Potluck

masquerading maurader mothers sons and daughters moving through a world at fast pace with no order.  Like lambs to the slaughter----lost on a- course leading to a dead end rushing the wheels to spin.  Who we really are is never really known because the seed of the soul is never sown.  growing roots takes time, to progress takes mind---strength is an illusion when it prevents the intrusion of all the things that makes this life great.  Chasing a moving target to accumulate the largest portion of the pie.  My eyes tell a story my words conciously conceal.  What's keeping it real, when the reality is fake.  What's really to lose if nothing is at stake.  Is it wrong to taste the cake and have a cupcake too? Or is it wrong if your the taster? or if the cupcakes you?  Various shades of blues and jazz tunes were created from the losing vantage point.  But Mary says she's fine, and I'm like yeah that's my joint.  the point is underlying underpinned to the underside of ryhming.  Not hiding but hidden since surface is the only level universally understood.  It all good.  I'll wallow in the depths of understanding while the others are just standing.  forward planning while others are just handling.  Commanding while others are demanding.  I'm branding while others are just handing over the most precious of the parts.  I leave a mark.  Temporary reminders so even in the blindness you can feel.  The memory is timeless even after bruises heal. 

The trance of St Valentine (for Ola)

I sit and pine for lovers gone.  Reliving the moments of heartbreak and unrequitted love as if I am frozen in time.  I always want that which I do not have and want not what I do have.  Visually appeased in the presence of beauty, burning with desire in the moments of passion.  Yet fleeting is the feeling of consumption that should be reliquished to the holder of hearts.  In the moments when cupid's poison should be diluting my blood making me drunk with affection, I feel nothing. I have a wall.  No I have a fortress.  No I have a fortress surrounded by a wall surrounded by a moat--the bridge is never lowered and no one ever enters.  Chasing ghost in the halls as I grasp for second chances at the past, never heading the outside voices demanding entrance.  I am the bell of the ball in a brilliant gown dancing a solitary watlz to a skipping record in a dust filled room.  Cracks of sunlight illuminate the flurries as my hem sweeps the floor.  Drunk from the wine of sorrow behind the drawn curtains I never see the blooming of the rose.  Echoes of the world trickle in between the clacks of my heels on the floor.  I am waiting for one of those ghost to become real and partner with me in my mechanical movements.  It has been years and still I dance alone.  The sun turns to gold and sets in the west as I twirl turn prance step.  The birds of the morning sing songs of despair for the sun starts to rise and still I am there.  Two step through time with a metronome--crescendo violins-- the dance goes on.  Candles are burned to an inch of their wick, never do I slow nor do I sit.  Ghost that I hear past lovers I over whom I weep, not a one has come forth to take a dance with me. My hair has unraveled and my make-up now smeared realizing with a shock that I have been dancing for years.  Collaspse to the floor with a monotone thud, tears overflow like the mightiest flood.  The glass in my hand that's been continuosly filled is tossed with a vengance to the window sill.  The shatter is deafening as the pain itself breaks, with a great force of wind the curtain now shakes. Flapping so fiercely its forced from the hinge allowing at once the sun to come in.  The rays hit my face with a brightness that blinds and I'm seeing this room like the very first time.  The dust is mountain disgusting at best, the mold and the stain have discolored my dress.  The ghost have all left and the silence is heavy I walk to the windows with feet unsteady.  One by one I pull of the drapes glancing beyond to the luscious landscapes.  These beautiful gardens growing outside my door, how could I have been in here so long and leave them ignored.  Never more said the raven, never more said the bee, never more shall be solitude of the heart for me.  I am opening the windows---opening the doors--I am lowering the bridge to be crossed once more.  With brand new song and a brand new dress brand new dance and some brand new guest.  For to hurt is the curse of a heart that's broken but even worse is the curse of a heart not open.  Happy Valentines Day Mufuckas!!

Don't you know I'm hater proof

If you ain't know let me tell you so, those words you whispers those lies you spread those eyes you roll gon get stuck up in your head.  You ain't changing my mood you ain't changing my life, you ain't making me mad--we ain't even gonna fight.  I ain't gotta to be right I just gotta be me, so just keep on talking bout how I'm supposed to be.  But I be what I am and I do what I do, cuz I'm living my life bitch----how bout you?  You wish that you mattered enough to really make me mad, but I'm more flattered and touched that keep thinking of my ass.  You can devise, decieve, sheme and plot----go on keep yourself busy while I climb to the top.  I'm a too much of a force of course you to impeed, feeble hand over face trying to block the breeze, I squeeze through.  If you were ever to walk a mile in my shoes, you would stop halfway all tattered and brused.  Cuz it's hard goddamn work to be this fabolous all the time, but it's beautiful to watch when your standing on the side.  Spending all your time watching dvd's, living vicariously through MTV, drained of all ambition until you see me.  I give you reason to live--a purpose--something to do.  Since if you didn't hate on me no one would notice you.  Ha!Ha!  But you so stupid to think your anger can really bring me down,  I'm a thoroughbread bitch and there ain't alot around.  I'm more gangsta than a gangsta even when I'm in my heels.  I'm more mellow than a Zaynax and I don't even take them pills.  I already fucked your man before you even liked him, dropped him the next day and told him I was dyking.  Passed him with my girlfriend flashed him in the window, he ran outside and asked us both to dinner.  I used to shop where you do, back when I was seventeen, then I got some paper and upgraded a few things.  Your car is so cute, oh wait you ain't got one, I'll be sure to honk the horn next time I see you walking.  Your friends ain't your friends or maybe that's just hearsay, just tell little mama what they get you for your birthday?  You be drooling over niggas, that I smile at just for drinks, I can't even see to fuck em but I do tell them thanks.  You talk about my hair, cause I paid for some extensions----while you in a mirror dying your shit up in the kitchen.  Grandma said don't play with children, so Imma have to let it go.  I may not be bulletproof, but I'm hater proof for sure.

Punishment for passion

I hate you. Your lack of presence is a constant punishment.  I remember the first moment I laid eyes on you because I wish I could erase it from my life.  For once you behold perfection or your interpretation of such nothing else will do.  You have ruined me without even knowing. .  My ears grow deaf to the world around me drowning out all sound----muting the emotion filled pleas and sweet murmuring of temporary lovers pouring out thier hearts to me, all I hear is the faint whisper of your voice.  My eyes refuse to accept the vision of another standing in the place where you should----making me blind to thier obvious attempts at shilvary and romance.  My memory won't let me forget you.  I hear echos of your laughter intertwined with mine as scenes from a time long gone play over and over in my head, mocking me and robbing me of joy in my everyday life.  My body craves you more than any drug.  Your presence is an aphrodisiac.  When you look at me through those empty eyes that are so cleverly trained to mask your emotion I feel naked--exposed--humiliated--alive--sexy all in one rush of a millisecond.  All these things my eyes, my ears, my memory, my body I can live without for the pain that they cause me.  If by some miracle I could rid myself of these things with a breath my suffering would not end.  My heart would see to that.  That is the place that I unknowingly and unwillingly have given you to live.  This is my punishment for passion.  This diseased heart of mine.  It has been infected by a growing desire for you.  This cursed organ, deity of emotion pumping corruption through the organs of my sacred beautiful body.  Involuntarily action purposely infecting me further with every constricting papultary motion.   I am ruined.   I  am a fool.  Who but a fool desires to the deepest of their core that which is so deadly?   You are a poison.  To you I am a ghost.  A face in the crowd of a million or more admirers bombarding you with hollow words of praise induced by moments of selacious behavior and alcohol.  To you I am a ghost.  A trace image of something I once was but have never been since.  To you I am a ghost.  A distant friend in a distant place a girl in passing an unfamiliar face.  To you I am a ghost.  An e-mail contact a myspace face.  I hate you.  I hate you because you don't dare to know or to think how you have infected all I hold sacred with your smile.  You don't see me for who I am or who I want to be for you.  You don't understand  why I constantly seek your recognition through time and space.  I hate you.  I hate knowing that I am not a part of your world and may never be.   I am being held hostage by my uneexpressed nonreciprocated feelings.  Grasping for any sign that you acknowledge my existence.  You make me sick.  I am sick of myself, I want to vomit.  Maybe the purging will rid me of the parasite that is you.  Then I can move on with my life unaffected.  You send me abbreviated messages with false images of hope.  Serving only as a lifeline to feed the infection.  I wish I could give you my heart.  Then you could live with the longing and confusion, let it fester in you.  I am tired of wanting you so much.

Metamorphosis

I am changing.  I have changed.  Photos capture the fleeting moments of the person I have been but am no more.  I am growing.  I have grown.  I am more aware more alive and in tune with the here in now.  I am freeing myself.  I am free.  I have let go of the past and been reborn like to phoenix only to shine brighter than I ever have.  I feel sexy.  I am sexier.  The reflection I see is that vision I have always held inside finally penetrating the surface showing me who I have always known I was.  I am getting ready.  I am ready. Standing my ground fingers to the line--bent knees--arched toes in a runners pose,  and I just heard the gun.  I am fearless.   

Said the Devine to the Demon

You need me in your life to bring meaning to your existence, since you have always been and will forever be my love.    I felt it in your presence when  you first crossed my path,  so many years ago, I'll leave you to to do the math.  I am the other half that dwells within giving you the fire to survive.  When you fall down --to get back up--I'm the reason that you try.  You seem to thrive in this world of competition that exist only in your mind.  For you have always been and will forever be my love.  Without me you fade into darkness, drugs, and despair----lost without direction---for I am you light.  A victim to the persuasions of others surrendering yourself to the underserving, those who aim to douse your brilliant fire,  never valuing the real person.   You need me in your life to bring meaning to existence for you have always been and will forever be my equal.  I lead you where you need to go because I understand,  I let you say the things I've said--read the books I've read--stand the places I used to stand.  At times I turn my back, chastising your childish-translucent-eggshell like-overexaggerated ego, and watch you fall apart.  Then you seek my favor and we reconstruct the pieces, because you are my heart.  Without me your existence is hollow, lost without direction for I am your guide.  I know your every weakness I touch them and watch you squirm.  I put before you mirrors and still you haven't learned.  My aim is not to hurt you or leave you in the cold, but as the years keep passing by this game is getting old.  I wish that we could age together committed side by side, so we could have an ounce of truth in a world full of lies.  I wish that you'd appreciate that I'm the constant in your life, for never did I use you or ever tell you lies.   Yet and still our paths are interwoven with bright hellos and  volatile goodbyes.  Which one will be the last---can I find the strength or way to tell myself it doesn't matter---turn and walk away.  For to know you is to know me because we are one in the same, I love you like I love myself-----but my love is not a game.  I want you to free me from myself,  by giving you a part of me I could never give to someone else.  I need you in my life to bring meaning to my existence for you have always been and will forever be my love.  It hurts me to see you abuse yourself  and second guess your strengths.  It hurst me to know our days are numbered and yet the time we waste.  So many times I thought of you---think of you---wishing you could share my journey.  Yet you spoke so many words and made actions just to hurt me.  Still I'm selfish in my desire to be the sole possesor of you affections.  So when you seek my amour I meet you with rejection.  Swallowing my emotions has been the most potent of the posions,  internally erupting but my silence hides the noises.  Slowly I  am dying so I present to you the door, for in morning I will wake and choose to die no more................come to me as humble come to me as true, come to me as equal----and I'll be the same to you.

Hip-hop is dead

if hip-hop ain't dead it most certainly dying.  I believe that the record companies have found a way to market hip-hop in a nice little package called hip/hop R&B, or rap.  The discourage any creativity in their artist instead they reinforce to us the stereotypes that we are already comfortable with year after year.  Every new rapper is the next big thing.  They sell them to us as many ways as they can and then they move on to the next one.  Before we even get the CD we got the ringtone, blingtone, ringbacktone, and that person on the cover of every magazine.  We know there whole life story then see them on their own reality show.  Then next year when the person comes out with the next album they say beware of the sophmore jinx.  Which really means "we sold you so big and hard last time out there aren't any new angles to sell you from".  If they would give people recognition based on the actual talent and sell us people who are creative as opposed to hollow industry created hyped up flashcards, music would grow and quality would be more consistent.  I mean really how many different ways can you describe how much your wrist, ring, neck or ears 'bling"?  I mean really is the only thing that young girls have to look foward to as a career is being a video model?  How come girls can't spell simple everyday words, but think life is all good if they get some implants and make it to be XXL eye candy?  Really whats wrong with wanting to go to college and get a degree and have a career?   So many of us are being seduced by a fame that is fleeting at best.  Okay so your hot, but it easy to be hot.  Anybody can be hot with the right amount of weave, a set of acrylic nails, a g-string, and a few mac products.  But everybody can't be smart.  Everyone can't be creative.  What I'm saying is why are we selling ourselves short as a people, as a culture, as a generation?  Why are we allowing our creativity to be stiffled?  That's why hip-hop is dying.  We are dying, killing it from the inside out.