Pink Syzurr (Pink Syrup Inspired)

Part 1 (The Return to Sugar)

I came back to her in a dream. I left because I was tired and hungry. Her cakes couldn’t satis-my-fire and thirst for knowledge, but she knew the hold she had on me. I want to be Spike Lee fly – with stupid dope kicks – kicking incredibly dope shit – through Radio Raheem speakers, a funkadelic/ summer time high/ un-tampered with bass/ inhabitable snares that kick – like my kicks.

She would have my swag.

And I will undermine her attention because that’ll drive her wild. I know it gets her mad hyped (I mean hyped mad), because that’s how the old playas do it.

I know it’ll make her wet… her eyes at least.

At least I know she’ll cry for me. At least I know I have enough power to convict and evict an emotion with a flash of my fashion sense. All I had to do was walk by, and her soul would be captured by my superiority. But who knew her dominance was that important to moi?  (muah) She graciously stole my imagination and turned it into her playground. As much electricity that surged through my body –(umph) – I’m so impressed by how complex she made it to convey and play with her feelings like that.

…

But I still mind fucked her though.

I came back to her in a dream. 

With a bounce and a thrust and a penetration and an inhale and a secretion and pull and a lift and a push and a force and a pen and an inkwell and a well wish and a second round and a third and a quarter of an ounce and a fourth and bars and an introduction and a conclusion and an annotated bibliography and a prolific dissertation explaining my work… and I still wasn’t done.

I came on her in a dream. 
She became my muse for anything righteous. I trusted her deception – do you trust me to deceive you? Are you willing to take the fall of your fall? I am not responsible for the outcome of this excursion. The proof is in the sheet – you made skeet/ spill out in front of all of my peeps, and all in your mouth might I add. Texture was creamy. How dreamy.

Dirty Mind of a 19yr old Part 2 (6.19.13)

Almost too weak to get up, I find myself still on my knees. Before I can get another word out, you shove my face full of cock. You break me down until you're standing over me fucking my mouth. Almost like a wake up, the dick gets bigger and harder in my mouth like I knew it would. I can't get enough of your huge dick, so my pussy is throbbing for more.  I ignored your balls for too long. I put both of them in my mouth, tossing them in my warm juices. The hunch of your back tells me that you're almost ready for nut number 2. I'm not ready for you jizz on me just yet. I get you in me one more time from the front, pushing my legs back causing my walls to get tighter and grasp on your shaft.

I can't take no more. I feel myself about to explode when you push it in one more time. You pull out and I take you in the back of my throat, tasting me on you gives me fuel to finish you off. 

Just feeling you get warmer and weaker, I know that you're anything to peak. Face fucking is nothing new, so I make gagging noises and encourage you to get it all on me. You're so ready. Just a little bit closer. I can taste all of that hard work you put into fucking me. You look relieved. Your cum hits the back of my throat. It makes it way down easily. Like magic, its gone in an instant. I kill you off my sucking the rest out, licking and sucking you until you beg for me to quit. 

Dirty Mind of 19yr old (6.10.13)

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7. I thought about Jay today

I was sitting in my father's couch and it was the same spot where I used to talk to Jay. 

I wonder how he's doing... My guess is probably doing nothing more than just working to live and living to work. I don't know why I don't see the people that I've spoken to in high school doing more than just being regular. Maybe that's the problem, that I (much like us all) don't see the potential in others, but their circumstance.

But back to Jay.. I really liked Jay. His then girlfriend drove a wedge between us with her insecurities. I cared about him though. I made sure that I always asked about his well being and his feelings.

I called him papa. Like Papa John (because his name was Jonathan), and I can tell that he liked that. One time Jay got into a motorcycle accident. I reached out to him with a text like "Papa are you good honey?" and his cousin wrote back explaining who I was writing to and asked "do you like Jay or something?" I was polite about the question but I had to think about what calling Jay "Papa" really meant and our friendship. 

We hung out one time, and that one time changed us. I mean not to say that I didn't see him around school, but that one time we were face to face and our dynamics shifted. We were about to kiss and it was feeling so right; like it was appropriate for the hour. Stress and confusion, but also a sense of wonder and lust that was just beaming off of him. As though if we're to make love with our mouths we could make sense of it all.

I can only picture how it could've have gone done (sometimes even feel it.) We were breathing in each others space... and that's what scared us.

I went to visit my father that night. Jay said we had something to talk about. I guess we left a big "What if" in the air. All I could do was think about Papa on my father's couch.

Something About Wes that Night

I have recently started college and already someone was asking for me.
I didn't know who he was, where he came from, or if this was a prank... but I went along with it.

I took a chance on a Saturday night to a guy who was kicking incredibly dope shit through a telephone via SMS as I waited for him on his front steps. I didn't know that even cool kids can get afraid of me.

He was so afraid of me..

Stop being afraid of me.

From the buzz to a low concentrated apprehensive feeling, this worry that ran over me sat with me until morning. ... I stayed with him till morning.
We spoke on culture , fashion, weed, and music. It was like we moved too fast, but we were stuck on the fascination of a new person. Time kept moving while we stood still. I cast my cares into kissing.

We kissed. I didn't know where it came from, but we kissed. It felt so weird, and soft, and wet, and tender.
We were rebounding ourselves because of our excess baggage. Honestly because we didn't know what we were doing, we just went along with the moment.

Warped into lust, I had a feeling that I would be making another visit to the Sigma house.

(Just speaking my mind)

Blog 7: Self Esteem

Panties dropped like her self esteem

Panties dropped like dew drops, like dues drop. Make like your tithes and offerings and pay your dues ma.

Loving yourself was never easy. Neither was standing on scrapped knees. Little girl, please stand still. Stand while hoping you and him would become equal because he told you orally was the only way he can cum… Munication was never the key.

I mean, while you were giving head I was getting head, seemed to get head, so I got a head to give head. So lets be even. And multiply that by two back bone breaker bust butts booming beats that bounce all on your lap.

She regurgitated his melodies. He said he can make her beautiful, but there’s nothing beautiful about forcing more than tampons in places that your mother wouldn’t approve of. Bleeding insecurities wrapped in sperm coated love cells, so maybe then she could love herself.

I keep tripping on your name Richard. Dick. I guess I know what a kid taste like because I swallowed and made ottoman vowels that format an image of what laying in my bed felt like. Latex flavored convos made for Starbucks hours and free wifi scifi. Lets make a movie that we don’t want to believe, what our mothers don’t want to see, and what our father’s karma is seeded.

How condom coated lip gloss filled your mouth with beauty. As if his flow made you speak beauty, when loving yourself was all God asked you to do.

Do what you are suppose to do; in regards to the fact you love lust last lust lisp list every silly sitting position. Bending to two six nine redirected 54 squared averaged Karmasutra designed offenses. Or was my math off by 12 added 96, backward sin city spinning the desires of my heart.

But you can’t caress your own heart. So you made him caress your sexual parts. “He loves you”… but what he meant is he wanted to f@#k you.

We slip surf sip surf shape back buck f&#ked until eggs met harmonious with potential nine months too early.

Stroking back and forth while you stroked more than his balls of thoughts. Thinking he can make you feel better.

Like why is your crotch the only thing getting face time? Lies lay on your lap while dancing wasn’t foul play, before foreplay, word play. And I already had that sample. So when you Haagen Dasz my dreams as far as my legs would stretch, hell’s gates went wide open. So my hands scratched my naval and wished I showed it some love.

Just love yourself. Caress your own flesh wounds as if you were masturbating your insecurities to fall back into place. Let your fingers fall into place. Open your lips (down there) to whisper values that no man should be valued more than… And then ask him, how can I love you if I don’t love myself? Little girl, you’ll never need to suck more than lollipops to get you going; never think you need him to get you going. And you can’t get him going….

I feel it coming in the air… Pause for negative reaction. You keep on going and going just like the bunny inside. Stop jumping off like reverberating name calling. Neighbors seem to know it very well that you thump like jack rabbits and jack his jack hammer. Whip and whack lean forward so he can smack. Stop and take a timeout to realize that this is just disgusting. Baby girl you disgust the life style of sucking steel. He killed you at least twice through tunnels with three buck shot, and two buck bullets with only one nut. Have some pride in your intelligence to count, so hold your breath because tonight will be the night that you will fall for him over again. But I will try to change your mind.

Momma always said what goes up must come down. And panties and self esteem shouldn’t remain down. He’s just trying to be down, but YG’z and YB’z is nothing but little boys trying to learn their alphabet. Standing on corners “representing sets”. But sets became broken homes when parents decided to leave their child alone. They didn't get paid for their jobs, so don’t get paid for giving him jobs… blowing more than birthday candles.

When you were eight, don't you remember the immaturity that you faced when little boys were making Play Dough figures of parts that were never erect only when to pee. Piss the imaginations of a good night trust kiss and held fairy tales kept by faith that chastity is of good virtue. Missing the hours that lying back on your back looking up hoping to gain some back track thoughts to make sense of what has happened... You gave up your white satin for rosy red drapery.

I remember the days when you were actually beautiful... The days when your beauty stained like red cheeks. But it only happens under what you wear; he still can't make you beautiful. So you swallowed make up to make your insides beautiful. While he was breaking something that was already broke.

Virginity!

Being stolen din't make you love yourself like giving him gifts when it wasn't his birthday like wearing a suit when it wasn't his birthday. Like him not liking you but liking what he gave you.

Liking the yeast infections that ran from your hips to your second set of lips. Liking when he calls you a b*%#h! Little girl tell me, do you love yourself now?

Blog 6: An Epic Failure

So this poem I did was for a "Malcolm X Poetry and Art Contest" and the quote that I got the inspiration for this poem is:

“Hence I have no mercy or compassion in me for a society that will crush people, and then penalize them for not being able to stand up under the weight.” -Malcolm X


There is no sympathy for those who cannot cultivate in and for the Harlem community. And there is no strife for the inability to ravish against mutiny and thirst through droughts. We are savvy to the qualities that become of us when we counter enigmas that surface who we really are, weak. We strive for the advancement of colored people in knowledge, holiness, and comfort. A covenant for the church that we pray in the name of Allah… Apologies, I really meant Jesus. They confuse us for Africans, not African Americans. Baboons stolen from rib cages of the belly’s beast… The beast’s belly. Heart of the jungle, the concrete slave trade, child trafficking adult; the epitome to dark nights, lit days, heated snow and drowning daisies. You are subject to crumble at your own creation, a nigga riddling history. Start desiring to strawberry perverse pertinent and make sense of what you fight for… A disgrace race who face lace front tracks and pace the state in which you want to continue the buffoonery. My silly blue eyed black boy, you’d rather chase America rather than trot behind Africa. Follow the leader and stumble at your own redemption. I am very unapologetic to the fact that we can never uplift the word uplift and shatter shame from the clear glass pit that we can see our fate from. Comfort the man, and extinguish the agony. Cradle the nation and teach the babies because if we allow it to faultier as the rigid lines on our palms stretch; we have failed as people. People are a failure. Black people are a failure. And this is the reason why apathy substitutes concern for a community that doesn’t support one another.

-Angela Cole