Sunday, March 31, 2013

How deep

How deep can you bury the hatchet so as to not creep out of the grave?

My heart opened, blossomed & was left bare. Raw, you gnawed at my flesh & left me to heal my own wounds.

I opened my soul foolishly time and time and time again. My offerings sent out into the atmosphere. Stung.  Denied the turn of an olive branch. 

Now you want back in. You want to bury the hatchet. You want to be friends.


My thoughts get caught in the space between my heart & my stomach.  
I don't want them boiling up, spewing from my lips, hot.

I'm torn. Anxious. A love i once had, not reciprocated, but easily resurrected. 

Are you digging the healed the skin, resurfacing your scab?

Easter Sunday

Prabal Garung for Target
Super cute & comfortable

Saturday, March 30, 2013

Free


Lay next to me
And hold me close
Place your palm on my heart.
Feel my life play for you
In Tribal beats,
Unfettered, unrestrained dance,
Khemetic chants and soulful scats
Running marathons through deep veins.
Reach my crown
Redeeming my throaty blues
So that I may speak freely,
Ask if I may allow you to behold my heart,
Feel the universal kinship
That we share in moments beyond this.
Pursue this enduring synergy we perpetuate
Forthcoming and organic
Altruistic
Honest
Offering up harmonious melodies,
Your heart beats my soul’s performance.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Narcissism and Nostalgia

Tonight, my neighors were engaging in some pre bedtime intercourse, keeping me from acquiring rest as i was attempting to take it. i decided to google myself.  My old college address & phone number showed up as well as my old myspace page. how interesting it was when i found this gem: 


"Wow. I just got done trying to teach Kwasi how to play speed. I can't believe he didn't even play speed in high school.   The games these kids (and adults) play up here are so different. They play dominos not to count but to "go out." They don't play gin to count points, but to get out the fastest, and they don't play SPEED in high school? What kind of business is going on in Yankeeville?   But while teaching him the game, it just brought back a flood of memories of Magill's debate class, Mrs. Hof-whatzherface's math class, Mr. Bolger's math class, debate tournaments where there was no excuse as to why a day would pass when you WOULDN'T play speed.   I had forgotten how i used to be able to stack a whole five cards at a time and win in like no time flat! And how the people I used to play with got sooo good we used to play with two decks of cards. I had also forgotten that i was such a nerd, i always had a deck of cards in my backpack for just the purpose of a game of speed (or spades) and how i had used that deck till the box had fallen apart and i took some masking tape in Magill's room and taped it up and colored it... WOW. such memories. Reminds me of how much a nerd I was (and still am)...   But I used to love speed. It was a game of chance, talent, and such a game for bonding. I know many of my friends on here were made during Magill's class or some other class when I wasn't doing very much and had time to play several many hands of Speed.     I even taught my brother how to play when he was a little tike... I wonder if he remembers. I'll have to ask him.   I can't believe this loser here next to me never played speed (the right way with cards face down) and got frustrated when i taught him how to really play. OH well, like they say, DAMN these YANKS.   Anyway. Just remembering... Night y'all."

Reality at all is that Reality is What it is or What We Think it is


I’m sitting here watching SATC after having a monologue with my most recent manifestation in the shower, all playing out internally, an allusion of sorts.

The conversation stemmed from the overwhelming undercurrent of thoughts that I just want to be rescued; rescued from myself. The idea of being rescued by love, whimsical, fanciful, silly and overwhelmingly romantic love just seems so romantic in itself. Silly at this age, but romantic nonetheless. Take me away. Take me somewhere where love is like breathing. I don’t care where we go, long as I’m there with you.

But back to the imaginary conversation with the man. He once called himself Captain Save a Hoe. Despite my prior life having tendencies, my immediate response, “Thank God I’m not a hoe.” But anyway, we have known each other for long enough at this point. I have been privy to the lot of his sex-capades. We did a momentary thing, hence the conversation occurring in my mind. After mulling over things, I can only be his friend. I’d like to like him, but he’s dangerous. I can handle friend zone, but not friends with benefits, and at this point, not lover. There is not much I can offer of myself that I wouldn't want protected or given away freely. I can give care and concern as a friend, but I can’t play lover or part time or in between time, and even though I can look past promiscuity, the reality is that stepping out on someone you really love, then it can be done while with me. Not into finding out that I've given myself and the flip side with the emotions associated with infidelity.

 
But before I go deep end into my emotions and thoughts about this, I should find out if it’s warranted. Lol. I’m so in my brain, reality of the situation at hand sometimes doesn't really come to me until after it’s too late.






Randomocity in 3................2.......................1.........................:

Standards.

It’s been the hot word of the weekend. I've been asking myself what are my relationship standards? What do I determine as being important to set out the tone of relationships? I have been single so long, and not really into the game of dating, that I don’t know. I don’t really have rules, and have determined that might be the reason that I am still single. LOL!

I’d love to know, so I’m going to think about it as I create this magnificent meal of jambalaya stuffed chicken with sour cream and chive potatoes, dirty rice and spinach.