
Smile life into my soul.
Baby,
I didn’t just want you…
I needed you last night.
Without you I didn’t know what to do,
so please…
come make my dreams come true.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
She Does
Baby, I’m sorry…
but I thought it was about time I told you…
the truth.
I’ve been cheating on.
Please don’t take it personal,
it’s just you couldn’t please me…
the way She does.
can’t reach the spots that
She does it so much better than you… ever could.
You can’t touch me the way She does,
She reaches through me.
Caress my spirit,
and makes love to my mental,
and when we do get physical…
we birth masterpieces.
She comes so easily to me,
She feels right…
and I can’t tell you how many nights we’ve spent together
making me so tired that I would fall asleep on her
knowing that I would wake up the next morning still tasting her.
She taste so good rolling off my tongue.
It’s like…
she was created to be my one,
even if I’m not hers.
It’s ok…
I don’t mind sharing,
cause I know that She will always have time for me.
She will always come to me if I need her
wrap herself around me and hold me together.
She never ignores me.
She knows exactly when something is wrong
that’s why I’m in love with her.
I’ll do anything for her,
kill to reach her,
and dismantle anyone of her lovers that are not worthy…
My parents don’t want me to be with her,
they don’t understand our connection.
Don’t understand why I’m willing to lie to them
just to get a chance to be with her.
Sometimes even just to watch.
Don’t like when we display our affections publicly,
but my baby…
loves attention.
Loves when people watch us,
loves when I watch her with others…
She’s kinda a freak like that.
She’ll allow just about anybody to take her.
Loves when you do it in public places,
the more people,
the better.
She’s a temptress.
Always seducing the young,
I mean she got me when I was just 15.
Showed me things that I had never seen before.
Introduced me to 3-somes
and the exhilaration of 4.
She stood right by my side when the judgmental
made me not want to be with her anymore.
She was there through my break-ups,
and even joined in on some of my relationships.
Helped me with my family issues,
every time I cried she was right by my side.
She was always there…
See baby,
I thought it was about time that I told you
about my love affair…
with poetry.
She means everything to me,
and again I say please don’t take this personally.
I’m sorry,
it’s just you couldn’t please me…
like poetry.
She does it so much better than you…
ever could.
but I thought it was about time I told you…
the truth.
I’ve been cheating on.
Please don’t take it personal,
it’s just you couldn’t please me…
the way She does.
can’t reach the spots that
She does it so much better than you… ever could.
You can’t touch me the way She does,
She reaches through me.
Caress my spirit,
and makes love to my mental,
and when we do get physical…
we birth masterpieces.
She comes so easily to me,
She feels right…
and I can’t tell you how many nights we’ve spent together
making me so tired that I would fall asleep on her
knowing that I would wake up the next morning still tasting her.
She taste so good rolling off my tongue.
It’s like…
she was created to be my one,
even if I’m not hers.
It’s ok…
I don’t mind sharing,
cause I know that She will always have time for me.
She will always come to me if I need her
wrap herself around me and hold me together.
She never ignores me.
She knows exactly when something is wrong
that’s why I’m in love with her.
I’ll do anything for her,
kill to reach her,
and dismantle anyone of her lovers that are not worthy…
My parents don’t want me to be with her,
they don’t understand our connection.
Don’t understand why I’m willing to lie to them
just to get a chance to be with her.
Sometimes even just to watch.
Don’t like when we display our affections publicly,
but my baby…
loves attention.
Loves when people watch us,
loves when I watch her with others…
She’s kinda a freak like that.
She’ll allow just about anybody to take her.
Loves when you do it in public places,
the more people,
the better.
She’s a temptress.
Always seducing the young,
I mean she got me when I was just 15.
Showed me things that I had never seen before.
Introduced me to 3-somes
and the exhilaration of 4.
She stood right by my side when the judgmental
made me not want to be with her anymore.
She was there through my break-ups,
and even joined in on some of my relationships.
Helped me with my family issues,
every time I cried she was right by my side.
She was always there…
See baby,
I thought it was about time that I told you
about my love affair…
with poetry.
She means everything to me,
and again I say please don’t take this personally.
I’m sorry,
it’s just you couldn’t please me…
like poetry.
She does it so much better than you…
ever could.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Ink
Dip your pen into my ink.
Let’s create pieces that complete the puzzle of your wet dreams,
I wanna make your wildest fantasies jealous
of me.
What’s your fetish?
Paint me in every shade that lays between naughty...
and nice.
And we can linger on your favorites...
Erotic orange,
missionary red,
or a back breaking black…
Whatever it takes to make you shake like that.
Say my name.
Whisper it in my ear while your pen disappears,
submerge into me...
Let’s birth stories that could make Zane go bankrupt.
Give me whatever ending you choose
and maybe we can make a sequel...
or two.
I’m ready for the tip of your pen to erupt.
Swim with me,
take this dip,
slip in
and we can mess around and go missin’
make me scratch my name into your back.
Then it’s your turn to be the poet
and I your paper,
so cover every inch of me in poetry.
Then read over me…
carefully.
Rearrange me if necessary.
Then it’s time for our show.
Time for you to see how long you can go
and how easily I roll off the tongue.
I could be that one piece that you never get tired of performing.
You’d wake up in the morning still tasting me,
and feignin’ for a hit.
Baby let me take you to levels that exceed ecstasy
trust me,
I glide easily.
Tonight is your night,
and now is not the time to get stage fright.
Or...
we could have an all night writing session.
Just me...
and you.
Pen writing smooth,
never stopping,
me caressing you.
You’re not writing fast enough
and you’re not writing hard enough
Trust I can handle all of your pen strokes
I want you to leave your imprint on all of my pages.
Seep through me.
Maybe you’re not into poetry...
Maybe rapping is your thing,
which means your tongue has a tendency to move quickly.
Please me...
I could be the best 16 that ever came from your lips.
There’s a cipher waiting for you to join in between my hips.
Dip your pen into my ink
And let’s finish our master piece
I’m ready...
and waiting.
Let’s create pieces that complete the puzzle of your wet dreams,
I wanna make your wildest fantasies jealous
of me.
What’s your fetish?
Paint me in every shade that lays between naughty...
and nice.
And we can linger on your favorites...
Erotic orange,
missionary red,
or a back breaking black…
Whatever it takes to make you shake like that.
Say my name.
Whisper it in my ear while your pen disappears,
submerge into me...
Let’s birth stories that could make Zane go bankrupt.
Give me whatever ending you choose
and maybe we can make a sequel...
or two.
I’m ready for the tip of your pen to erupt.
Swim with me,
take this dip,
slip in
and we can mess around and go missin’
make me scratch my name into your back.
Then it’s your turn to be the poet
and I your paper,
so cover every inch of me in poetry.
Then read over me…
carefully.
Rearrange me if necessary.
Then it’s time for our show.
Time for you to see how long you can go
and how easily I roll off the tongue.
I could be that one piece that you never get tired of performing.
You’d wake up in the morning still tasting me,
and feignin’ for a hit.
Baby let me take you to levels that exceed ecstasy
trust me,
I glide easily.
Tonight is your night,
and now is not the time to get stage fright.
Or...
we could have an all night writing session.
Just me...
and you.
Pen writing smooth,
never stopping,
me caressing you.
You’re not writing fast enough
and you’re not writing hard enough
Trust I can handle all of your pen strokes
I want you to leave your imprint on all of my pages.
Seep through me.
Maybe you’re not into poetry...
Maybe rapping is your thing,
which means your tongue has a tendency to move quickly.
Please me...
I could be the best 16 that ever came from your lips.
There’s a cipher waiting for you to join in between my hips.
Dip your pen into my ink
And let’s finish our master piece
I’m ready...
and waiting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)