Rolling on words, bouncing on rhymes. Moving through phrases, intertwined. The mind of a writer, pure intrigue. This first started out about sex. But what would be better than the in depth architect of my intellect? We connect. We are correct. What started out as sex end perfect-ly. Riding on the moon, waving at cloud 9; among the purest company. A writer’s dream. You came to me so calmly. Milk and honey. Polar opposite. Sweet. Folding together like dough. Rising to a finish so optimal. Rhyme and nature look obsolete. Who is this I speak? A He or a Sheba. Its a writer’s dream. Courting your words. Making love to your rhymes. Holding true to your phrases through time.
There she sits perched on the couch like a feline. Stacked up there in a way where every curve and every line looks delectable.
Laughing at all of his jokes, a smile here, a dimple there, and peeks of gleaming pearly whites, always.
She is perfect, not in a literal sense because beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Perfection is in her pores, saturating her heart and feeding her soul.
She get it, womanhood.
She understands things beyond beautiful smells and painted lips. She understands how to nurture beyond hugs and how to love without words.
This soft perfection took time to manifest. The life she lived exfoliated her to this soft, smooth glow.
She is powerful with grace and without boast she is wise.
I love her.
The sad part is that she was always here, laughing at my jokes, touching my heart and wiping the sweat from my brow. But that is why i love her because she understands. She understands the now and lives for the forever.
It’s hard raising a child on two dimes and a nickel. Filling her belling with canned peas and ice sickles.
Doing anything for dollar signs; hiding behind tear filled eyes. Constantly trying to protect her innocent life.
It is my duty, my pleasure, my purpose; never my curse. I take pride in your full belly, smiling face and all of your firsts.
But why am I subjected to do it alone. Why is a third generation the only father figure you have known?
But a father is either going to be the rock or be a rolling stone. There is no in between. I just hope my single-motherhood is a phase and I am not subjected genetically.
Because I can’t bear the thought of an empty home. Me at work and you alone. Fending for yourself, as I work my fingers to the bone.
Always too tired to play, to listen, and to teach. Failing to speak and practice what I preach.
Then time repeats, itself. And another one bites the dust.
My crime would be knowing that I could have helped. But maintaining the material was a must.
What She Taught Me
If my mom taught me anything it was that pussy is power. Who ever holds the pussy, holds the power. If you hold her pussy you have the power, to manipulate your way into her. Into her hours. Upon hours of bliss. Blinded happiness. He gets this, concept. But when the alarm rang she over slept. She missed it. Her chance. Her date with destiny overlooked because she was caught in romance. Looking at her hands she sees their worth. But remembers they were just rubbing and squeezing, swirling through squirts, of his blinded happiness. Instead of flipping through dust fill pages or writing memoirs of the ages. She was misguided, misled. Mom didn’t explain how to have a powerful pussy. I learned that on my own. Through trial and tribulation. Through piles of masturbation. Now my pussy is power, and she is the woman of the hour.
It took me thirty six hundred seconds
We showed the world we can make something change
My constitutional right to vote beckons
As blacks and white all stand in the same lane
We were spoiled those past eight years ago
The rise in liberty and due process
The goals of hope like molasses was slow
Him by our side there was only success
In thirty six hundred seconds they ruined
Brown, tan, purple souls, faces that all cried
With our ballot cast, she was a shoo-in
These brown faces sure thought the 15th lied
Bravely we will press on, bloody heart in hand
Tall, we will walk on, stretched high, take a stand
Dear Pretty Girl,
It’s hard to find friends, if you haven’t known them since your younger years -- they are pretty much not trust worthy. Right? For the most part you are right. Women these days – and since forever—have always felt life is a competition. This is true if we are both up for the same job – but on a day to day what is the competition for?
This constant competition is clearly evident in the world of friendship for women. There are more “frienemies” than enemies – and those are the worst kind – they are harder to detect. These are the women who will never give you the best advice – only telling you what you want to hear. They can also be that friend that very rarely has anything nice to say about you – whether it is to your face or not. Recognize hate and smell the “Hater-ade” on her breath. I didn’t believe this until I saw it before my own eyes. I always give people the benefit of the doubt. Although it may not be good for my heart – I feel that everyone deserves a clean slate. Until I started noticing my new friend was always in a negative space. If she wasn’t telling me something that looked wrong on face – she was telling me about her new man of the week. I didn’t think anything of it at first – I was always willing to listen about her love life. However, I always got the feeling it was to make me jealous – or like she was trying to prove something to me. As a friend I felt like she needed me – as if it would be rude to discontinue the friendship because she wasn’t an uplifting person.
Us, pretty women always have to second guess others intentions. Wondering if this is real, or is there and ulterior motive. You should keep women around you that are uplifting, tell you the truth, but are also receptive to your feelings. If you keep a circle of women around you who are doing better than you – there is not room for hate. You will only feel inspired to get on their level. If they are where you want to be – they will give you advice – they want nothing you have because they have it all. My mom always told me
“if you are the smartest person in your group of friends then get a new group of friends.”
I found a woman who I feel is on a higher level than me – she was in the church, has a wonderful man and son; and is working to create a better life for herself. After a few months of friendship, I knew she would be good for me. Whenever I came to her for advice, she would give me the ugly truth – but would end with an uplifting statement. Those are the kind of women that need you need in your life.
My lesson is to choose your friends wisely – have a small circle of close sisters, rather than a large crowd of “frienemies’