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
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
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
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
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
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
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?
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?
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Gutted
Story Behind The Poem
Another creative piece....and a verrrrry old one at that. I think I wrote this back in like '05 or '06. I think it's pretty self explanatory. This was during my phase where I was playing around with techniques and my tool of choice was the best of them all.......METAPHOR. So yeh...I'm not talking about fishing....not for fish anyway.
Enjoy
*****************************
All it took was to see what I wanted
And I bit
Quick
Pulled out the water into a world I didn't know
It was promising
Yet bittersweet when I was dropped
Off the hook
Free
Only to be gutted
And left to feel empty inside
Another creative piece....and a verrrrry old one at that. I think I wrote this back in like '05 or '06. I think it's pretty self explanatory. This was during my phase where I was playing around with techniques and my tool of choice was the best of them all.......METAPHOR. So yeh...I'm not talking about fishing....not for fish anyway.
Enjoy
*****************************
All it took was to see what I wanted
And I bit
Quick
Pulled out the water into a world I didn't know
It was promising
Yet bittersweet when I was dropped
Off the hook
Free
Only to be gutted
And left to feel empty inside
Lyrical Rhetorical Flourish #1
Story Behind the Poem
Not much deep behind this poem. If anything, it's just a showing of how writing helps me pass my spare time. The therapy it provides me. Had a lot in my head, and going back and reading it, I can remember what I had going on in my mind that time....but I'm not sure if an unknowing reader would be able to discern it.....which is cool for this piece. This piece is not important for what it is about, but more so for what it is; a glorified creative exercise. Probably moreso than the other stuff I posted, this piece shows HOW I work.
Enjoy
**********************************************
So I'm sitting in front of this blank page, which becomes less blank as I scribe.
So, rather, I'm sitting in front of this increasingly less-blank page looking at my reflection. The more I write, the more I become me.
Sitting at this table, in front of this increasingly less-blank page looking at my reflection. Only to realize that should I choose to write my fate with a pencil, I will certainly fade away. Thus, I unabashedly choose to live my life with a pen, my errors plain to see. No regrets. Flowering in my being from the remnants of what I once was.
The verse is not fully born yet, nor am I.
So I put this pen to the paper after etching out some eargasmic type stuff. Now the paper is a mess, but at least my mind is no longer on the verge and I can remain faithful to myself.
So I'm sitting in front of this nearly full page, feeling pretty impressed by myself. And liking my reflection thus far. But I think I will leave the rest of the page unmarked. The gaps are accurate and now so is the incompleteness.
True
Reflection
I am not yet me
Piece.
Not much deep behind this poem. If anything, it's just a showing of how writing helps me pass my spare time. The therapy it provides me. Had a lot in my head, and going back and reading it, I can remember what I had going on in my mind that time....but I'm not sure if an unknowing reader would be able to discern it.....which is cool for this piece. This piece is not important for what it is about, but more so for what it is; a glorified creative exercise. Probably moreso than the other stuff I posted, this piece shows HOW I work.
Enjoy
**********************************************
So I'm sitting in front of this blank page, which becomes less blank as I scribe.
So, rather, I'm sitting in front of this increasingly less-blank page looking at my reflection. The more I write, the more I become me.
Sitting at this table, in front of this increasingly less-blank page looking at my reflection. Only to realize that should I choose to write my fate with a pencil, I will certainly fade away. Thus, I unabashedly choose to live my life with a pen, my errors plain to see. No regrets. Flowering in my being from the remnants of what I once was.
The verse is not fully born yet, nor am I.
So I put this pen to the paper after etching out some eargasmic type stuff. Now the paper is a mess, but at least my mind is no longer on the verge and I can remain faithful to myself.
So I'm sitting in front of this nearly full page, feeling pretty impressed by myself. And liking my reflection thus far. But I think I will leave the rest of the page unmarked. The gaps are accurate and now so is the incompleteness.
True
Reflection
I am not yet me
Piece.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Leave It Be, Walk Away...
Story Behind The Poem
I know the whole point of me doing this blog was to give yo all a peek of me on the inside. But I'm gonna punk out a bit because the subject of this poem is still a bit fresh, and possibly identifiable, so I'm going to be very vague in my description of the background story. Simply put, being one who generally doesn't become attached to anything or anyone much, I found myself in a sito where I found myself becoming attached to someone for.....reasons I still can't grasp; which probably explains it.... not knowing so much kept things fresh and interesting for me. Still the part, the mystery, that made me the most interested also frustrated me the most.
This poem is another one of my"say it aloud to see if it makes more sense when you hear it than when you say it" attempts....almost an extension to "Rooms". The sito was bouncing 'round my head so much that it was becoming a distraction, and I knew it had to be resolved, and the resolution wasn't coming from the source. Part of this was because this is probably one of the most genuine attractions I've ever had. Mind you, genuine is not a synonym for strong, because I've been more attracted to other women than I was to her....but dealing with her and seeing her ways almost made previous situations seem articifical....or small. This jawn was cute, but that was really insignificant after the first time we kicked it. To me , she truly felt like a puzzle piece to this picture I've been painting. Thus, I decided to leave it on the paper, and walk away and let the poem cry....cause I can't see em coming out my eyes...
Shit, I done said too much. I guess you get me after all.
Let me know what you think
**************************************
A ‘no’ would be so much easier to take
And honestly, I sometimes feel like that’s why I stick around- still
To be able to close the book
Not only subjectively knowing
But objectively certain as that what it all has been reduced to is an exhaustion of all possibility
Still there’s no answer, nor even a floating thought resembling ‘why’
I feel my way through the darkness, grazing my finger across it occasionally, I think
And it hurts too the touch—
Quite the opposite of you
Maybe some other time, some other place we could have shared that star crossed kind of love
The kind adolescent girls aspire to
But in the here and now, I can’t help but feel a day late
A dollar short
And sore
Because I know you’re settling for less
Not that I’m necessarily more, but damn
I hear the potential in your voice when you speak of those things that make you happiest
I see it in the smile of your eyes
And in the text messages I keep in my phone admittedly too long
Just so, at my leisure, I can remind myself that you feel something
Remind myself that you’re here for me
Your spirit precedes you wherever you go
Worthy of, deserving of, capable of having the world
Yet you have nothing
A classic dance of the foolish heart
It hurts to stay, but I can’t walk away
Too many poems have been written by others on the same matter
Which is why I feel so……. cliché
Generic and inauthentic
A destiny unfitting for an atypical, extraordinarily infinite adoration
Classically, characters of my particular fit are unwilling to sweeten upon anyone’s name
And concerning intent, my reflection is consistent with that fact
And I’ve fallen nonetheless
I know the whole point of me doing this blog was to give yo all a peek of me on the inside. But I'm gonna punk out a bit because the subject of this poem is still a bit fresh, and possibly identifiable, so I'm going to be very vague in my description of the background story. Simply put, being one who generally doesn't become attached to anything or anyone much, I found myself in a sito where I found myself becoming attached to someone for.....reasons I still can't grasp; which probably explains it.... not knowing so much kept things fresh and interesting for me. Still the part, the mystery, that made me the most interested also frustrated me the most.
This poem is another one of my"say it aloud to see if it makes more sense when you hear it than when you say it" attempts....almost an extension to "Rooms". The sito was bouncing 'round my head so much that it was becoming a distraction, and I knew it had to be resolved, and the resolution wasn't coming from the source. Part of this was because this is probably one of the most genuine attractions I've ever had. Mind you, genuine is not a synonym for strong, because I've been more attracted to other women than I was to her....but dealing with her and seeing her ways almost made previous situations seem articifical....or small. This jawn was cute, but that was really insignificant after the first time we kicked it. To me , she truly felt like a puzzle piece to this picture I've been painting. Thus, I decided to leave it on the paper, and walk away and let the poem cry....cause I can't see em coming out my eyes...
Shit, I done said too much. I guess you get me after all.
Let me know what you think
**************************************
A ‘no’ would be so much easier to take
And honestly, I sometimes feel like that’s why I stick around- still
To be able to close the book
Not only subjectively knowing
But objectively certain as that what it all has been reduced to is an exhaustion of all possibility
Still there’s no answer, nor even a floating thought resembling ‘why’
I feel my way through the darkness, grazing my finger across it occasionally, I think
And it hurts too the touch—
Quite the opposite of you
Maybe some other time, some other place we could have shared that star crossed kind of love
The kind adolescent girls aspire to
But in the here and now, I can’t help but feel a day late
A dollar short
And sore
Because I know you’re settling for less
Not that I’m necessarily more, but damn
I hear the potential in your voice when you speak of those things that make you happiest
I see it in the smile of your eyes
And in the text messages I keep in my phone admittedly too long
Just so, at my leisure, I can remind myself that you feel something
Remind myself that you’re here for me
Your spirit precedes you wherever you go
Worthy of, deserving of, capable of having the world
Yet you have nothing
A classic dance of the foolish heart
It hurts to stay, but I can’t walk away
Too many poems have been written by others on the same matter
Which is why I feel so……. cliché
Generic and inauthentic
A destiny unfitting for an atypical, extraordinarily infinite adoration
Classically, characters of my particular fit are unwilling to sweeten upon anyone’s name
And concerning intent, my reflection is consistent with that fact
And I’ve fallen nonetheless
Piece.
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