Dedications

To all my supporters,
I am over whelmed by your love.
You feed my passion and at the same time
you keep me grounded.
My ego rarely over inflates due
to your diligent work watching the gauges.

To my, for lack of a better word, haters,
You have my respect.
You always keep it real, even at the risk it goes wrong.
Your bold honesty keeps me on my toes.
In regards to whichever one of my facets you find unappealing,
I hope that you can one day accept it, if not appreciate it.

To those who doubted me,
You light the fire under my ass.
The sheer satisfaction of proving you wrong,
makes the struggle worth it.
Without hesitation, I would do it all over again.

To my flaws,
I love you wholeheartedly.
Without you, I wouldn’t be who I am
and who I aim to be.
I pledge to continue work on you and with you.

To the heartbreaks,
Thank you for teaching me how to love.
The pain you have caused reminded me I am alive.
The pain didn’t kill me, though it might have made me bitter at times,
It made me appreciate the healing process.
The risk was worth the reward and the blood, sweat and tears that came with it.

To those who taught me a lesson,
You did me a favor.
You removed my rose colored glasses
and showed me the world for what it is,
both beautiful and cruel.
I will take the lessons I learnt and pass them on.

To the reader of this,
Thank you for letting me share myself with you.
Knowing that I might just touch your heart,
make you laugh, make your cry or
just plain make you think, is my reward.
I dedicate this to you.

And The Winner Is...

No good can come
from the 3 sharp edges
this love triangle bears.
Only hurt feelings and tears will be produced.
Somebody is bound to get hurt,
for their worth won’t be recognized or valued.
Two of us will agonize over the decision,
I thought was best.
I will be more upset than I will ever let on;
especially if I realize my decision was wrong.
Our hearts are already under abuse,
and they can only endure so much.
We all clutch, to the notion of a fairytale ending,
failing to realize, 1 of our hearts will need extensive mending,
sometime soon, but our hearts still swoon.
Are raging hormones to blame for a dedication that
for one will all be in vain?
A choice has to be made
but I am deathly afraid of making a bad selection.
The competition is stiff,
yet indecision drives a riff between
my heart and mind.
I’ve tried to decline and delay
but my time has run out.
This reality dating show that now doubles as life
forces me to chose between two that are not alike,
but both equally worthy of my love.
Cliques aside, this is the biggest decision of
my youth.
I’m ready to let the truth
be known of who won my heart.
Well…here goes…

The Woman In The Mirror

As I walk past her she catches my attention.
She looks vaguely familiar to what I remember,
but I would know that face anywhere.
Something about her is different.
It seems like a lifetime has passed,
since the last time I have taken a long hard look at her.
The more I examine her features
is the more I realize she is a stranger to me.
Yes, her ascetics are still appealing,
but her demeanor has evolved.
She possesses a serene and subtle spirit,
that was previously hidden by unresolved anger.
She carries herself with poise and grace,
which parallels those of royal bloodlines.
She is no longer defined by labels given to her
by those trying to pass on
their own value judgments and insecurities.
Now an eternal optimist, she focuses her energy
on the brighter side of life.
Yes, she is still flawed but
her efforts to correct them are duly noted
and partial credit is being given.
I am pleased with her upgrade.

My Apologies

I don’t know what to say.
You’re dying and there is nothing I can do about it.
My mere mortal abilities are no match for the will of divine beings.
The cancer growing inside you has handicapped my power to comfort.

I can’t look at you.
The state you’re in pains my heart and my eyes.
The supple flesh that once plumped your face and body are gone.
Your cancer has stolen your body and replaced it with the image of the grim reaper.

I don’t want to be here.
Seeing you in this state is corrupting my memories of you.
The reality that your time left on this earth is limited is starting to set in.
Your cancer is sending every emotion I ever had to the surface and I’m unable to process them.

I can’t do this.
I am not strong enough to bear the burden of my heavy heart.
Being absent and selfish is the only coping mechanism I have left.
The cancer inside you is winning and I can’t bear to watch the massacre.

Emotional Overload

I feel like I’m about to short circuit.
Every human emotion I have has surfaced.
My programming can’t handle this surge
of new unprocessed feelings.
New information aims to corrupt my system
and my virus scan is ill-equipped.
All I can do now is shut down then reboot.
Whether if it will help or not,
is a whole other issue.

In Recovery

I will always be a love addict but,
I am now a hopeful romantic.

I’ve gotten you out of my system,
And I’m keeping it that way.

The urges to use you for my personal high
no longer control me cause
drama just doesn’t do it for me anymore.

I now get my highs from embracing my flaws
and loving them all individually.
Begin better than I was yesterday is the only thing
that gives me satisfaction.

Your doubts on my genuineness
won’t discourage my determination.
Success is in my hands and I won’t let you take it from me.

I am a recovering love addict.
Finally sober and no longer jaded.

I’m on the road to recovery
and I wouldn’t trade the scenery for anything.

"Favorite Poet Friday" Damion O.L. 6/25/10

This week's featured poet is Damion Omar Lee.

"Metrocard Divas"

Come Ma please!!
Who you tryna deceive?
Cause I see through all the contacts, fake up and hair weave.
So believe me when I tell you, I'm far from impressed.
You should button up your shirt...because I'm not tryna see your breast!
Is that all you have to offer, some titties and ass?
Well then, you can keep your silicons...I prefer women with class.
These dudes must have you gassed...they'll tell you anything for ass
Have you left feeling scorn because you gave up the pussy fast
Screwface when brothaz pass...unless they showing off some cash
Jesus pieces and platinum grills keep necks injured from whiplash
Mesmerized by tricked out cars and obsessed with rap stars
While your ambitions for that life has you dancing in strip bars
Eye candy indeed, but 'Ma' could barely read
Couldn't understand the contract so she ended up getting G'ed
Her immaturity reflects her mental state
Thought she was intellectual because she used words like "CONVERSATE"
And her idea of a debate "Should I suck him or fuck him?"
Has a passion for fashion, name brand and fresh kicks
Took it as a compliment when I called her Materialistic
And blushes when them Niggaz call her Bitch!!
How about those chicks who be feeling themself?
Defined by her possessions, materials, and wealth
Shit...little does she know, I could care less about her degree
She lost her personality when she gained her P.H.D
Plus with all that education, she missed the secret to success "How is she necessary?"
So see I'm all about autheniticity...you feel?
But just because you appear natural don't make you real
So all you Lauryn Hills with your fashion locks and Neo Soul Fros
Ask you about your heritage, and yet you don't know
So when I see you reppin the Red, the Black, and the Green
I know it's all just for show
Oh yeah...you Latino Mommies who want to deny the fact
Always with the "What up my Nigga?"...but won't admit you're black!!!
Sistaz always complain how brothaz ain't shit...but forget "YOU ARE WHO YOU ATTRACT"!!!
Now I'm sorry if you feel my poem lacks tact
My intentions aren't to attack, so don't take it like that
I'm just a voice for the brothaz who choose to hold back
And to let y'all know there is more to the world than Coach Bags and MAC
There are still good brothaz out there, so please cut us some slack!!!
Cause...I'M NOT TO BLAME FOR THE PAIN THAT WAS CAUSED BY PREVIOUS CATS!!!

Damion is not only a talented poet but he is also a fantastic actor. He is a member of SAG and is currently lobbying for a tupac biopic. For more info on Damion, check him out at the links below:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tf3GXjbUxYA
http://www.massify.com/profiles/truth/
http://twitter.com/true_thespian

Rehab

Thought I could do this on my own,
but I can’t.
These bad habits are too far engraved in me.
The first step to recovery
is admitting—
I am the problem.
I’m addicted to making bad choices
that provide temporary satisfaction
and form permanent regrets.
Professional expertise is needed to break
my cycle of self-sabotage
and clear up these delusions.
It’s time to check into rehab.

Relaspe

I’ve missed you.
My resistance was futile.
My powers are no match
for your kryptonite.
Satisfying sensations run through
ever fiber of my being
as I let you take over.
I hate myself already;
but there’s no turning back
on the road to hell.
I might as well just
sit back and enjoy the ride.

Detox

You’ve become an obsession.
No longer an affliction
but a full blown addiction,
that will cost me everything
if I don’t stop.
But how can I?

My mind screams obscenities,
scolding me about the enemy,
you have obviously become.

My dependency stokes my fragile psyche,
reminding me of the euphoria I feel
from the high you give me.
Though you’re the root of my self destruction,
you provide me with comfort and security.
How could I betray you?

The part of my mind that doesn’t like me,
has held me captive for way too long.
Changes have to made before insanity sets in for good.

The time has come to purify the mind,
body and soul you have contaminated.
You’re toxic.
I can no longer allow you access.
Permission to dump your waste has been denied.
It’s time to clean up my environment.

Lovesick

You invade my mind at the most
inappropriate times.
Just as thoughts of you seem to
go into remission,
I get a sudden and serve
outbreak of longing.
The virus you’ve implanted
has infected my emotions.
I endure this chronic illness
with poise and silent misery.
You’ve come and gone
but the damage you’ve done
is here to stay.
The possibility of a cure lingers between
reality and fantasy.
As the days pass, the symptoms subside,
but are still just below the surface.
Time is both my savior and my enemy;
it heals all wounds yet leaves a nasty scar.

You Have A Choice

Anger is destructive and
counterproductive emotion.
It’s the offspring of pain
and a breeding ground for irrational,
self-righteous and ungrateful behavior.
Through all heartache and disappointments,
there are hidden blessings.
Your struggles and strife have made you
the amazing person you have become.
Anger only tarnishes your beautiful spirit.
Embrace the pain of life’s shortcomings
and let go of the burden they bear.
The past is set in stone
with no hopes of alteration.
You have to live and let go.
Holding on to anger is a choice,
and so is emerging yourself into
the happy and pleasant things in life.
Which choice are you making?

Surrender

I’m exhausted.
This game has gotten the best of me.
You are the master of manipulation,
and I must pay homage.
You’re expertise in playing with emotions
is by far more superior than mine.
The game of tit for tat no longer holds my interest.
I’m tired of following these unwritten, unspoken rules
of how to effectively seduce your heart.
You’ve won the battles,
but I refuse to continue fighting in our war.
I’m done.
It’s over.
I surrender.

Grandstand Bandwagon Fans

And that’s the game.
The crowd momentarily loses control.
The air is saturated with hugs, laughs,
high-fives and chest bumps.

Bandwagon fans camouflage themselves
among the die-hard supporters.
They reap the benefits of loyalty
yet initially declined to put in any of the work.

“We don’t associate ourselves with losers” is their core chant.
They parallel their own success to the success of others.
These unscrupulous spectators take credit and glory in the toils
of those who reached the summit while they slept.

The bandwagon brigade is front and center
to hitch a ride on the way down.
No room? No problem.
A coattail will do just fine.

Don’t count on seeing them next season.
Their allegiance is short lived.
If you’re no longer on top, you’re no longer their concern.
No comfort is offered to fallen heroes; they’ll already be on to the next one.

"Favorite Poet Friday" R A Williams 6/18/10

This week's poet is R A Williams. Check out her poem "Heartbeats" in the Featured Poet section.

A Conversation Between Crabs

Where do you think you’re going?
We crabs need to stick together.
I refuse to give you a leg up;
since your departure from this barrel
will leave me in the same position.
My name is Misery and I love company.

Its true, if I help you,
we’ll both obtain individual success
on the paths we each decide to take
outside these walls;
but my comfort zone is comfortable;
and you can’t have ambition for other crabs.

Jane Doe

I am the feeling of uncertainty
you get when he comes home
smelling better than when he left.

I am the reason things seem out of order,
even though everything is in its place.

I am the manifestation of the elephant in the room.

My identity is irrelevant yet the image of me haunts you,
causing your sudden onset of paranoia.

My presence sends your woman’s intuition into a frenzy;
but pushing your inner snooze button
only silences the alarm temporarily.

I am his escape from the mundane,
and I fill the void you, nor he, can fill.

I am every derogatory word towards a female in the English language.

I am the source of your anxiety and insecurities,
and I rob you daily of your self-worth.

I am everything you will never be.
I am always the appetizer, never the main course.
I am Jane Doe.

Save Your Two Cents

Save your two cents,
you need them more than I do.
Seeing that you’re on the verge
of moral bankruptcy,
I feel it would be unethical for me to take them.

A wise man once said,
“Never take advice from someone
who’s more screwed up than you are.”
Hence I respectfully decline your generous
line of credit towards unsolicited advice.

Insider trading forbids its, but I must relay information
passed on to me by one who specializes in these transactions.
Your two cents would be best put to use,
invested in a mutual fund with those
prone to similar judgmental tendencies.

I understand that the group think mentality,
doesn’t appeal to all; so,
you could also consider putting your two cents in a CD.
Hopefully, the fixed interest
will yield you some maturity.

I appreciate your interest,
but your two cents are no good here.
Try obtaining a substantial amount of collateral,
as a means of backing up your two cents.
That will be the only way I’ll consider accepting them.

The Ideal

He'll look at me the way
Barack looks at Michelle
when they slow dance.

He'll hold me like
precious cargo taking special
note of the fragile sticker.

He'll kiss me like
he's going off to war
unsure if he'll ever touch my lips again.

He'll touch me with
gentle intensity exploring me
as if I were uncharted waters.

He'll whisper classic love songs
parallel to his feelings as he
strokes my hair and watches me sleep.

He'll show me how
a man treats a woman
he can't live without.

He'll be my ideal...

Acceptance

You are who you are,
whether I like it or not.

You will never be
who I want you to be,
unless it’s your desired destiny.

I am who I am,
whether you like it or not.

I am the expert of my life,
and will walk a path,
preferred solely by me.

Harmony will overcome discord,
if we agree to disagree.

No more judgments,
prosecutions, or trials.
Just dual surrender.

With a truce we will finally obtain
what we’ve both been yearning for…peace.

Graveside Prayer

Without tears or sorrow,
I watch you lower into
the graveyard of my mind.
I’ve buried you alive with no regrets.
Only memories will haunt me
while simultaneously justifying my decision.
You’re dead to me.
Rest in peace.

Façade

My mask covers the cracks of a
barely healed heart,
held in place by counterfeit adhesive.
Liquid courage plugs the holes
of titanic depression,
while denial battles to keep it afloat.
The novelty of new toys,
wears off after a few sweaty
playdates.
Boredom leads to indulgent excess,
all the while secretly longing
for the scent of an old teddy bear.

"Favorite Poet Friday" Will D. 6/11/10

This week's poet is Will Dennis. Check out his poem "My Pen Bleeds" in the Featured Poet section.

Indentity of My Art

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
If this is your idea of poetry,
my work won't be for you.

Rhyme doesn't define nor confine
the work that I do.
My poetic flavor is to be savored
for its unique taste & style.

Open minds are required
to understand the notions inspired by
everyday life.

My choice of self expression
is an outlet for aggression
and pent up frustrations.

I use words to paint scenes,
Some disturbing, some serene,
to illustrate the world
as my biases see it.

Hopefully my confessions can be used
as life-lived lessons and
connect with those of like mind and heart.
Without further ado, back to my regularly scheduled art.

Common Denominator

The oscar for best victim,
in a dramatic role goes to YOU!
Always being wronged,
never being done right,
is your major plight in life.

Self-inflicted blindness and elective ignorance
allows chaos and drama to walk by your side
and lead you down the path of self destruction.
At the sea of denial, you emerge yourself,
then blame it for your drowning.

The constant variable in this equation is you.
A common denominator that could lead to
a solution, if you would only attempt
to solve the damn problem.
I guess math isn’t your strong suit.

Where in the World is Prince Charming?

She sits in her ivory tower and waits.
She chants a mantra for hours on end,
“One day my prince will come, so I must be patient.”
Her time is spent gazing into the distance,
not wanting to miss the moment he appears.
Day after day, he fails to appear on the horizon.
No shining armor.
No noble stead.
At sunset, she wraps herself in her delusions,
with only hope to keep her warm.

She holds her ideals of prince charming,
with unwavering, reverent faith.
Telling her charming isn’t real,
Would be like breaking the news about Santa,
To a bright eyed child setting out cookies on Christmas Eve.
You just can’t do it.
Time will be the only thing able to teach this lesson.

She stays in her comfort zone and waits.
Suitable suitors show interest,
yet she turns them away without fail.
She is the future Ms. Charming,
an identity she holds firmer than her own.
Childlike faith glues her to her post,
waiting and watching…

Years have passed with her perched and caged.
Her beauty has faded along with her values.
What was once the center of her world now means little.
As she gazes beyond the horizon,
she is blinded by enlightened revelations.
She dedicated her life to a fairytale
with only a broken heart and spirit to show for it.
As she watches her last sunset,
she whispers to some nearby woodland creatures,
“Life isn’t a Disney movie.”

The End.

Death by Pride

My autopsy will read,
Cause of death was pride,
due to an inflated sense of self-worth,
with an acute psychological need to be right.

My condition is surely fatal,
Unless I undergo an egoectomy.
What will become of me when I am egoless?
Surely I will be half of a woman upon removal.

No one understands my plight.
One single solution has been reached by all;
“letting your pride kill you is a senseless way to go.”
They fail to remember I am the only expert in my life.

Yes, my pride has kept me from happiness,
but its also shielded my from pain.
Why should I admit, I’m a little bit in love with you,
without an happy ending satisfaction guarantee?

Gambling is no vice of mine,
hence playing Russian Roulette with my pride,
is seldom an option.
I’ll just stick to solitaire.

My only other option is to retreat to my fortress of solitude
for it has plenty of room for my pride.
There is where I will wait,
Until every last bit of pride leaves my body.

Simple Bitches

“This shit, that shit, all shit aint shit!”,
are words of the average simple bitch.

They never been shit, done shit,
and probably will never be shit.

They think they are the shit,
and bigger, better and baddest bitch.

A simple bitch will want all of your shit,
even though she aint got shit.

She feels you owe her shit,
simply because she’s that bitch.

All she does is talk shit,
about shit that aint worth a shit.

If you’re reading this thinking it aint shit…
You might just be a simple bitch.

A Look at the Politics of Twitter

The People’s Republic of Tweets,
governs itself on a unique set of rules.
One who moves into the twitter nation,
should be sure to read the declaration of codependence.

At election time, the VIPs of tweeps go
from zero to crazy in 60 seconds.
The one to make the biggest spectacle wins.
The prize a seven figure amount of virtual constituents.

Followers are the seed from which
the twitter VIPs self-esteem blossoms.
“Unfollowing” is an act of treason
and is punishable by not so subliminal,
subliminal twitter rants; a fate worse than death.

The VIPs stand on their soap boxes and tweet,
on and on, about what they think the people want to hear,
keeping them in a constant stupor of complacency,
giving them no reason exit during their solos.

The reign in Twitter nation is short lived,
for fickle minds crave peculiar flavors.
New elections offer a chance at living in Twitter infamy,
instead of dwelling in the mundane.

Here in lies the secrets to the political twitter machine.
Only the strongest survive in Twitter nation
and life in the People’s Republic of Tweets
is not for the faint-hearted.
Take heed and govern yourself accordingly.

Writer's Block

Incense burning? Check!
Classical music playing? Check!
Ideas flowing? Not yet!

Nimble fingers do few tricks
without mental gymnastics.

So I wait...

The search for inspiration turns
into a journey through self-doubt.

Am I truly the profound artist
I claim to be
or is it just my inflated ego diluting me?

Feeling defeated I turn to leave, but then;
my muse makes its way into the room.

I got it!...

"Favorite Poet Friday" Vanessa D. 6/4/10

This week's poet is Vanessa Denis. Check out her poem "A Sneaker Head's Moment of Clarity" in the Featured Poet section.

Leap of Faith

JUMP!
Screams my heart with an intensity,
that stings my ears and stuns my brain.
Unable to process the emotions of my soul,
my brain experiences system overload,
forcing the rest of me to slip into a comatose state.

Caution no longer controls my conscious mind,
and childlike faith dethrones logical thinking.
Without rhyme or reason, I launch head first,
into uncharted boundless possibilities.
As I fall the fear of the unknown washes from me,
the way nature would intend it.

In My Next Life...

In my next life…I want a penis;
So I can scream fuck the world
and have the equipment to do so.

The weight of the world will balance on my rod;
teetering over my balls of steel.
Fucking will be the purpose of my existence;
For I will fuck over, with and around,
Any and everyone in sight.

From my phallic symbol will come,
noble fallacies;
told to those charmed by its presence.

It will erect itself and stand taller,
than those who dare challenge its potency.
A master of industry, it will conquer
every pussy that comes,
and fails to separate fuck from fiction.

In my next life…I will be rid
of this penis envy fucking me into submission.
Until the next life…

Tivoli

Tivoli Gardens
Beaten, Broken, Traumatized
Dudus can't help now...

After Thoughts...

It was everything I wanted it to be and less.
Sexual healing opened old wounds to new vulnerabilities.
The satisfaction & pleasure paled in comparison to the void created;
one with no hope of ever being filled.
My shallow goals carved deep disappointments.
Pandora’s Box held simple trinkets disguised as priceless gems.
My efforts outweighed the prize.
Better judgment was crippled by hormonal lust;
now hindsight taunts me with translucent truths.