Why didn't you just pray?

This battle I'm in

fighting against my own flesh,

Warring against sin

can't be won

if drastic measures aren't done

Can somebody please pray?

I don't mean say one of those

Bless her O'God while watching TV kinda joints

but that old school, get down on your knees

kill the radio, internet and TV kinda joints

pleading the blood, putting down plate and pen

and asking God to get me out of this sin

forgive me once again

Engage in warfare, for your sista, or your brother

Sacrifice for the greater good

of another soul

and in the end

God won't have to look at you and say

"Why didn't you just pray?"


Icylyrics 2005

What Defines Me?

Some days the wind feels good against my face...
other days the thought of no movement at all makes me smile....

This is one such day!


I've been asking myself that question a lot these past couple of days. I came home to peace and quiet, home in order, children doing well, yet inside I was so unhappy. I'm not sure why. Yesterday I began reading a new book called 'In my bedroom' by Donna Hill, and the book is explosive as it brings to light the emotional strain a woman goes through after suffering different types of abuse. I was once abused. Now I deal with the effects of the past every day. Whether I want to or not. Anyway there was a quote in the book where one of the doctors was telling a patient at the mental hospital....Don't let where you are define who you are. I been thinking about this all night. If I am not to be defined by where I am in my life, what exactly defines me? All my minor accomplishments don't seem to amount to anything major. Or is that just me beating up on myself. Before anyone reads this and makes some type of assumption, allow me to say, I am not depressed. That is not where I am. Just a woman trying to figure some things out and get there. Where? To that place where I can answer a question without asking another question.....

My daughter loved her new clothes and I found my very first poetry disk. Maybe I'm not as unhappy as I thought.

Preliminary Sadness

You ever know for a fact that at a particular moment in your future you were gonna be sad, torn apart, broke down, hurt? Felt it coming. Even if you didn't wanna believe it, you just knew that the results of something in your life would just make you sad. Like distance. Distance from those you love sucks. For me its like a doble edged sword, getting to reunite with one group of loved ones while walking away from another. My heart hurts right now becase tomorrow I may have to shed a few tears. I hate to cry. It makes me feel weak. I'm confessing something here and I'm not sure why, but I pray I get stronger. I don't want to be sad for long, but it hurts just the same. Tomorow I won't blog because my fingers will be numb, and my soul will be in another place. I'll smile and say, everything's ok, but it won't be because I've discovered something in my 37 years of living. You can't be everywhere at the same time. Unless of course you get the patent on one of those clonning machines.

Puddle of Black Woman on a Hard Wood Floor

It's all a haze right now. I got up sometime during the middle of the night to go get a drink of water, when it occurred to me...My legs are not operating properly As soon as I put my feet on the floor, all my weight collapsed and I ended up being a puddle of black woman on a HardWood floor. I began to laugh, as did my partner who was the culprit who caused this unhealthy condition. The room was hot. I was sweating but he was sweating so much harder. I was thirsty. All I wanted was a drink of water but my legs refused to carry me to the kitchen to quench my thirst. He was sweating profusely and as gross as it may sound, I wanted to lick the sweat off his chest to get some sort of liquid into my body. I tried willing myself to stand. Twinges began to hit me like I was being stung by a million tiny lil bumblebees. I looked at the harmless dragon on the wall and began to curse him. 'what the fuck are you starring at, you fucking fire breathing voyeur ' I wondered if he enjoyed watching the intimate yet hard core scene from earlier. He just kept going and going and going! Yes I was in quite a state to be having a conversation with a picture on the wall, but so what its my life, and if sex is that good that you start talking to objects, it deserves to be recorded both orally and.....(speaking of orally...OMG) anyway, I was normal at one time. At least I was before I became a puddle of black woman on a hardwood floor. If I was Bewitched I could twinkle my nose and command the bottle of water to float to me through the air, but I wasn't quite so fortunate. If I was Oprah I could command one of my many servants, or just tell Stedman to get off his fat lazy arse and fetch me a glass of h20. But no, I have to be a strong black woman engaging in the most intensifying sexual experience of my life with a superb lover who gets 5 stars every day of the week. Only he's a puddle of black man lying on the bed, and my ass is thirsty. I cant even open my mouth to say, 'please, will you get me a drink?' I just breathe.....Heavy. Like a fat kid who ate too much cake. I think to myself, maybe it was the 'bucket of boat trash' I ate a bubba gumps that has me feeling sorta like a parapalegic. Maybe its those 30 blocks we walked in Manhattan earlier that night. Maybe I just need to get my fat ass on a tred mill and work out so I won't be so knocked the fuck out during moments of intense sexual pleasure In any case, I'm a puddle, even today, as I have willed my legs to work, but feel somewhat like a cross between Elmer Fudd, a black non-anorexic Paris Hilton and Michelle from Destiney's child. That bitch falls down more than the law allows.

My evening was fan fucking tastic in spite of my unstable condition.........and how was yours?

(to my homie at the 5-2-6 bigg ups my nicca, you handled like a chief who' knows how to how to use the peace pipe)

Confusion in the Shadows. (an interpretation)

I saw it. He saw it too. In my mind as I began to slowly drift off to sleep I remembered saying to myself. Looks like a rat on the wall. Then he asks me. What's causing that shadow? It wasn't fear. I knew this. It was just an insatiable desire to know what caused the shadow on the wall. I offer what I think might be an intelligent answer, then he moves to the other side of the room and begins moving things around to find the cause of the distortion on the wall. In the back of my brain, something says, this formation of a rat represents what you had just experienced earlier. I am afraid of rats. Most who know me, know this is my one true fear. I hate them, detest them. Will walk away from my home if I ever see one. Have done so in the past when the struggle didn't include strong pesticides to keep the rodents away, as I lived next to an alley that was filled with them. Thank you God for change.

Anyway, I watched Mr. Rat. He didn't move. He was dead, but in my mind he was snickering at us. Snickering at the earlier exchange where one of us was trapped and the other saught to pull the other to safety. Doesn't matter who was drowning. If he drowns, I drown. We are one. I drown in my dreams if they attempt to confuse me to the point where I can not function or get a good nights sleep. (This entry is not for entertainment purposes....deep shit happened, I need to express it, so bear with me) I kept hearing his words, yet something was attempting to pull me deeper into sleep. This in itself was unusual as I am usually the one left starring at the wall, while he drifts off into nothingness. I drifted. He fought. Battled some demonic forces that brought a powerful spirit with them. Confusion. I heard the battle, and wanted to help fight, yet there was something, something trying to keep my attention from what he was going through. God needed me to be strong and something was holding me. Until he said, "SIT UP NOW!" Whatever it was that was slowly driving me into unconsciousness had to release its hold and I could sit up and engage in spiritual warfare. It was real spiritual warfare. I believe in the power of God. I make this no secret. I don't bite my tongue and I don't fret as most believers do when it comes to spirituality and knowing who God is. I know Him. He knows me. So I sat up, and I could almost feel the ground trying to collapse under me. Then he said, "come on. I have to do this." I knew exactly what he was doing. Getting that spirit our of our home. I walked, I prayed. I felt the ground trying to shft under my feet, but God said,"keep praying." This force will not win. You are stronger than any element that attempts to destroy you because I am in you. We prayed through the night.

I awoke this morning, exhausted. He knew I was tired. He let me rest. He kissed me and I slept in peace. Then after he had left, I saw a door opening and confusion ran through it. He ran and had 'gazillions' of Hungry New York Rats following after Him. I was no longer afraid. He was in the form of a woman who preferred Beef to Pork, but felt she needed to prove a point (by counting points) She had long hair and a cunning smile. She had a level of openess that I found intriguing and somewhat disturbing, yet I didn't initially know what to make of it. Now I know why he stays 'away from shadows', (not a blunder) away from the glamor and glitz of too many interpersonal relationships. You open yourself to Confusion, and if he stays too long, he will bring some of his partners, (anger, discord, control, uncleanliness, whoredom......and before you know it, your home will be in dissaray, and your soul will be in utter turmoil. I must go clean now. Confusion is gone, and order must be restored to our home.

Father, I thank you for allowing me to write about this experience!

Have You Seen Any Bullshit Lately?

One of the many things that fascinates me about writing is how two people can take one topic, and wrtie about it in totally different ways. Each of us as writers have our own style of delivering a story, or a poem. Literature is beautiful in that it allows each of our perceptions to take on what we percieve the artist is trying to say. I recently read some poetry, that in my opinion was horrible. I went to a book store, purchased a book from a writer that I'd never heard of. On the cover of the book the author appeared to be connected to some sort of machine with tues and wires and looked as if he were in a coma. That should have been a tell-tale sign right there. However I was al\ways taught never to judge a book by its cover, so I bought the book.

I came home excited, thinking I'm about to read some real deep poetry about this dude who may have had a near death experience, but no no no. Not even close. He began to speak in crazy ass codes that not even I, the code queen, could decipher. Beginning versus of each poem with out of place punctuation, sideways grammer, and writing from somewhere so deep inside himself that it confused even me. I AM NOT EASILY CONFUSED! (cept of course Monday -Sunday) Anyway I was disappointed because after reading a few poems it was obvious to me that this dude was simply saying shit. And calling it poetry. I wanted to yell at the book and say SHUT THE FUCK UP! But that would have done no good since I was reading printed material that in my opinion should have stayed in his personal journal. The most disappointing factor in this book occurred at the end, which should I have read in the book store, I'm pretty sure the book would have stayed in its dusty home on the bottom of the bookshelf. The author says this about himself...

" Not much is known about_(leaving out his name just in case his two fans might happen to read this blog)_______He was born in Harlem and lived for a while in Atlanta and other places and stuff. Now in Brooklyn, he works as a bag boy at the Pathmarks or something.'

Is this the author's way of saying, 'anybody can get published, all you gotta do is throw some words together and get self published' I was disappointed not so much in wasting $15.00, but I was upset that the quality of who we are as writiers can be often reduced to pieces of crap such as this book. I'm not a judgemental person by nature, however when it comes to my writing and that of my fellow artists, I do beleive that we have a responsibility to produce work that says something positive about our craft. I realize that poetry is an often wide venue, and what one interprets as crap, another might view as a fine piece of poetry. However reading this book has taught me a valuable lesson. I never want one of my readers to pick up anything I've written and feel as I feel about this book. I have to work harder, strive for more excellence in my own personal writing style, and be committed to accept both praise and critcism as I become more well known in the literary field.

I'm striving to be a good writer. I work hard everyday to make my words mean something, I also know there are tons of good writers out there that have more tenacity and the ability to appeal to a broader audience which will clasify them as being 'among the best'. As much as I want to be published by a reputable publishing house, I realize its gonna take more work, and maybe even a few dissapointments along the way. When I read poetry by Nikki Giovanni, Jill Scott, Langston Hughes, Chromemic, Bonita Jacobs, GG, Korema, & Locumdwn just to name a few, I know that I can't just throw words on a page and call it poetry. These people give me the encouragement through their writing to be strive for excellence in my own.

I was angry at the author of that poetry book. I'm sure most people would say, I'm being way too deep about the whole thing. I can hear my daughter saying...."well Ma, just don't read it'. or I can hear a few of my friends laughing at the book and making a mockery of some of the poems. I'm not gonna do that, because I do respect the fact that he believed in himself and took the necessary efforts to get his book published. Something has to be said for that, however the content of his pieces were weak, confusing, nausiating and actually had me wretching a time or two. I know this is my interpretation. By no means am I an expert.

I pray he gets stronger in his writing. I must digress from this and get back to the task at hand. Becomming a Great Writer. How long will it take me? Will people enjoy my work? Will anyone ever feel about my writing the way I felt about this book? Am I wrong for expressing such a strong opion about someone's 'art'? Should I just read it again and maybe try for a different interpretation?

Well in any case I've been really watching my carbs lately, so I may be suffering some sort of mental block...(lol) let me work on not producing bullshit through my written words. Or even my spoken ones for that matter. Don't yall think there's enough bullshit already out here in the world without writers adding to the pile?

I guess what I'm trying to say is self-expression is a beautiful thing, and we all have the right to say and write what we feel. However as artists, there's a line that must be drawn when it comes to producing words and calling it Poetry. I refuse to be one of those bullshit writers who honestly beleives 'ANYTHING GOES'

Self Exposure

Have you ever had a day when you found yourself completely exposed? Almost liie a fish out of water. Uncomfortable, alone, sad, full of self promoted anguish, flopping around desperately wanting to be back in the water where its dark and dreary? If you answered yes, then you are one of the millions of people who have decided to implement 'trust' in another individual. This is a hard place to be in, especially if you've grown comforable hiding in lonely shadows where no life resides simply because you don't choose to worry about people fucking wit your head. I, the country bunkin, who's generally leary of all those venturing into my life with a happy song and a microphone, found myself in a position of 'Exposure.' It's was the most exasperating, yet heartwarming experience in my life. My back was against the wall, and suddenly I realized although I had a choice in whether or not to relinqush my generally cool and suave country demeaner, it would be in my best interest to EXPOSE MYSELF to the elements. Wow, now I'm already feeling the growth...(private joke) I got angry, I cried, I screamed inside myself, at one point it even felt like I was dying. I was COMPLETELY EXPOSED! I even was about to walk away because getting to that point of trust often makes one want to just throw in the towel, simply because your mind is telling you. 'somewhere down the road, trusting this person is going to come back and bite me in the ass. Or in my case, both my asses (pj)

Trust is so hard for me, yet I've found myself walking into a place of complete trust. Am I crazy? Have I lost my ever loving country cornbread mind? Should I be committed? (Committed to the process....lol) Or should I just thank heaven that somehow I realized today that I am human, and it's ok for me to become 'exposed.'? Bonita once told me, Secrets give her head aches. I'm feeling her now, although I didn't understand what the hell she was talking about at the time. I want to be known for who and what I am, not who I'm perceived to be by those who really don't know me. I like not hiding anymore, its a cool place to be in. You should try it with someone you really love. Like I did!

Flesh Tingle

Today, my flesh is tingling. Not because I'm overly turned on by any particular thing, but I'm one of those folks that when I feel rushed or nervous, or whatever, my body just automatically responds. I've been watching the clock all day, and its as if its playing tricks on my mind. Maybe I need a pill. No, I need to pray. Yeah that's it.

So, this tingling feels sort of like my bones want to actually leap out of my body and do what the rest of me seems too slow in doing. I have to be somewhere in a matter of hours, and I'm no where near ready. Well actually I'm just stressing unnecessarily. So, I'm off this box, gonna go try and stop my flesh from tingling so I won't feel the need to smack myself in the airport. That aughta be a great sight for airport security.

security supervisor speaking into two-way Radio
'Um Charlie we have a large black woman with crazy hair standing in the corner apparently striking herself. Go ahead and call the police cause this one aint getting on the plane......

yeah, Icy betta pull it together and fast!......lol (oops, is that not allowed anymore?)

This post was strickly for your enjoyment......I'm cool as a cucumber

Harsh Realities

Have you ever wake up and just looked at yourself , realizing something major has to happen in your life before you can go forward? These past few days have been eye openers for me in every sense of the word. This morning I was asleep and had a dream of a life that I never thought could be mine. When I woke up, I smiled, looked around seen my surroundings, and sighed heavily. I silently said to God...'when' He said, when you decide you are ready to make it happen. I know having a better more productive life takes work, and sometimes I stress because I've worked hard all my life. Now He's telling me there's no rest in sight. (smile) I will trudge on and become stronger in the process.

A dear friend of mine lost her son's father, and I was surprised at how much his death affected me, especially since I didn't even know him. She, however, is a woman I have come to love and respect a great deal. She makes me laugh, cry, and generally on most days she manages to piss me off with her antics. Nonetheless, I hate to see her hurting and feel so helpless. I prayed. I prayed some more. Not only for her, but for all of those people in my life who have recently had to deal with harsh realities. I know there is something to be said for going through and conquering adversitites, but I hope everyone realizes that a life without true purpose is not much of a life at all. As is a life without God.

Chillin' with ML

...I don't even know how to begin to describe my day. It was wonderful to say the least. The weather was great. Spent the entire afternoon with my boyfriends mother, and I must say, she is one of the most delightful women I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. I was a little nervous at first, but that quickly faded as the conversation progressed. She's so proper, yet so down to earth all at the same time. We had a wonderful lunch, good conversation, and shared lots of laughs. For me the highlight of the day was when I ask her what the family curse word was and she looked at me innocently and blurted out....SHIT! You have to know this woman to understand both the humor and shock in me hearing her say this small piece of profanity. I've never heard her cuss before, so when she said it, my mind started twirling like I was high or something. I felt as if I were dining with royalty one minute, and the next minute I was laughing so hard I thought I'd lose my lunch.

We went to see a movie, (Herbie) and I found myself cringing at the screen on more than one occasion since my boyfriend actually despises Lindsey Lohann, for reasons that would require a whole nother post. Yet I enjoyed my time with her as it was like being with a female version of him, which is both heartwarming and kinda weird all at the same time. I hope this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Professional Chatters

...so I'm working, minding my business, hearing the ding dong of posts going to various yahoo groups. Thus far being successful at igging them all, when I suddenly get an (I.M) from someone I haven't chatted with in ages. He feels its necessary to issue out New Chat Codes, as if there are those of us who don't already have enough on our plates trying to ignore the mundane crap that often gets sent throughout cyberspace. So being the smart ass that I naturally am, I stop writing my story, which is getting to a crucial point. Read the (im ) and am instantly pissed off. So here is his announcement to all of internet land letting us all know that the internet codes for professional chatters have changed.....WHO ACTUALLY GIVES A FLYING FUCK ABOUT ANY OF THIS SHIT...??? (DO YOU?) Cause I sure as hell don't. So I read it, get pissed, and have to issue him a response with the request for him to send it to everyone on the same list, and guess what, he does it. So I'm sure by Monday, I'll have some nice nasty I'm's from those professional chatters who have to defend the New Chat Codes Freedom of Chat act.....bored fuckers.....

(IMPORTANT MESSAGE TO CHATTERS EVERYWHERE)
The new language for the "ghettofied" ~B2B=Bout to bounce (no more g2g, who says that?) ~2DF=Too damn funny (no more lmao, NOBODY says that on a reg. basis) ~HU=Hold up (no more brb, it just looks ugly) ~SSA=SEX/STATE/AGE (Asl was getting kind of old My grandfather knew what it meant!) ~ICU= I'm cracking up! (No more lol, that word was annoying aZ hell) WP?/WG?/WRG?/WU?=What's poppin?/What's good?/What's really good?/sup PLz PASS this on to all on yo list

Icy'S RESPONSE : whoever created the original codes can't be half as lame as the indviduals who created the revised ones....If you chat with that many people to where you can't complete a sentence and have to use all these stupid ass codes, because of some self imposed time restriction....get off the computer and do something else....(Please send this public service announcement to everyone on your list and tell them Icy says, get a fucking life)

Of course now I've lost motivation for writing, so I'm going to bed....dreaming of strangling these people who sit and think of this type of stupidity to clog people's Im' boxes and emails.

The Incredibles

This has to be one of the best animated movies I've ever seen. Not so much because of the heroics of the Supers, (although Dash running on the water was the coolest shit I've seen in a while) but because of one line in the movie. The part where Edna tells Elastagirl once she finds out Mr. Incredible has accepted another assigment and gone back to the old life..."You have tell him who he is, and remind him who you are." The first time I heard that line, my boyfriend and I were watching it, and he pointed out how powerful it was, but for some reason, it didn't click to me at that moment. Maybe I was too busy simply trying to figure out why they made Elastagirl have such a huge ass, but now it's another part I love. I had to allow the movie to be absorbed into my spirit. Now that I've watched it some 38 times, (yes I have a life) I see the defining principles of what the movie was really about. Family unity, believing in yourself, and overcoming a society who thinks they can determine what your level of normalcy should be, but most of all, just being who you are.


Mr. Incredible had a zeal and a zest to do what he was destined to do. Circumstances often warranted he do something different, but his desire to save mankind was embedded in him, so when an opportunity came, he had no choice but to forsake his mundane esistance and be who he was designed to be. Same here. I have to be who I was designed to be. No more sitting on my super powers simply because everyone around me is so morbidly plain and ordinary. I'm strange in many ways, but as my brother used to tell me, 'strange is an asset in a strange land.'

So as I prepare to go to my strange land (NY) I have to keep in mind that regardless of what this little town has tried to do to me. I am still 'Elastagirl' even years later with a big booty, an adorable smile, and a sense of humor most folks just don't get.

I will remind them all who I am!

UNFOCUSED BEAUTY
When you get close enough to something truly beautiful and still can't see it, Consider this, it might not be your eyes that need to be checked, but your heart.

Sistagirls Love

Today was one of those days where I couldn't see the sun. Not because it wasn't shining, but because I was busy fighting for the greater good. It's amazing what we as women go through from day to day just in trying to maintain in this world. We deal with so much, yet most of the times we are so much stronger than our own anger and hurt. Today I saw a reflection of an younger me in someone else. It hurt me. It angered me. It made me realize that time is not meant to be wasted, but every moment in this life is to be treasured and treated with respect. From now on, all my moments will mean something.

The What ifs of an Idle Mind

...Sometimes I find myself thinking of really crazy things. Especially on nights like this when sleep is a distant memory like summer camp and Jellies. Like what if Tom Cruise and Katie holmes showed up on my door step offering to give me an interview. This would be the perfect opportunity to use my son's new Louisville Slugger baseball bat. What if my insane neighbor was actually coming through my bedroom window right now with an ax in hand convinced I needed to be sacrificed to the Newport Gods. Or what if I'm not typing this, but it's my subconscious mind allowing me to tap into another part of an old memory of myself, and I'm actually dead. (Matrix shit fo yo azz) What if Michael Jackson became Black again and wanted to marry me and have 5 kids, only we couldn't have sex, I'd have to have sex with Tito cause Michael was a priest and took a vow of celibacy? What if Osama was chilling in the White House Basement and Condaleeza was the only one who knew it. Hmmm, I'm glad sun's coming up cause well, it can get a lil scary when I let my mind get idle.

(stepping out of idle for just a minute)
Just imagine a world were people actually did what they said they were gonna do, and the news was always good. Imagine a world without murders, rape, molestation, hunger, poverty, homelessness, lies or deciet. Imagine being able to trust in advertising and the media had special transmitters in them that forced them to report the TRUTH (Just for you Hayden). Imagine no computers...(Shuddering...brrrrr) Imagine preachers who didn't steal from their congregations, and Aids was nothing more than a new dance move the teenagers done at the clubs. Imagine people living in peace without the threat of discrimination, racial profiling, or blatant ignorance. Imagine if you could just say what you wanted, and there it was. Imagine how many people would kill themselves from the shock of it!

Copycats on The Prowl

Ok, here's to all the assholes who read blogs and can't form thoughts of your own. You should be beaten with a Bullwhip! Copycats are worse than people who don't pay their taxes. I say this on behalf of all the good people who read and blog for the sole purpose of self-expression or mental health purposes or whatever. There are people who steal words. What's really sad is my Sweetie and I were just discussing this very thing the other day. Low and behold, I found one such thief today. The cunning sommabitch took a whole post of mine and made it his, what's worse, the fucker hasn't posted anything since. No, what's worse than that is he's not a stranger. Well he's strange, but I knew him quite well. Wow, I feel famous now. Imagine that, only been bloggin for a few months and already getting Plagerized.

Damn, a bitch might need to get an agent and a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes since I'm that important.

When my book drops, and it will this year, Im gonna send you about 50 copies so you can sell them on the streets city streets since you so hard up and have resorted to theft. Get a fucking life and stay outta mine.

Thank You for listening good people, Yes, this is a tad of Icy anger, now I digress and get back to my regular happy go lucky self wondering if today's words will show up anywhere else. Wow, I guess this means I have finally arrived. Not sure where, but I'm somewhere!

Today's Quote:
Sometimes shit just be funny, don't it?

An intimate meeting of worlds through words

Woven
(Me) The way we came together
so intracately our bodies fused
once thinking love was for others
and sexuality only made us amused

but now my spine connects
with your
fingertips
shamelessly
your strength holding me
your breath tingles against
the softness of my lips

Woven together are we
as black should be found
intimately
sensiously
eternally
bound

Complete oneness
my lover
guides my every move
We are woven!

(He) UNRAveled (incomplete)Prologue Intertwined are we That she calls us woven. And we speak in tongues cloven of fire. Desire. But when silence comesand embered tongues are stilled, she is sometimes filledwith doubt about, where we stand and how tight are the threads the ties that bind.Until I come to remind her of the best part of being wovencoming UNRAvelvedWith one touch her fibers breakand makehairs stand on endand deft fingers get all up in those knots loosening her kinks without breaking skin.fingers follow threads until every fiber's freed every thread's been pulled, unravelling every need every strandso loose she can't standso she laysin a pileuntil deft fingers returnand create a new textileMy thread and hersmake fabrics so refined patters undefined by the curren trends and style and her touch her fingers unwind me just the same until, like her , I'm lain my loose threads in a pile with hers waiting.for The Hand that wove us first, to come and intercede.Find us and reweave.tighten what we've freed....

Untainted Beauty

Untainted Beauty
There were moments when he was speaking that it occured to me that our lives were held in that one moment. The moments were we both opened up to the other and spoke only the truth. I listened to his words, and was honored by the beauty of his honesty. Although he's always been true to me, last night his words seemed to take on more meaning and I was reminded of a place that his words often take me and it looks much like the scene above. What can a woman say, when she is so completely in love with a man that he has her actually visualizing beauty in her head because when she looks at him all she can see is complete love.

I think of how much my life has changed over the years and I realize that every day I get closer to my destiny, how can I not thank God for the people, places and situations that give me the desire to keep making this life as awesome as it was designed to be. My heart is filled with so much love today simply because there is at least one person in this world who thinks I'm the most important person in their world.

Fresh truth unabandoned

I discovered earlier today there's nothing in this world greater than self discovery. Today while surfing the deep dark world of bloggism I came across a blog that left my mouth hanging open and my body yearning for more. Am I gonna spill what I saw, naw cause some of yall will be asking me for the address, and well. Damn it was deep. Anyway of course I pulled out my faithful leather bound journal and began to write what I saw, what I felt. My fingers are still shaking (soaking) at the images that stared me in the face and made me write about the darkness that leapt off the page.

How many of us are willing to admit that we are attracted to things in this life that are somewhat taboo. I spoke in an earlier post that I was once turned on by this mentally retarded dude when I was in high school. Ok, now at the ripe young age of...how old am I again? Well anyway, I have to admit there are still aspects of me that I'm discovering and well, its cool. I'm totally into learning me and all that it brings forth. I found myself thinking of my childhood and that room across from my bedroom where all the guests were entertained. One night I ran into something that confused the hell out of me, and even today, I ask myself why was I allowed to see those images? Anyway, I'm still gonna love and learn me in all my glory. I've read a lot of blogs that have been speaking of truth, but many times we forsake what we feel for what we think is acceptable. Another writer told me once, write from my soul and let nothing else plague your words.

What about you? Are you committed to learning all there is as it pertains to your emotions, sexual desires, career aspirations? Wow, those are three broad bridges. Believe it or not, there not really that far apart.

Unfathomable acts of a Distorted Black Mind Pt 1

Do you ever find yourself thinking crazy thoughts? Thoughts like if I died tomorrow, would my boss send my favorite flowers to my funeral, or would my neighbors whom I know hate my guts come and see my body? Would my family dress me in my favorite sweat suit instead of an ugly ass funeral shroud? Would I feel death like they do on the movies? I mean after I'm gone, would I feel the casket closing and the world closing itself off from me? Ok, ok, I know I may be freaking a few of yall out, but the truth is, most of us have morbid thoughts about life and death. I'm woman enough to admit that sometimes the thoughts get me high. Not like (narcotic high) but more like surreal high. I wonder if it will really matter once I'm dead, whether or not I choose to speak to my neighbor who happens to be a racist bastard and really can't stand me, but makes every effort to be nice, simply because I'm one of those 'good black people' who knows how to take care of my yard, and I recycle, just like they do. Whopppeeee. so what? Truth is sometimes I'd like to strangle my neighber, and I'm sure he probably feels the same, especially when I sit in my backyard writing my poetry while he's having one of those incredibly 'white' barbecues with a gas grill listening while they all sit around listening to John Cougar Mellancamp while I nod my head to Nas or India Arie. Gotta do a part II on this one, kinda feeling it!