Deflowered

Cold to the touch. Emotionless on the outside. No one has a clue. Smile plastered. Teeth gleaming.

 But once, she was a daisy. Brilliant white petals surrounding a golden center. Alive. Delicate. Everyone smiled as she grew and she thrived to see their grinning faces. She lived to please them.

Soon, everyone's plucking away at her petals, as she willingly gives them every part of her.

 "He loves me."

Slowly killing her.

 "He loves me not."

 She's dying while trying to fulfill everyone's needs.

 

Soon, she's hardened. Tears melt behind her eyes and are forever stained on her once-warm, once-thumping heart. She is blunted. Way past that of mellow because at least then, she'd feel something. At least then, she'd be able to feel the difference. What is happy? What does it mean when it is at the expense of another's happiness? What is her happiness? What is her soul in this hopeless dwelling, but a floating force, feigning existence?

Where is her happy?

Sweet precious flower, please come back to life.

Ebony: A Praise Poem

Vast black ocean

Hindering a white shore

Grains of sand trickle in slowly,

It’s remnants present in every child. 

Mixes the blood

History, tracing its way back to the Cajun flavor of the Mississippi.

Then creeping towards the well known concrete jungle.

Ebony, the essence of your ancestry

Embedded in your name, flesh, and blood.

Almost potent, like poison

Yet pleasant and benign.

Ebony, the polished adornment of the tombs of Egypt,

Your river runs deeper than we know.

You’re of the richest soil.

Ebony, rooted to the most nurturing land.

You are the gold, the treasure,

The prize, the coveted.

The black diamond of the earth

The precious stones that reflects and connects

My past to yours.

A prime entity of which,

We knew not it’s worth.

Misled

What’s a heart once you've melted it

 But A cold, puddle of blood
And flesh?
What’s a hand once you’ve caressed it
But another limb,
Tainted by your touch?
What’s an eye once it’s seen new found love
But a simple vessel,
Infected and blind?

What’s a soft touch
But a strange notion of deceit ?
What’s a sweet whisper
But a bare utterance of lies...

The Bad and The Ugly

It's really hard accepting yourself for who you really are. Of course I'm not talking about the good parts. I mean the ugly, the flawed, the cruel parts of you. The parts of you that you neglect to take into account when someone points them out. The very ignorant parts. The parts of you that are almost inhumane, deplorable. The parts of you that tie you to the most disgusting people you've heard of. You're almost in shock when you realize this is who you are. Or at least who you've become.

There are those who flee, within good reason, as soon as they are exposed to this side of you. They push you aside, and find someone who can be kind and loving all of the time. But as it was said before, it's understandable. Why surround yourself with someone who is so ugly? It's only natural to want to gravitate away from them.

Then, surprisingly, there are those who choose to stay. Those who are tortured relentlessly because of that choice. Those who endure it. Those who still love you even though you don't deserve it.

Somehow, they see the changes you can make. They see the potential of a beautiful person behind all of the screw ups and mistakes. They see your honest effort. They may correct or criticize you. You may unconsciously try to push them away, but they still stay.  At that point, it's not your place to ask why this person is there. You just accept them. You become utterly thankful for them. They somehow teach you to forgive yourself. They teach you to love yourself. That's the most important gift anyone person can give to another. Those are the people you hold close to your heart forever.

So you come to terms with yourself, just as they have. You realize that sometimes, you're very rough around the edges. You acknowledge that you've made a conscious decision to tame this uglier side of you and realize that it may not fully go away. Yet, the fact that someone else can love you just as you are is proof that you can love yourself the very same.

Turn Up The (Real) Music

Where's the real music? Where's the originality? All that's ever created these days are 1) Knock offs of older songs 2) Songs that are over-sexed and demeaning. The music industry, as we know it, is fading.

Where's the substance? Where are the songs that had actual meaning? While watching an episode of BET's "Single Ladies", it probed a thought that uncovered a very true reality. What happened to the poets, to the artists who left a little something to the imagination and didn't want to just "Li-li-li-lick you from your head to your toes"? Where are the singers who valued your mind just as much as your body? Where are the Marvin Gayes and Luther Vandrosses?

And what about the women? Objectification. Misogynistic. Just plain disrespected. What expectations, as a result, am I held to especially as a young black woman after seeing these kinds of videos? I'm all for sexual liberation but they have to be portrayed better that this. What kind of ambitions am I supposed to have if the majority of my women are displaying themselves like this? What then, was the point of having tell-alls from the eyes of video vixens if we continue with raunchier videos that's borderline pornography? "Make it Nasty", "Drop it Low", "Back That Ass Up", do these all sound familiar? How much more sexually explicit can we get? There is nothing wrong with expressing sexual feelings, we are, after all, sexual beings. However, why has it become so grossly perverted? The tasteless nature of these songs and videos are becoming a turn off.

Another problem: Where is the originality? The fresh, new rhythms are missing. There is a sort of recycling going on, regurgitation of old songs, beats, and melodies.Of course the authenticity comes in the lyrics (at times) but where is the freshness?


 Music is a melodic philosophy. We uncover wisdom, knowledge and strength from it. Now all it is coming to now is dirty noise.
 
We need to get our music back because as of now, it has taken a turn for the worst.

Stupid Cupid

That's why Eros shoots you with an arrow. It's supposed to hurt. Damn you love. Why couldn't you tickle me with a feather duster or something? Or maybe wrap me up in a warm, fuzzy blanket? Why did I have to be falling? Hurting. Afflicted. Drunken. Infected. Blind. Why does it have to leave me helpless? Vulnerable. And maybe even a little confused. Dear Love, why must you strip me down to nothing? Why must you fool me? Wound me. Abandon me. Dear Love, why do you beat me? Sting me. Dear Love, keep me from shattering to pieces. Make me feel whole again. The hollowness is deafening...