Tiptoes

Happy 2011, peoples!!!! Been way too long since I've posted my tantrums.....trust it is not from a lack of inspiration. In fact, I've probably been TOO inspired....writing too many things at one time and not being able to focus my energy on one thought in particular. The result is a notebook full of incomplete poems and scattered lines that only begin to touch on all that I've been dealing with.

That being said, the newest piece I'm dropping off is the first of many joints I have on my most favorite of subjects and the biggest and best discovery I've made within the past year. My biggest blessing and greatest joy, I've been writing this piece about this relationship for a few months, because just like the relationship, I didn't want to rush things. What I've discovered is that love is a very painful thing to experience, let alone write about. Not because the love itself is complicated, but because when you are dealing with an authentic love, you discover alot of things about yourself.....fears, insecurites, vulnerabilities, etc. This is especially true when a relationship is seemingly flawless for so long and it then its a point where every exchange feels like some sort of a battle. The thing you were once so sure of, you begin to doubt......

But when doubts and questions began to creep into my mind, a strange thing happened. Amidst all of the questions, I began to see answers. Notice, I didn't FIND answers, I just had to remind myself of all the things I already knew and all of the things that got she and I to this point......I began to look at all of the things my love and I have dealt with and gone through, and realized that we still are standing, and that we have an infinite number of reasons to continue to do so. I realized that doubts are not bad things....they are good things, at times. Especially at times like these where they bring clarity to the confusion of all the outside factors.Most importantly, I realized that if I allowed myself to be defeated by doubts and fears, I'd lose more than I'd ever be able to regain. Therefore, though it may be instinct to tiptoe around embarking on a relationship or even in continuing it.....I've learned that is not necessary....but it's okay to tiptoe until we gain the courage to walk, so long as we continue to move forward.....I now present to you all the long overdue "Tiptoes". Walk with me.

Here's to finding answers and peace to all that ails us.....
**************************************************************

Tiptoes

A room, still and tranquil is not to be confused with calmness…
To the contrary, the serenity is painful
And noisy somehow…..and active
Each footstep’s echo grows more obvious
Booming against the hardwood, resonating against the hallowed halls
The result is a soul increasingly aware of itself…
Its motions and its emotions, both hushed like crying children now
Praying to be overlooked, as if shamed to be on this walk
The air’s uncertainty is now palpable, harsh to the touch
We know this feeling
Fear is setting in
And no one wants to move……
And soon, the experience is removed to an unfamiliar level of consciousness
Now an observer of oneself

Every

Single

Step

Shortens in distance, slowing in pace
Reflecting on reflections of no image
Attempts to be silent are spurred by desires to be invisible….
Because the path, though different, feels familiar
The signs are the same and all the pitfalls are known
And after tripping…..
And after stumbling……
And after hurting….
No one wants to fail in front of the crowd…
No one wants to fall
No one wants to fall in love
So we tiptoe, as if we weren’t meant

The truth is that we are titled “starred crossed”, with a shared destiny lying in the heavens
And that being so, doubtlessly the destination is reached
Surrounded by the L
We are high, hazed, and hungover
Developing bad habits without concern, in spite of the cause for
At some point, we found reason to not care who was watching
And we prayed to be judged
Because even the dullest eye would be confronted by their own envy
Because this love is frank, to put it bluntly
Intentions cannot be contested
And the only questions are those beginning with “when”…
There is no cause to wonder “whether”…….
We are left to savor sweet moments in graphic detail
Each instant, a brushstroke
And as more time passes, the portrait grows in beauty and clarity
So much so, that even the Artist is in awe
And He smiles at what he has made this day
And we, as his dedicated subjects, thank Him for the many days to come

But…….there is always a but
Always an “however”….
Always a question mark that replaces a period…
“I love you.” becomes “I love you?”
“Forever.” becomes “forever?”
“Us.” becomes “us?”
Inevitably, the sinful souls begin to wonder if they are worthy of such happiness
Predictably, the certainty of a stride becomes….
Tiptoes….
Cautiously light steps across the thread connecting fabrics, separate and distinct
One being the things we were
The other being the things we are to become
And the only thing connecting the two is a thin, fragile, flimsy string
And in a cold breeze, naked, we are left to balance emotions, doubts, and fears
And that being so, we become especially aware of the doubters hoping we fail
And those that throw stones in hopes of knocking us off our path
And of our weight and the tension it places on this cord
And the innate fear of possibly falling…… out of love
Thus, we grow especially sensitive to the strands every wiggle
And to some extent, we convince ourselves that these movements are omens
Indications that our reservations and hesitations are warranted
Signs that we may not be meant to be
Because, from experience, we recognize the signs from times before
And most importantly, we know the pain and our desire to never feel it again

That is why we slow our progression
And analyze our position so closely
And protect our hearts with such vigor
The reaction is understandable; necessary even
As caution is but an injection of reality
And being so high, it is refreshing to be grounded
Or at least feel as such

Still, as one stands suspended and anxious, the question remains
How do you get to the future when your past is still your present?
How do you get to the rest of the world from here?
The answer is to keeping moving
Do not stop
Do not reverse pace
Move forward, at a snail’s pace if need be
Tiptoe until you realize that tiptoeing is not necessary
Lift your chin upward
And step confidently, knowing that you are & have been standing on solid ground the entire time……

High Heels

Story Behind The Poem

So.......this piece has been in my mind for many, many months now (conceptually, at least). The inspiration came from a side convo I was having with some homeboys. A classmate of ours happened to walk past us while we were sitting. She was wearing heels....which is not odd in the slightest, save for the little bump in the rear she had seemingly grown overnight. I asked one of the fellas, " Yo, when did such and such get that, lol". One of the guys said, "Whenever she got those heels"

And that started the conversation....It's no secret that when girls wear certain clothing.....whatever is in style now, it tends to accentuate the more feminine features that visual creatures like us men can't help but notice. And somehow the wrong head starts doing the thinking....

In a nutshell, ithe poem is about how in the grander scheme of things, we as human beings---capable of thought, analyziation, and careful consideration--- hardly exercise those gifts. We simply are stimulated by an impulse, and then we start attaching to that thing all the other things that we know we need. For instance, I need a strong minded, opinionated, humorous, self-assured, secure type of woman who can actually take it as well as she can dish it...Historically, I've typically gone for good, sweet people who in actuality lacked what was needed to deal with a brash person like myself....i.e; assertiveness, self-assuredness, confidence, thick-skin, etc... Instead, I always seem to end up with the sensitive, insecure, passive, weak-opinionated types....and it's not entirely because there weren't signs off jump to tell me this.

It's all mostly because I, like most others, am weak when it comes to a fine girl catching my eye. I disregard all the shit telling me she ain't even close to being the one, solely because she is attractive....because she is wearing heels. Still, in the same breath, this poem is also just as much about those who put up fronts to attract people., or who fool themselves into thinking they want a certain kind of relationship when the contrary is true.

So, stripped down, this piece is an indictment of myself and all others for saying we want one thing and chasing the other. For taking a pretty face, or good sex, or a person's 'statistics' and making those things the basis of our feeelings...the basis of justifying a relationship, as opposed to those things This is for everyone who assigns undeserving characteristics to the objects of their affection because they WANT to fool themselves and for everyone who has been involved with different people, but somehow still keep finding themselves in the same relationship......

Perhaps if we start seeing that this is the source of our problems, we may move on to healthier things.


************************************************************************************

When I first met her, I paid no mind to the fact that she was wearing heels
Still, it was evident
Steel, it’s cold feel raced the length of my spine
I was hypnotized by motion that wouldn’t have existed, but for those heels
And these feelings I’m harboring, no doubt, were mothered by opened-toed stilettos

But shit, wasn’t none of it real
It wasn’t love, it was lust,
Trust, less I wouldn’t have let her just walk away
Well, perhaps I would’ve let her walk away
But only to hold a moment of silence and remembrance for her fine ass
If only to bear witness to the wave and that extra little sway
I’d become consumed by the unoriginal, the artificial
I was fooled by a flat booty
But I digress
If it were love, I’d carry her cross forever to keep her here

But I soon realized…..
Between the mascara and the shadow and the gloss
I might as well have been blinded
Because even at arm’s length, I couldn’t see her
And I’m sure, had we fallen asleep, I’d have awoken to a stranger

And the conspiracy was not complete without the push up brassiere
Masterfully and magically, it rose to its task
Somehow, the cup overflowed many times over from barely a sip
And at the risk of further digression from my point
The heels’ affects complimented this falsity embarrassingly well
My head was no longer in control
I was thinking positions and night caps
And in my mind, I’d already traveled the road to take me to that destination

But even the heels and the mascara and the brassiere were pale
Pale in comparison to the coup that was her personal façade
Her entire carry was -----intangible
Which explains why I could never grasp her…

She was and forever remained but a grandeur in May
Because there was little to her, and nothing more
No mystique, nor anything to father intrigue
A master of accentuation, her persona wore heels
And mascara and shadow and gloss
And a push-up bra
And lashes, and false eyes, and false hair, and the nails
All things I noticed and recognized as not yours
But I was a slave to primal instinct
I’d become an aggressive prognosticator, seeing what I wanted to see
And I fueled my desires off the front she put forth
And in those heels, I wanted to see the future in her
…I wanted to see a future with her
And I, in fact, did

…..Until she took off her heels
And I was no longer distracted
And, simply put, I then realized she wasn’t what I thought she was
More importantly, I realized I was the fool

Plight of The Misfit Toys

Story Behind The Poem


My people, my people.....It's been a goooood lil minute. I have no good explanation, so I won't even venture to try. I will just promise to try and do better....emphasis on 'try', lol.

But moving on. As you all may have noticed, it's the Holiday season, so of course I've been catching all the little holiday shows. I caught one of my all time favs, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and watching it I revisited a sympathy I felt as a child watching the movie. As a kid, I always found it real messed up how all the toys on Misfit Island were just discarded, especially when at the end they ended up being appreciated by some lil kids who weren't limited by any preconceived concept of what a toy should be....the only question for the kids was whether or not the kid was a means to his having fun. (Okay, so my childhood thought process wasn't THIS intricate---but the point remains...I felt bad for the toys, lol). But somehow, someone, somewhere else made a decision that they understood everything there was to understand about the Misfits. The truth of it all, though, is that whoever was in power simply lacked the ability to appreciate individuality; he lacked the ability to see all the toys for what they truly where...And because of his inability, the toys suffered...they were typecast as 'different', the catchall concept that essentially is a saving grace allowing the ignorant to feel as if they still do actually understand.

Okay...so maybe I took the cartoon too far.....but that's my individuality, don't typecast me as 'different' for it, lol. In all seriousness though, the plight of the toys, as I have discussed them, hit home with a feeling I've been having for a while.......I admit I am an acquired taste for people; I'm not exactly the easiest person to be around. However, being an acquired taste does not necessitate a finding that I am hard to understand.

Now I haven't been told by people that I am a hard person to 'get', but the way people have treated me has told me as much. People are very good at telling me how I will feel or react to certain things because they know my 'type', and it frustrates me because 99.9% of the time, they are completely off base. The result is me being frustrated by essentially being condemned to forever being misunderstood....sorta like the misfit toys.

Stylistically, this poem is really a departure from the norm from me.....the pattern, the pace, it's all a bit scatter brained and poetically, probably a tough digestion for the average reader. I call it my 'soap-box' form.....I jus had a lot of things to say and wanted to get it all out...so how it hit the paper is how you get it....RAAAAWWW!!! I actually re-wrote/ changed the piece three times content-wise, but I never went back and tried to make it a traditional 'poem'....this is like an anti-'Wax Poetic', lol.

But without further ado, welcome to my thoughts. Enjoy your skinny dip in my stream of consciousness..


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A misfit among misfits
Even amidst those unlike others, I am apart
And I beg the Good Lord that I not be misunderstood

But I suppose, I am not entirely unlike their breed
My good providence for misinterpretation lays in cold water, on tea leaves, stale
Still, a distance remains
As the others are embraced by an intangible concept, an enabler
The masses pat themselves on the pat for defining those across the drawn line
“Different”, they say
And somehow the masses feel they comprehend
And the others feel understood
And all is well
But apart from the masses and the others, I stand apart, frustrated
Discontent with being short changed
No attention or effort put forth to understand me as I am
I am not different
Not within the confines of their definition, at least
A definition which seeks to lasso me among others who are, but, unfamiliar to most

But such is the plight
Placed in the hole where the pigeons are kept
A parallel universe governed by assumption and misplaced certainty
Where no one dares questions the politics
There’s a strange unrest amongst the contentment
Yet it is futile to rebel
Because as my father told me, struggle is ordained by God

Still, I feel compelled to burst out of the nutshell that is my summation
And I challenge all takers to truly learn me
Navigate away from the road most traveled
Shift your gaze away from their sanctuary, east towards He
The light is always proper
And you can
I always see me for who I am; what I am
My outburst do not define me
Neither my anger, nor my sweetness
If any concept at all, I am a fluid one
Like a river that will never be touched twice
I find predictions of my evolution to be asinine
Copouts for more fearless assertions

But such is the plight
Unfitting of a conceptual fit
As opposed to risking a conniption by broadening ones horizon
The option is simply this or that
This, being a concept they already understand
That, being different

Somehow the concept of relativity escaped them, along with the truth
The truth that we are all different…..
Some are just not as easily understood
Even by those who think they understand

Such is the plight of the misfit toys

When We Get There

Story Behind The Poem

It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you, without a dope poem to read, lol. It's been a while since I posted something, folks....but blame it on my life and not my heart. Between the lack of motivation and the difficulty I've been having in verbalizing the things I'm actually ready to write about, the entire creative process has been moving like molasses.

At any rate, to stem the tide, I'm posting an older one....wrote this one sometime last year during one of my reflectionary type periods...Thinking back on it, I think this poem is the precursor to 'Rooms', so reading that one after this one might link things up a bit for those of you who actually care to attempt to understand how my mind works.

But getting back on point. Those who know me know that generally I'm reluctant to get pursue relationships...I'll step up and go after who I want, but even then I've always been one to have a wait and see approach in terms of completely falling for someone. In a phrase, I'm a pessismist when it comes to relationships and the poem is kind of an embodiment of that attitude. I've made concerted efforts to be more optimistic and vulnerable in terms of giving of myself, but shit...I can't say I've made the strides to be where I want to be...Anyway, let me know what you think.

Enjoy...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When We Get There

I tend to lose focus
A train of thought that grows increasingly shorter
And closer to a place where I envisioned going
But never ventured
Or even thought possible
So excuse me if I don’t get too excited at the promise of getting there
Rather, if it don’t show
Cause somewhere in the back of my head I still believe
If it don’t show
It don’t grow
And THEY don’t know
So somehow, it doesn’t really exist
Some may call it pessimistic thought
But they lack experience
At least MY experiences
If they knew what they know not, that I know most certainly
They’d call me a realist
Perhaps a journalist if they read my scribes
Maybe a historian, if they saw the relevance and development of man
And spirit
Which is a another monster in and of itself
Which I plan to face
But am in no rush to do so
I’m fine just waiting on that 9 cloud to carry me to where I want to be
But have you ever tried waiting on something…..
And not knowing what that thing looks like
It’s so damn frustrating
Thinking every car coming round corner is your ride
Only to be left standing on the curb
With the remnants of liquored poured for dead friends and rainwater
Splashed on your overcoat
Looking at a license plate
2BAD 4 U
…Now imagine that someTHING is someONE
And every time you think she’s coming around the corner
And everytime she gets close
She juke steps
And you’re left face down in the dust
You get up
But your face is still on the ground
It’s so hard
If you didn’t have religion before
You for damn sure have it now
And I ain’t the only one
The whole damn world is scarred
I’m like damn
It all comes full circle
The wounded wound
And vice versa
So it is versa vice
I just write the verse
And hopefully my pen can work out whether you are
The One
Or “The Next One” in what seems to be a never ending line of candidates
Who settle to be conquests
I suppose your guess is as good as mine
Whether you are a guest
Or a permanent inhabitant of the hallowed halls of my heart
Not that I’m necessarily inviting you inside
But I’m not, not inviting you, ya dig?
How bout I just leave the door open a lil bit
And if you choose to come
Let me know when you get here
And I’ll let you know that I’m there
And we can proceed to get where
We need to be
And celebrate when we get there

Piece

Cold December

Story Behind the Poem

As most of you know, I dabble in the hip-hop a bit. Though poetry always will be my first love, this poem actually started out as an attempt of compose an obviously poetically infused piece into a song.

As with my other pieces, anyone who knows me is familiar with a struggle that I've been going through within myself. As recently as age 18, most folks generally would have described me as a sweet, kind, gentle, teddy bear type (I hate the comparison FYI). I still get those types of compliments occassionally, but over the past seven or so years, I've also noticed a distinct change in myself...somewhere I've channelled the ability to find anger. My temper is hotter than its ever been. My concern for how others will react to things that I say is non-existent....I honestly couldn't argue with anyone who would call me mean...And I don't like that about myself. Even the relationships I have with women are changing. Once upon a time I could honestly stand before people and say that I was different....but even that's changed. I feel as if I'm becoming more like other cats with my attitudes towards women....part of that is because of some atypically bad break-ups, part is because of some shots that didn't quite beat the buzzer...all of it is rooted in actually putting myself out there on a limb...making myself open and vulnerable, and having the branch snap from beneath me. A lot of it has to do with poor communication...actually alot of it has to do with alot of things that I will discuss in a later poem ("Birth of a Purse Snatcher") once I'm able to work my thoughts out on that piece, so I'll cut this short and leave you all with this.

I'm a strong believer that if nothing is ventured, then nothing is gained. If you expect to make progress in life, you have to put yourself your mind, your heart, your sanity on the line occasionally. I want to make these strides and have laid myself out at the mercy of the world and several people many a time, and not gotten the responses I've seeked. Needless to say, in a nutshell, this poem is about how life has effected my development from a person a really liked but wasn't built for the world, into a person who I don't like as much, but has the tools necessary to make it in this cold world. So, as I lay back in the therapist's chair.........enjoy

And for those of you trying to figure out exactly what events led to me feeling this way.....the poem was written in the summer of '08 and is based on a great deal more than relationships with the fairer sex

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

it's like the bitter chill made the whole world sit still
the air's stagnant
my face numbed from glares of ill will
ice grills backed with bad intention, I feel...
compelled as black mamba tryna kill bill
laid at the will of killers with penchants for doing jus that
and their cold, cold hearts are so real
and so hungry for blood meals
and even more so in such a cold December

they say only the strong survive
but I beg to differ
because the strong die too
and they get lied to
but the wise know truth and rule the strong
because though they lives lived short, their words live long
and shake every man’s soul
tiptoeing through time on the airs of whispers, they hear you
and the words are held so dear
and in the chill still heard so clear
and even more so in such a cold December

the coldness only makes me more conscious of my environment’s violence
and the fact that the more I live in this climate
the more I die within
only the Lord knows where my fire went
cause now this artic has made me lethargic and heartless
and unaware of how to navigate the darkness
and somehow I lost my way and now I’m gone forever
as if I left footprints trailing away in this cold December’s driven snow

don’t act as if you didn’t know
although I understand if the flow of your thoughts became frozen cold
like the ice water pumping through my veins
clearly I’ll never again be the same
and I want somebody to blame
or at least explain this change
and the answer came as wintry rain dancing on my face
each drop tinged with pain
and it hurts even more so in such a cold December

i never felt so alive as when i died
riding with the righteous side
fighting for what my heart desired
nevertheless, my hair’s turned grayed
my eyes is pitch white and my skin is fading away
i'm one amongst the masse, it’s tragic
that I’ve been forced to assimilate the fabric
and my mind too
the mirror’s frosted up but no reflection needed to know I’ve become you
and the chickens done come roost in the midst of this cold, cold, December

and now I find myself wishing bad on others peoples mothers
death upon other peoples brothers
it's so hard when u discover that you are no longer the you, you once knew
staring at the mirror wondering who is that dude
and you haven’t one clue
like a nigga flew over the cuckoo’s nest and left you
sitting a alone
and that’s cold, even for a cold December

even my heart is frostbitten
twice shy, indifferent
iced more than a quarter-century's exposure should allow
the result of repeated frigid impacts upon an unreciprocated affections
i've grown calloused and unwilling to try any longer
my tongue has sharpened
my concern, now non-existent
i am no longer merely influenced
you can see my body shiver, reacting to the temperature
trying to resist the bitter side-effect of contact
but it's useless

I AM cold
Even for a cold, cold December

Congratulations

Story Behind the Poem

About a year ago I learned that an ex of mine had gotten engaged. It threw me for a shock, for the simple reason that only a few months before, when we last spoke, I was unaware that she was even dating someone. We initially began dating back in '03, during my freshman year of college, broke up the same year....and really had no real contact until my senior year of college. She'd transferred after freshman year (not because of our break up at all) and had returned to Hampton to hang up with old friends before everyone scattered back across the country. Anyway, since that time we've remained cordial...and basically erased any ill-feelings between us.

Between '06 when we reconnected through, say, fall of '07, we steadily improved our friendship, but it was a bit odd, at least on my end. We'd basically arrived at the conclusion that our break-up was caused by young folks miscommunicating. In my head, my curiousity was peaked a little bit.....but nothing ever came of it, before we amicably loss touch amidst our busy lives. It's so much more to the story, but I've said all I rightfully can, because anyone who's known me for any length of time could probably identify who I'm discussing....All I can say is that the poem discusses my reaction to the news of her engagement, and a bit of rehashing of our history, just for context, just so you all can understand how .....unique this feeling I have is. To say anything more would be nothing more than airing out someone else's business...so without further ado...Congratulations (but I don't want an invitation, lol).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I imagined this would be a little bit difficult
And a whole lot bit awkward
But just the same, I’m calling
Because at the end the day, we are still friends
Granted, I have only one friend I can say was my first
So…again, you can imagine what it must be like for me
….to say congratulations on your engagement

Whenever I think of you, I am the face of bewilderment
Drawn aback from the impact of our few months
I think about sitting at our tree on the waterfront in Virginia

And the night we shared your blanket
Huddled within each other on the cold concrete,
Counting stars
Drunk with unimportant discussion that actually mattered….
And falling asleep, remaining that way until the rain awoke us
And chased us back to your dorm

I think about those frigid nights that we’d sit amongst the escaping winters
Birthing what are now memoirs
My teeth chattered, yet I refused to take my jacket back
Afraid that we’d have to cut short our evening
It was on one of these oh so common nights that I crowned you
Topping you with my fitted cap
Cocking it to the left the way we do on the eastside
I claimed you
And you cried without tears
A true understanding, words were useless; our souls spoke
That may be one of the sweetest moments I’ve ever shared with any one

All of which makes the break up perplexing
Shy of first love only because my heart then was as it is now;
Incapable of that sort of vulnerability
Only moreso then
You embarked on an impossible task with me, given the circumstances
Which I will keep between you and I

I think of all that now…
And how none of it matters
What we could have been has been exhausted
Yet I honestly don’t think I could be any happier
That’s why when I scrolled passed your name in my cell phone
I was compelled to be the bigger man
I chuckled at the tentativeness in your voice when you answered
Ill at ease, I’m sure
As even our innocuous exchanges always tended to return to our favorite familiar topic
What happened to us?
What could have been had that happening not happened?
How naïve we both were, to think we could ever be just friends

But it’s okay
Trust, I’m only calling to wish you well
My reflection shows no envy or jealousy
My chest is not warmed by anger
My heart is not hurt, and it’s still beating
And I’m smiling
I wish my friend the best
And trust, my words have the utmost sincerity

Her Drug

Story Behind The Poem

Friends, I know it's been a minute since I've given you some new stuff, but fear not!!! Seriously though, I'm droppin off a new piece for y'all...another one that will give you a glimpse of me. The approach this time is a bit unique in that I'm not telling a story from my perspective, so much am I discussing a break up from the perspective of an ex.

We were best friends once upon a time, the we dated, then we broke up. There were periods of what was probably pure hate (at least on her end, I think) and then reconnections followed by other break ups...man, y'all know the deal, I'm sure everyone had has a sito similar to this one to some extent. You keep revisiting situations that you know can't or shouldn't go any further, probing for some avenue that you know doesn't exist.

At any rate, I recently have been....encouraged to go ahead an finish this poem. I'd been working on it a while, but never quite knew how to end it....the poem always felt like the middle of a story, like something else had to be done to have closure. But then I realized....there was no other place for us to go, and deep down she realizes that too. What we have now is what we have and it can go no further, there is no crisp, tight ending, or closure in any form you would expect it to take. So the poem itself, probably will leave you wanting something more...but shit, that's the way of relationships right?

And for you simple minded folks, this poem is about alot more than sex.....y'all nasty!!!


Owwie, Enjoy

***************************

There was fire and heat
But no lighter, nor flames, nor any fumes
Still, she would always inhale…
As if in preparation
She would close her eyes and inhale
As it entered her, her body would relax as it worked its way through her stream
The discerning eye could see the injection consume her
And in an instance, from what was but a casual escape, an addiction was birthed

The moment that expectation and satisfaction merged,
She felt the rush and never again would be the same
Never again would she be able to….casually partake
She was unaware that even a small hit would cause her to revert
I knew otherwise

When face to face with her addiction, she’d fall unconscious
Leaving her present limp and untended
A slave to a selfish desire to be needed and wanted…..and content
And content she was, many times over
Yet, though she used in order to achieve her high
Certain, she soon convinced herself, she was, that she was not an addict
But a victim of the narcotic’s vengeance
An impossibility, a sane mind would recognize that much
But again….she was hazed
A queen in a world of purple clouds, green suns, and white waters
To some extent, she doubtlessly was but an instrument for satisfaction
But to impugn the substance, and not the craving, was to misplace her animosity
Because it was not the drug using her
But her, using herself, to suit her dependency…
…To dress her enslavement in golden shackles
To posture herself such that she felt justified, and not a fault, in the role she played in losing

She craved for what she once had that had heightened her standing, reminders
Substituting intense moments to again feel how she once felt, she was tripping badly
Other packages were too stepped on, too weak to please her
She recognized that strychnine was not a kick
It was not real, it was poison and she needed that raw
Thus, as she chased her high, she felt no shame


Once she was able to resist the callings
Seeing herself leaning, she recognized her addiction
And she ran away swiftly, fueled by anger, distraught by her reflection
For a day she was a champion; stronger than the high she longed for
But that was only a moment
The first of twelve steps, she’d go no further
She soon became okay with, if not satisfied with her reflection and her addiction
Until this point, it had never been so evident that the narcotic surpassed influencing her
It controlled her system
One with her being now, destined to forever have a hold on her
Overdosing may be her only way out
A suicide necessary to live..
Now if that ain’t a sickness…
And at the same time, the cure…
She needs that feeling, and I am her means
So she takes me because I take her…

She takes me because I take her…

She takes me because I take her…

She takes me…

Because I take her there

Why else would she not walk away?
Cause it damn sho’ ain’t love, right?