>> 1.02.2010
the most initimate part is not the kisses, the caresses, nor the sexual love itself, it's the skin to skin contact....
Read more...the most initimate part is not the kisses, the caresses, nor the sexual love itself, it's the skin to skin contact....
Read more......'i'm an alien'
laymans terms, i'm an artist.
i'm a writer.
i've known i was different since i was a little girl, rocking bubbles and clips. my mind has always operated on a different level than those around me. not saying better, just different, the way i would use and view words, the visuals that words would bring to me, and the way i felt when absent from my one true love. people told me i wasn't normal.
as i got older, and up until recently it hit me, and i understood. people who are in love with their art, who live breathe, and die entangled in their art function in a seperate reality. they don't live like everyone else does, often called 'crazy', some become hermits, some take drugs to numb the pain of their brilliance, some go as far as to take their own life. masterpieces aren't created while 'sittin up in their room', masterpieces are created through glazed eyes, staring blankly out of a window, counting the black stars in their white sky. pictures are painted staring past what the eyes see and dredging up the soul. music is created from places some people may never reach. artists live inside their head, they function off of what makes sense to them, and honestly this reality sucks! when i am expierencing a writer's block i am unable to function, i can't breathe this air, it smells stale to me, i yearn to be in my seperate reality. that's where i feel at home, that's where my world is MY world, and that's where everything makes sense. give me a white sky with black lines woven in between the clouds, give me a hot pink pen and set me free.
i'm not saying i'm brilliant, but i can relate to the love of none other but my art, i'm also saying.....set me free. sometimes i wish this reality would just let go of me. i've been seduced by the death of life...the art of words, and i don't want to come back.
i first started this blog mainly to post my poetry pieces, because poetry is my first love. i've always been told that i was born to be a writer, i have a way with words, and always got wicked marks in english class, so it was no surprise to me or anyone really, when i met poetry and fell madly in love with him. he wooed me and took me, and night after night his juices would flow through my pen unto the page and i felt something i had never felt before when i was with him...freedom.
but poetry slowly showed me his true colors. and he became like a bad boyfriend, he would love me, and then leave me. tell me he needed me, and i would show him how badly, how oh so badly i needed him, but he would always leave me. and in those moments of writer's block i began to question my talent and my authenticity as a poet. i would go though all the normal emotions, sadness, hate, denial, hate, indifference, until i came to the point in which i didn't want poetry to come back to me, in fact at night staring at the empty page i would tell him 'leave me the hell alone, i don't want you'.
but poetry always came back to me, and i always let him in. i need poetry, words are the air i breathe, anything i do, i do it for words. if i can't write, there is no reason to live. he is my only one true love, everything, everyone else is a third wheel.
he's been gone a few months now, the last poem i wrote was hollywood draggin, (read it here).
the last piece i performed was 'i make love to words' (see it here) but i'm use to the cycle now. and i eagerly look forward to his return, his ink flowing deeply through my mind, massaging my heart and exploding through my fingertips, pen dripping our life unto the page.
i will continue to post some of my older pieces, until he blesses my bed again.
here is one of the poems i wrote when poetry first seduced me almost 4 years ago. dedicated to you my sincere followers.
i hate perfect words, perfect words are what keeps me from baring my soul for what it really is... imperfectly beautiful. perfect words are what stops me from clicking on 'publish post' after the first passionate draft, and what forces me to reread.. erase...edit.. reread.. erase.. edit... you get it. perfection is what we all seem to strive for, even in our rebellion, and our riots, we try to do it perfectly. we write essays, articles and poems declaring our disdain for the socially acceptable, and the yearning to put pen to paper and let the pen do the writing from heart to hand, yet we erase and cross out when the pen crosses a line. but in the end we realize we need perfect words.....
last night was the 7th annual toronto international poetry slam, masterminded by dwayne morgan. needless to say it was wicked. held at the kathedral (soo 8mile), it was dingy, skecth and filled with people young and old appreciative of the art called poetry. words were flying, thoughts and opinions were going forth intended to make one laugh, cry, and be inspired to change and create change. while i was sitting there, i couldn't wait for next year, cause truss next year that will be me on that stage, flinging out my words and allowing them all to feel my heart beat.
here is the winner who also won the title 5 previous times.
jamaal st. john's winning piece.... we can all see why he won!
feeling this song heavy... like the rains of jamaica on the plains of my mind.
one of my favorite pieces by ms erykah badu
so i've been up for about 2 weeks now. i never feel so vulnerable as i do when i am in this state..... sleepless, dreamless, and pissed...lol. people ask me 'are you ok'? and i tell them 'no'. they ask me what's wrong, and i try to explain it, but it's not something people understand, i mean how can i explain to someone why i was crying because i couldn't keep the cold side of the bed, or that it took me 5 min to remember how to spell 'the'. shit! i need to sleep. i'm crazy when i don't sleep for a period of time. i tried explaining it to poetry guy, and i felt like he made it smaller than it was.. ' well promise me you'll get some sleep '. believe me if it was that easy, i wouldn't be here writing about it. but i've come to realize that somethings you have to go through alone, because no one understands, and no matter how much they try, they won't. stayed home today because it has started to affect my job, trying not to go anywhere, because i'm falling asleep at the wheel almost side swiped a truck coming home tuesday night(morning). i can feel myself breaking down.... i can see myself, and i'm different. it might take me a while to come back from this.
here i am at 2:05 am fiending... damn it.... i always said this would never, could never be me.... but life sure has a way of making a fool out of you....
this day last week was my first open mic performance at the trane studio, a wicked spot in enviable downtown toronto. i was nervous, shaking, and fiending for a hollywood dragg, but when he called my name, i walked up, smiled, blinked in the glaring light and changed the course of my life forever. so in tribute of that moment, here is the poem i shared....

i have an addictive personality, it has taken me a while to come to terms with it, but i recognize that now. and i also recognize that i am addicted to poetry guy....lol. addicted to his eyes, beautiful eyes, addicted to his smile, the feel of his ear between my fingertips, the texture of his hair on my palm. i'm addicted to his body, to his touch, to the way he calls me baby... damn it. he makes me mad as hell, i could walk away, but when we are not together my world feels messed the hell up. i am addicted. to. you.

it is 7:03 am and i am still awake.... and sick. for those who do not know me, i am a chronic insomniac, been dealing with it for about 10 years now, i thought i had defeated it, and that the madness was over.... but now i know that is what it wanted me to think. and now it is 7:04 am and i am still awake.... and still sick. eric benet serenading me, my snails relaxing, and my mind is running wild and rampant.... and my mind rests on the absence of light.
the darkness doesn't scare me, i know people say that evil hides in the dark, but the dark can also bring a peace, serenity, an escape from the harsh lights and noises of movement. even when sleep doesn't come, darkness settles you down and allows you to think, to recollect the day, all you did wrong and all you did right. in the darkness i think about life, and love, i write a lot in the darkness, and the words calm me down... sometimes i am able to fall asleep after i write, i daydream in the darkness and find my release in the darkness.
don't always run from the darkness, be aware of it, don't be naive to it, and in some cases embrace it.... you will be very surprised to see what comes alive.
my first post. what the hell am i supposed to say? i'm not as nervous now, to have a blog, although i am torn between reality and my world. in reallity, i know i can't say whatever i want to say, however i want to say... is that okay with me... no, no it's not. i want to be able to write whatever i want to write. without any accountability, i want to speak freely, but that is only poosible in my world, and apparently i am the only one who lives there...lol. or so poetry guy tells me. so in an attempt to converge both worlds together, i will share with you my poetry, my truth, my words, my loves, and my ecstasy's. i do hope you enjoy, i do hope it makes you feel good, and above all i do hope you are able to make a trip to my world, maybe then i won't feel so lonely.
.kisses.
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