Tuesday, November 30, 2010

a new foundation

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Just to give you some insight, and another side of me of which you may not know of, I write poetry, abstract poetry, slash short stories. I’ve been doing this for about 7 years now. And it all started with lyrics resembling hip-hop and transitioned into poetry, If one wants to call it that. I don’t consider, myself, a writer. I feel as if the definition of a writer is one who follows guidelines, structure, punctuation, grammar, etc. I feel as if writers have to filter their work. I don’t follow any guidelines nor have a filter of any sort. Truthfully, I sometimes don’t even understand what I write, but during the course of writing something, a chapter, as I call it, it tends to make sense. So I just write. I am “write”, the simple, no sentence, neither noun nor verb attached word itself, write. I’m (right) write.

This next chapter is called, a new foundation.

The title comes from the separation of my parents roughly 2 years ago. The reason the title being “a new foundation” is because I feel as if my mother was the old foundation. She was the one that kept the family together, in a sense of always reminding us about birthdays of relatives that we may have missed, to bringing together the family on holidays. She was basically the Conductor of the orchestra. And as my parents extracted from each other I felt as if the family collapsed. And here I step in; using the title “a new foundation” as if I’m it. In this chapter, the soil resembles myself, as the seeds resemble my family.

Here we go…

My skin is of a soils texture, redeeming its place along side fabric, which happens to be the seeds masked under it. For I am naked before the sun’s warmth, exposing myself upon the seeds that are buried under me. A family tree left for exile, for its time has come. But through aggression, intellectual depression, and masterfully monitored by intentions to let go, I prevail, and let go. As if tears have been squeezed from a dry sun, onto my seeds so they can feel my emotion. So they can feed off my pain. It is impossible not to love you, so I continue too. Love who you ask? I love you, my poppa and momma, their poppa their momma, my brother, my uncles, my nephews, my cousins, to their future lovers. Please excuse my accent for I am new to these fertilizing duties to further imply to you that I will not fail this time. I am not really sure what this is about, when winds are crashing down, and the surface starts to tremble. But I have been taught well; well enough to engrave each of my heartbeats into your stomachs, so you can grow into the family tree I once remembered. Just the thought of your branches waving, leaves flaming, free from hatred and separation I engage, faithfully into our newfound bond. And we shall grow, through blizzards and snow, through waves of heat, until the earth buries itself. I stand above you my seeds, explaining my mission, so you can breath within with ambition to leave it to me. Just listen…

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Selfish

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I am Selfish,
As I sip first on the only cup of smoldering tea,
The last of its kind
Burning my cores outline before its soul cools down,
As I finally allow your lips to feel its stroke
I am tender and selfish,
Conceded in highlights, with bright lights firing
Stylish hydrogen, I create oxygen with life within
I can never let a generation generate innovations
Of something my era has already created
I am, Selfish!
For asking for favors, from friends that favor to save “us”
From a 9am to 5pm career that’s soon to face us
I am selfish,
Because your tears aren’t enough for death to drown,
So I flood the raw condom that is your morale,
And fill you with the truth before I let you go out in that tight skirt,
And slave your inner beauty to hungry STD’s
Yes, I am selfish
And for that I self persevere to think of myself first,
Before anything can adjust and do worse,
To you
Selfish? That I am..

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Seduction

seduction

I whispered as her insides molded into vibrant sensations. I used only but one word, one short mouthful of air until I reached her equilibrium. You see it took control and mental discipline for ventilation of her orgasmic senses to have reached its zenith. I’m calm, and in an instant I had placed myself in unison with her moans. I stretched until my muscles fully eradicated all possibilities of the impossible. "It’s going to happen," I said, as my sounds ripped through her soul and captured her wetness. I said but a few syllables, a few letters that when placed together formed goose bumps throughout her entire outline. “Can I fuck you,” and then I exhaled, and then I waited. The feeling was as if time had frozen over and her reactions were of a mild dissatisfaction. But when lingered and marinated, recollection of what age we were in, it was extremely potent. I could have felt her lips with intent to slip in at any moment. But when experienced, it becomes monotonous for routine pleasures, so why address them? Penetration is a mere lasting orgasmic passion without spontaneous actions, so I asked her. “Can I induce your emotions with luscious lust, fainting love, where your insides are eloped into explosive contractions, where the tip of my mushroom is inserted deeply into your molecules like an atomic thrust heading into the core of your g-spot. I will finger lick those lips with a whale’s tongue, and with hell’s heat I will grasp your skin with my claws and rip until pain is elevated into parallel motions connecting your moans voices. I want to… breathe venom onto your fibers and scream with my eyes begging you for more. I want to tear the living fuck out of you and I will not stop until time asks for forgiveness and you breathe in me begging me to stop.” Graphic! But welcoming as she inhaled the first breathes of her life, as if life had just been given to her. Her pupils dilated as her eyes rolled back and her lower jaw fell like gravity. Her emotions were flabbergasted out her thoughts onto my sweat. I felt as she felt, when held to a climax without intentions of coming down. As time had continued to tick I heard a “beep" sound as if my alarm clock shouted it out with its inner voice. And as I glanced to my side, after a long night of fucking, she was staring into nothing. Seduction!

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

ironing away

ironing

A smooth stroke, a loose wrinkle waiting to be pressed against a platform that is steady enough to carry its heat. It breathes as if it pedals air itself. I’m amazed, and as well as in control. The heavy metal ego springs steam out its lungs, waiting to straighten out everyone’s problems. In this case the victim. The emotions of the victims are reflected by the colors they vibrate, from light colors resembling happiness and dark ones pain and agony. There is no cure but a mere short lasting of satisfaction that covers the skin before it is again damaged. I create, an image so beautiful and flawless it could guide itself past the gates of heaven onto g-d’s skin himself; for a limited time only that is. You see, when in motion, the oceans are flattened and currents are absent. I become time as fabric becomes mine, an epic journey through its cotton fields, its wool dreams, and its silk imagination. I am, therefore, I control. A miscommunication of a pattern could alter faiths for ages because without perfection you are age and I am ageless, therefore I contain it. By the looks of theses angles, from the start to the end, I am able to witness its birth before the steamed semen is pressed onto the fabricated egg. I become one as if it was my own skin pressed to fit into this so-called “perfect” world we strive in. Picture one with age, lost in space, where seventy years ago has spoken his first word, covered by an outline of a models prospect, ironed by my hands controlling a heated plate. Do you understand why I iron? A piece of cloth can cover scars and regrets and obsolete skin, it controls what you see and how the victim feels. I feel well-balanced, thank you iron. I shall return soon.