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

Blog 4: Daggers

Candid. My man told me to can it. He didn’t want to hear truth, but inexplicable counters that basically counterfeited the statement: I love you. And when you have my love that is all you need. Excuse me while I backfire truth with unprecedented details like Mahatma Gandhi turning Christian or Jesus turning Muslim. I’m not the prophet Muhammad, but I mirrored his attempts to assure my people that my word is liability. Pure solitude from many nights ago harbored concealed/ unascertained promises from the pit of my belly. My belly harvested a well kept secret told three months too early. My feelings were hurt when I realized he couldn’t bear your image. I wish he was here. I wanted to name him fidelity, in homage to your prolific dissertation that asserted its way through my ears and hung onto my vocal chords. I couldn’t speak after you, so physical contact was our only form of communication. After many pushes and penetration, increased friction didn’t seem to make any more sense. Loud vowels replaced actual sentences. Tossed emotions made up for lost moments we waited for so long. Now that we had the opportunity, we wasted it. All along soaked walls, you can say you scribbled “mine for the taking”, and within each contraction, I was reminded.

“Behind my smile of whiteness is politeness. But it’ll never see the light of day like a baby born in Rikers.”

Blog 2: Candid's Candy

This is the second poem of this blog. It's called Candid's Candy and it was a callabo piece with my friend Kevin Jimenez. It kind of describes love when it alters and shifts into a bad place. In the end, when the truth is told, maybe its best that we should be free..

The sweetest thing I've ever known isn't a gentle kiss on the collarbone, but the way tongues massage teeth when they spell truth. Polishing honesty across each white platform. Not teasing the roof of my mouth with fidelity, but earning sensations with promises. Bitter grapefruit lies must be an acquired taste because you swallowed my words and threw up deceit, laughs roll off your diaphragm every time I plead, I bleed honesty. You twist your words like sickle cells; how come I can't believe anything you say anymore? Tantalizingly secrets that hopelessly fell at your waist on my knees. I am not going to apologize because I am not your pet. Chi-chi-chi-Chia Pet my ass. Don't water me like I grow on your windowsill. I'm not ready to man up and praise your name, Whoa. I am a woman and I do have dignity, and don't ever undermine my authority. And my name is Kelly Platski, so tell Jason that he doesn't control me like seven years. 2007 is when all this bullshit started. And since then, lies started feeling more and more like warm hampers that  somehow met my dryer. I guess you should have been washed first like what was I thinking. All mixed up in the wash, bleeding out colors, you hung heavy on my clothesline ever since. It doesn't make sense to leave you but you hang me out to dry.  Blacks in all white, we make a perfect commercial. And I can't help but notice we became subliminally racist. Caramel chocolate; we eat on the grass while you allow others to diminish our meaning. So yeah, you can say we both left our shit out to air dry. Nastier than free ballin. I'm freely balling with your amnesty. So lets not pretend anymore and say candid's candy ain't so sweet after all.

Well, at least we're free now.

Blog 1: 6 Words

So this the first post and this one will be a sexy poem to "christen" the new Blog. So here it goes.

Boot licker, sole sucker. I claim you dirty. I want to lick, with uncensored excretions; two toned versatilities smacked red across your cheeks. Let me bend you. Across all floors, don't stand on all fours; just lay down. I want you to be raw. Uncooked virgin; last nights dinner, you steamed. But you can't be chicken. No, you can't be scared. No, wave magic. No. Flag your emancipation letters and say he opened up Pandora's Box. Baby, I love the way relations smell in close areas. I want to be close in your area. Because your privates aren't so private anymore. Your diary, open like the bank on New Years Eve; I thought you were closed. But, I didn't read your schedule on the calendar. Its been 28 days since I last put a deposit in.

So, can you open up that savings account and let me bank your bank. Sorry, this is my bank. I want to give you my all tonight. And tonight just might be as random as “Unusual”.