Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Damn this Man
April 7, 2007
Damn this man with his rode in his hand, a 5 foot pole, a 62 inch stick; a log, a limb, damn don’t trip. It goes and grows as far as one can look. The massive size, just grab a hold, find a way, get a grip, take a ride wait for the magic trick.
A sight to behold, a love all it’s own, straight up, stacked up, holding strong, getting deep, going long.
Damn that man and his extra hand, touching parts I never knew I had. Feeling my insides, stroking way too deep, finding the parts that make me moan and whine.
Adjusting to his pleasures, measuring his weary stride, holding tight to my real emotions, crying through my heart wanting for more. Needing of nothing. Knowing somehow this is wrong.
Damn this man.
Damn this man with his rode in his hand, a 5 foot pole, a 62 inch stick; a log, a limb, damn don’t trip. It goes and grows as far as one can look. The massive size, just grab a hold, find a way, get a grip, take a ride wait for the magic trick.
A sight to behold, a love all it’s own, straight up, stacked up, holding strong, getting deep, going long.
Damn that man and his extra hand, touching parts I never knew I had. Feeling my insides, stroking way too deep, finding the parts that make me moan and whine.
Adjusting to his pleasures, measuring his weary stride, holding tight to my real emotions, crying through my heart wanting for more. Needing of nothing. Knowing somehow this is wrong.
Damn this man.
Feb 19, 2007
11:30pm
Like a song sung out long and strong we endure with beautiful high notes and troubled lows.
When we’re in tune we mesh together in a type of rhythmic harmony that makes our beats great, but when were not so in sync its not so good.
Our range is expandable, our genre eclectic, our mood set by the standards we choose.
And when we make music together, it’s inevitable your call to my response. My hip to your hop, I’m sure your rhythm will never cause my blues
But the song we sing has a melody like no other, lyrics only we know, a beat all our own, your heart in tempo with my own.
A song written.
A song complete.
A song sung.
Between us.
11:30pm
Like a song sung out long and strong we endure with beautiful high notes and troubled lows.
When we’re in tune we mesh together in a type of rhythmic harmony that makes our beats great, but when were not so in sync its not so good.
Our range is expandable, our genre eclectic, our mood set by the standards we choose.
And when we make music together, it’s inevitable your call to my response. My hip to your hop, I’m sure your rhythm will never cause my blues
But the song we sing has a melody like no other, lyrics only we know, a beat all our own, your heart in tempo with my own.
A song written.
A song complete.
A song sung.
Between us.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Making Love to Myself
July 7, 2005
I decided to make love to myself, just one night, try it out, see how it would feel. With the lights dim and a few candles lit, I stood bare, naked in front of an image of my own reflection. Their I looked at myself starting with the top of my head and following the strands of hair to my round face, with it blemishes from my teen years and laugh lines that run very deep.
I looked into my eyes with my eyes, and watched as a special part of me danced in the small slants, I batted my lashes and winked at myself, I let my eyes glide over my small round nose, blew kisses with two perky and pouty, lined and glossed lips. Drew lines and made circles where my chin should be but was more pleased at the fact that there was only one and not two, three or more.
I pushed my freshly done hair, back behind my ears and recalled how curly it had once been at one time, when I rocked my natural fro. I relaxed in knowing that like every woman I had a hair story, of loss and renewal. But I loved on tracing my neck that held the secrets to my eczema, which with time and age changed and became easier to maintain. I eyed the marks on my shoulders and saw beauty in them still, shoulders for someone to lean on ,cry on, for a child to one day rest their head on.
I traveled on to my breast once so round and full, they once captured all the attention I was to receive. Now they're not so full, less obtrusive, its different and new, not having something that was such a large part of me for so long, having blossomed in the 3rd grade, now be less of a distraction. Allowing me to find the best parts of me to grab a mans attention, attention that belongs rightfully to me, I hug them and accept them as they are at this moment, I feel across them knowing every ones are different and mine are special no matter how large, small or full or if they stand strait up and out or hang a tad bit low. I continue to make love to myself.
I searched for by belly button not so accessible as most others, but there and just as sexy if your the only one to please or be pleased. I slapped at my thighs, and laughed in delight. I examined, them, their fullness each round curve, enjoyed how smoothly my hands glided over them as my hands slide back and forth over them. I danced on the tips of my toes, and spun around, I saw the backs of my legs and flexed to see the build of my calves, that I attained over the years as a softball catcher.
I loved on my petite feet, with their fresh new pedicure, cute and neat. They wear the hell out of stilettos and can be accentuated by the right dress. But they'd much rather be bare and free dancing on a dew covered grass at a summer jazz festival. I turned my back to myself and looked over my shoulder. I took in years of bad eating habits, poor exercise, and low self esteem, combined with unfavorable genetics. This created less of a desirable silhouette and a shame and guilt I try to let go of even as I love on myself. So I hurriedly move on, letting my bedroom eyes take focus on my backside. Checking myself out from all angles, coming to the conclusion it’s alright, it ain’t as tight as I like, or as round as I want it to be, but with time and hard work maybe I’ll get it as I picture in my head.
But like a great lover I touched and saw, filled my eyes with all my goodness but kept my mouth closed, for fear of having to sleep alone on the couch. Or having to go without hearing an I love you at the end of the night. I embrace myself, stroked at my blemishes and round areas, I smiled and winked at myself. I blow loving kisses at my parts starting from the bottom to the top. I tell me how beautiful I am and finally before it’s through, I prove that I love me no matter what the packaging is, I was made perfectly to be exactly the way I am, and I fell more in love with myself after I made love to myself. And it felt DAMN GOOD!
I decided to make love to myself, just one night, try it out, see how it would feel. With the lights dim and a few candles lit, I stood bare, naked in front of an image of my own reflection. Their I looked at myself starting with the top of my head and following the strands of hair to my round face, with it blemishes from my teen years and laugh lines that run very deep.
I looked into my eyes with my eyes, and watched as a special part of me danced in the small slants, I batted my lashes and winked at myself, I let my eyes glide over my small round nose, blew kisses with two perky and pouty, lined and glossed lips. Drew lines and made circles where my chin should be but was more pleased at the fact that there was only one and not two, three or more.
I pushed my freshly done hair, back behind my ears and recalled how curly it had once been at one time, when I rocked my natural fro. I relaxed in knowing that like every woman I had a hair story, of loss and renewal. But I loved on tracing my neck that held the secrets to my eczema, which with time and age changed and became easier to maintain. I eyed the marks on my shoulders and saw beauty in them still, shoulders for someone to lean on ,cry on, for a child to one day rest their head on.
I traveled on to my breast once so round and full, they once captured all the attention I was to receive. Now they're not so full, less obtrusive, its different and new, not having something that was such a large part of me for so long, having blossomed in the 3rd grade, now be less of a distraction. Allowing me to find the best parts of me to grab a mans attention, attention that belongs rightfully to me, I hug them and accept them as they are at this moment, I feel across them knowing every ones are different and mine are special no matter how large, small or full or if they stand strait up and out or hang a tad bit low. I continue to make love to myself.
I searched for by belly button not so accessible as most others, but there and just as sexy if your the only one to please or be pleased. I slapped at my thighs, and laughed in delight. I examined, them, their fullness each round curve, enjoyed how smoothly my hands glided over them as my hands slide back and forth over them. I danced on the tips of my toes, and spun around, I saw the backs of my legs and flexed to see the build of my calves, that I attained over the years as a softball catcher.
I loved on my petite feet, with their fresh new pedicure, cute and neat. They wear the hell out of stilettos and can be accentuated by the right dress. But they'd much rather be bare and free dancing on a dew covered grass at a summer jazz festival. I turned my back to myself and looked over my shoulder. I took in years of bad eating habits, poor exercise, and low self esteem, combined with unfavorable genetics. This created less of a desirable silhouette and a shame and guilt I try to let go of even as I love on myself. So I hurriedly move on, letting my bedroom eyes take focus on my backside. Checking myself out from all angles, coming to the conclusion it’s alright, it ain’t as tight as I like, or as round as I want it to be, but with time and hard work maybe I’ll get it as I picture in my head.
But like a great lover I touched and saw, filled my eyes with all my goodness but kept my mouth closed, for fear of having to sleep alone on the couch. Or having to go without hearing an I love you at the end of the night. I embrace myself, stroked at my blemishes and round areas, I smiled and winked at myself. I blow loving kisses at my parts starting from the bottom to the top. I tell me how beautiful I am and finally before it’s through, I prove that I love me no matter what the packaging is, I was made perfectly to be exactly the way I am, and I fell more in love with myself after I made love to myself. And it felt DAMN GOOD!
Friday, April 3, 2009
November 1, 2008
He said I wasn’t worth the wait, and I realized he wasn’t worth the rush
He wasn’t worth taking the steps to get closer to but I took the leap into the shallow end of the pool and got stuck, I fell to my knees hurt and displeased because again I fell short of my own self worth.
Ashamed, scared and hurt, I look down my dark path and see me again hitchhiking loves rode my thumb out to the next passerby rolling up slow and I watch myself making the same mistake as before, entering in on the passenger side and letting someone else guide my life, allowing a him to be my driver
Not picking or choosing how I’m getting to my next destination and he veers me off my chosen course and I sit there in the seat next to him, cheesing like a dummy as he throws insults and hurts at me and drops me off in the dirt and I have to walk back to get the place where I am me again, and again I stick that thumb out there until the next pretty ride drives up slow and he pulls me in with a hello full of bass and a smile I cant erase from my mind.
Eventually the me I love inside myself will save me from myself before I lose myself to another him with bad intentions and thoughts of getting some head on his brain. But again maybe the need to want love and feel love from someone that can hold me and make me feel safe, will again replace the desire for me to take my time and not rush into something with someone who only can throw out one liners and laugh at his own crappy jokes.
Damn his smile, what the hell is up with my thumb
He said I wasn’t worth the wait, and I realized he wasn’t worth the rush
He wasn’t worth taking the steps to get closer to but I took the leap into the shallow end of the pool and got stuck, I fell to my knees hurt and displeased because again I fell short of my own self worth.
Ashamed, scared and hurt, I look down my dark path and see me again hitchhiking loves rode my thumb out to the next passerby rolling up slow and I watch myself making the same mistake as before, entering in on the passenger side and letting someone else guide my life, allowing a him to be my driver
Not picking or choosing how I’m getting to my next destination and he veers me off my chosen course and I sit there in the seat next to him, cheesing like a dummy as he throws insults and hurts at me and drops me off in the dirt and I have to walk back to get the place where I am me again, and again I stick that thumb out there until the next pretty ride drives up slow and he pulls me in with a hello full of bass and a smile I cant erase from my mind.
Eventually the me I love inside myself will save me from myself before I lose myself to another him with bad intentions and thoughts of getting some head on his brain. But again maybe the need to want love and feel love from someone that can hold me and make me feel safe, will again replace the desire for me to take my time and not rush into something with someone who only can throw out one liners and laugh at his own crappy jokes.
Damn his smile, what the hell is up with my thumb
Round Two
March 17, 2008
I followed up Mr. Compassionate and Sensitive, with Mr. Spiritually Connected. He was wonderful, how he glorified the lord and used the bible to subdue me. He honored and respected me, or so I thought.
He never used the traditional ways to woe me. He played the game and mind over mattered me, had me second guessing me, doubting the reality of me, how he played me. This man of god betrayed me and battled the demons in me. Almost got the best of me, and tried to take the rest of me. But he doesn’t understand how God blesses me, how he has a hand in dealing with and trying me. So I left what this man had of me, in the best and worst parts of me, and walked on to the new me, shedding like the snake he is and blooming in my own garden of Eden, my own heaven on earth. And walking into Mr. Honesty.
I followed up Mr. Compassionate and Sensitive, with Mr. Spiritually Connected. He was wonderful, how he glorified the lord and used the bible to subdue me. He honored and respected me, or so I thought.
He never used the traditional ways to woe me. He played the game and mind over mattered me, had me second guessing me, doubting the reality of me, how he played me. This man of god betrayed me and battled the demons in me. Almost got the best of me, and tried to take the rest of me. But he doesn’t understand how God blesses me, how he has a hand in dealing with and trying me. So I left what this man had of me, in the best and worst parts of me, and walked on to the new me, shedding like the snake he is and blooming in my own garden of Eden, my own heaven on earth. And walking into Mr. Honesty.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
He Used to Love Me or So I Thought
June 26, 2007
12:55 am
He once told me stories about how I was the one, how I was the warmth he needed to get to sleep at night. I was kept around by the need to be needed with no strings attached or so at least I thought. But the string so happened to be attached to me. I was the puppet played to the word love used up for the purpose of being wanted but not needed. Kept around as a house keeper wanted for the usage of leaning upon for my strength. I was Superman and he my kryptonite and he sucked me dry got my last tear and my final sigh and so he used to love me or so I thought.
I was the person I thought he called last before he went to bed, but then you find his phone rung long after I hung up and she was also there a secret woman with a different warmth in a different kind of place that held him long after I did so where did this love or lack there of leave me. Left standing on the side of a street waiting for the next one with the pocket full of promises to come along. with the promise of happiness and days full of kisses and the thoughts that when I fall asleep at night, the shivers I have will be comforted by him and the warmth provided by him and him alone. And he’d be there no matter what. And so again I go into this half blind and unknowing and a little scared because the one before said the same thing in the same way in the same manner yet when it was all said and done he ran away, far off into the distance with the she with no name just a warm place to keep him though the day.
And so now u come my sir lance- a- lot, prince charming in a broke down chariot and yet I take a leap of faith, I walk out to grab hold to your out stretched hand. I free fall, float on clouds, drift away into your eyes and sail into your arms with the thought that I could be his one, I could be the one to change his life and he could love me or so I thought. Until our clouds turn black and we storm and clash and lighting wakes us up and you realize your fears lead you to someone other than me and I realize your afraid of the dark and again I am left standing alone with the promise of a love so real and true that I can only find it in you, or so I thought.
So where does this cycle lead me how many times must I fall for a different guy with the same line? How do I decipher the men from the wolves? How do I offer the right man the right chance without wasting my time? How will I know the one who really loves me has found me and not just one whom I so thought?
And again a deep voice, some thick lips and a hand full of promises lead me out into the middle of nowhere with no one to look to but him and let him lead and he tells me how he’d be nothing without me, how I’m the one, and God created him for me and me for him and I melt, I accept the fact that I’d never know unless I allow myself to give him a chance and just see, because he could really love me this time or so I thought.
12:55 am
He once told me stories about how I was the one, how I was the warmth he needed to get to sleep at night. I was kept around by the need to be needed with no strings attached or so at least I thought. But the string so happened to be attached to me. I was the puppet played to the word love used up for the purpose of being wanted but not needed. Kept around as a house keeper wanted for the usage of leaning upon for my strength. I was Superman and he my kryptonite and he sucked me dry got my last tear and my final sigh and so he used to love me or so I thought.
I was the person I thought he called last before he went to bed, but then you find his phone rung long after I hung up and she was also there a secret woman with a different warmth in a different kind of place that held him long after I did so where did this love or lack there of leave me. Left standing on the side of a street waiting for the next one with the pocket full of promises to come along. with the promise of happiness and days full of kisses and the thoughts that when I fall asleep at night, the shivers I have will be comforted by him and the warmth provided by him and him alone. And he’d be there no matter what. And so again I go into this half blind and unknowing and a little scared because the one before said the same thing in the same way in the same manner yet when it was all said and done he ran away, far off into the distance with the she with no name just a warm place to keep him though the day.
And so now u come my sir lance- a- lot, prince charming in a broke down chariot and yet I take a leap of faith, I walk out to grab hold to your out stretched hand. I free fall, float on clouds, drift away into your eyes and sail into your arms with the thought that I could be his one, I could be the one to change his life and he could love me or so I thought. Until our clouds turn black and we storm and clash and lighting wakes us up and you realize your fears lead you to someone other than me and I realize your afraid of the dark and again I am left standing alone with the promise of a love so real and true that I can only find it in you, or so I thought.
So where does this cycle lead me how many times must I fall for a different guy with the same line? How do I decipher the men from the wolves? How do I offer the right man the right chance without wasting my time? How will I know the one who really loves me has found me and not just one whom I so thought?
And again a deep voice, some thick lips and a hand full of promises lead me out into the middle of nowhere with no one to look to but him and let him lead and he tells me how he’d be nothing without me, how I’m the one, and God created him for me and me for him and I melt, I accept the fact that I’d never know unless I allow myself to give him a chance and just see, because he could really love me this time or so I thought.
Lust and Hate
3:21pm August 12, 2007
She wailed in ecstasy and to him it sounded like the soprano squeals of a trumpet. So with a smile on his face he continued to glide deeper and deeper until he hit that spot that caused her eyes to tear and for her to claw permanent reminders of that night into his back. But he also did not last. Months from that night the screams from her would not be coming from the pains of pleasure and passion but the simple hurt of love. The noises coming from her would no longer welcome his smile, but call an anger that would later send him raging from her home in a defying silence that would say more to her about the man he wasn’t than if he had fought with her.
She wailed in ecstasy and to him it sounded like the soprano squeals of a trumpet. So with a smile on his face he continued to glide deeper and deeper until he hit that spot that caused her eyes to tear and for her to claw permanent reminders of that night into his back. But he also did not last. Months from that night the screams from her would not be coming from the pains of pleasure and passion but the simple hurt of love. The noises coming from her would no longer welcome his smile, but call an anger that would later send him raging from her home in a defying silence that would say more to her about the man he wasn’t than if he had fought with her.
And So It Goes
February 14, 2008
I’m to stubborn to give in/
Yet to weak to go on/
And so it goes/
My heart cant take being right, but feeling so wrong/
I cant see the light through this darkness/ An end to my grief/
And so it goes/
This life I am living though typical is causing me pure madness/ a great disdain/ an incurable sadness/
And so it goes/
How is my need, my desire to be loved becoming my life’s struggle/
I find in you beauty and love so strong/
Yet you see only in me a challenge a love untapped your reason to carry on/
And so it goes/
I cant understand how you want me so bad/
Yet have no thoughts of being my man/
And so it goes/
Just the thought of me alone make you want to burst/
But loving me is never thought of first/
And so it goes/
The idea of love is last on your mind/ first in my heart, yet we can’t compromise/
And so it goes/
A need to be loved/ Not a need for your lust/ not just about who I want but about who I trust/
And so I go on/
A self worth that no man can demean/ building self- esteem/
I forge on to the next this is my life’s test/ so it goes/
I walk alone loving myself until he comes and shows me the love I so deserve
And so it goes/
I’m to stubborn to give in/
Yet to weak to go on/
And so it goes/
My heart cant take being right, but feeling so wrong/
I cant see the light through this darkness/ An end to my grief/
And so it goes/
This life I am living though typical is causing me pure madness/ a great disdain/ an incurable sadness/
And so it goes/
How is my need, my desire to be loved becoming my life’s struggle/
I find in you beauty and love so strong/
Yet you see only in me a challenge a love untapped your reason to carry on/
And so it goes/
I cant understand how you want me so bad/
Yet have no thoughts of being my man/
And so it goes/
Just the thought of me alone make you want to burst/
But loving me is never thought of first/
And so it goes/
The idea of love is last on your mind/ first in my heart, yet we can’t compromise/
And so it goes/
A need to be loved/ Not a need for your lust/ not just about who I want but about who I trust/
And so I go on/
A self worth that no man can demean/ building self- esteem/
I forge on to the next this is my life’s test/ so it goes/
I walk alone loving myself until he comes and shows me the love I so deserve
And so it goes/
Cake vs. Man
Some people may not understand my relationship to cake, they may not get the pleasure or the longing I have to this multifaceted pastry. Some may think it repulsive, mental, off setting. But when you really break it down when you compare the sweet culinary dessert to its counter part, or my counter part the all elusive and indecipherable man, or in this case penis you become renewed with a lust for life that only these things can bring.
See cake never judges, it never puts you down or calculates your worth, it never disrespects you or belittles who you are. It never tells you, your too fat, too thin, too tall, or too ugly to be in its presence. Its accepting and inviting and always loving. Cake only wants to be your friend, your lover. It comes in layers of love and its taste; texture and fillings can cause orgasmic euphoria at times, more than you can say for some of your own best lovers, they can never hit the right spot at the right time. Cake has its on XXX station (the food network) and its king of cake or Ace of Cakes- bring it to us 365 days a year (go cake man). But cakes are often undiscriminating, available to everyone for every major and minor function; birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and just the every day.
Cake can come in portions for you to share or individually wrapped and separately sold. But sometimes cake doesn’t want to be cake, does it then walk out on you and leave you with no phone call, letter or verbal explanation, no. When cake wants to change forms, be different, it becomes its counter part cheesecake. Just as pleasing with its many flavors and desired recipes. And when that’s not good enough for the lactose intolerant, it’s a warm and irresistible fudge brownie, something that can be topped like a cake and eaten fresh, right out the oven.
And when cake wants to celebrate you, be there for you only and make you feel like the special individual you are, it’s a cupcake. A single grace of spongy goodness topped with buttery goodness, piled high.
Not too often does cake disappoint unless its over cooked and dry, made by the wrong hands or a fruit cake. YUK!!
But a man, can he be all this? No, would he try, never? But can he cause that feeling, that longing that I have for cake in him? Can he now become my lemon frosted bundt cake, can he be the desired yellow birthday cake with white frosting? Would he mind being an individually wrapped midnight snack cake that rewards the senses and awakens the sluggish mind, enticing you with every morsel, causing you to abandon your manners and lick every bit of frosting from your finger tips? Could he be the last bit that you lick from the corners of your mouth with a satisfied smile on your face, is man great enough to be my cake?
DAMN I need some cake- bad!!!
*so if you still don’t get it, or maybe your just not trying understand, replace cake with chocolate, pancakes, chicken soup- or anything you’d be so willing to over indulge in that if you found the one you’d give it up, just to replace them as your “cake”. Happy Eating’s.
See cake never judges, it never puts you down or calculates your worth, it never disrespects you or belittles who you are. It never tells you, your too fat, too thin, too tall, or too ugly to be in its presence. Its accepting and inviting and always loving. Cake only wants to be your friend, your lover. It comes in layers of love and its taste; texture and fillings can cause orgasmic euphoria at times, more than you can say for some of your own best lovers, they can never hit the right spot at the right time. Cake has its on XXX station (the food network) and its king of cake or Ace of Cakes- bring it to us 365 days a year (go cake man). But cakes are often undiscriminating, available to everyone for every major and minor function; birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and just the every day.
Cake can come in portions for you to share or individually wrapped and separately sold. But sometimes cake doesn’t want to be cake, does it then walk out on you and leave you with no phone call, letter or verbal explanation, no. When cake wants to change forms, be different, it becomes its counter part cheesecake. Just as pleasing with its many flavors and desired recipes. And when that’s not good enough for the lactose intolerant, it’s a warm and irresistible fudge brownie, something that can be topped like a cake and eaten fresh, right out the oven.
And when cake wants to celebrate you, be there for you only and make you feel like the special individual you are, it’s a cupcake. A single grace of spongy goodness topped with buttery goodness, piled high.
Not too often does cake disappoint unless its over cooked and dry, made by the wrong hands or a fruit cake. YUK!!
But a man, can he be all this? No, would he try, never? But can he cause that feeling, that longing that I have for cake in him? Can he now become my lemon frosted bundt cake, can he be the desired yellow birthday cake with white frosting? Would he mind being an individually wrapped midnight snack cake that rewards the senses and awakens the sluggish mind, enticing you with every morsel, causing you to abandon your manners and lick every bit of frosting from your finger tips? Could he be the last bit that you lick from the corners of your mouth with a satisfied smile on your face, is man great enough to be my cake?
DAMN I need some cake- bad!!!
*so if you still don’t get it, or maybe your just not trying understand, replace cake with chocolate, pancakes, chicken soup- or anything you’d be so willing to over indulge in that if you found the one you’d give it up, just to replace them as your “cake”. Happy Eating’s.
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