A fOOls eXistence

Wish me happy birthday on July 2nd 1992. I finally turn 21.

I’m on the receiving end of my own disaster. I created this monster of a life. How can I bare to go through this moment thinking, possibly wondering, why it’s not working out for me.

I feel dreary.. Like every second I live through this I am pained by the existence of non existence.. The price of not having a price to pay.. The moments where I have no moments to experience. The near emptiness of my being.

I deceived myself into thinking he would stay with me. I believed they would make amends. Come back, be friends. A bullshit fantasy only I could concoct and convey so that love could.. Exist. In the form I wanted it to.

So I embark on this wild, fantastic journey. A horoscope once read is now playing itself into existence and I let it because I fucked up my reality. So why not give the ethereal universe a shot at it. Blinded by these make believe hopes and dreams..more often than I’m supposed to I believe only one thing these days..that being I’m a fool

Fools ignore the reality that ups and downs do exist and plagiarize life into a Disney story. I’m being patient and hoping for the best.

Wish me happy birthday on July 2nd 1992. I finally turn 21. I finally reached my end goal. And all other subsequent goals merely fell out of place.

Poetic bluntness

I thought I could seduce him,
I need to seduce him,
For reusing him,
Has become a compulsion in him,
To be what I thinkin’
To be what i’z be doin,
To be what I want from him,
It worked for two,
It worked for who,
Had set forth on that pussy train and blanked,

Now Im lost,
Lovin what I don’t have,
That’s just the way it is..
Things will never be the same,

To lazy to care


Deep thoughts in this dark hole where shrubs are born,

Forlorn, and torn …in to pieces,

The scorn of a woman as she feels unborn,

In a world of sin,

Boiling hunger and thirst in deserts plain,

The gain, and wain… of existence,

Rains down on my body and feelings sane,

Creep up on minds so innocent and pussies as wet,

I crept, and wept … as he left,

What’s a girl to do when she has nothing left,

Pussy wet and crevice deep, was so deep,

Hard to keep, seep..in to thirsty wounds,

I weep at dark and feel the lark of times left to reap,

Times left to regain in this world of pain,

I feel insane, membrane,.. can’t stop thinking,

As the trains, of time’s lanes pass me by and blame,

Curious George hands who find their way amongst the light of day,

I pray, the way..is clearly here to stay,

Long line, so divine as these fingers meet mine,

Sense of time in this moment, I am no longer lost,

In frost, at a cost of words..I gasp,men

The touch of newly born fingers creep, in this crevice so deep, i-m–l-o-s-t,

In pleasure mine with you in mind, strong hands so divine,

Inclined to sign, be mine..and let’s rock,

Up and down, Up and down all night like the fine wine we sip in sync,

The blinks of pleasure feel great as the wet over came my dry,

I cry in pleasure, sigh in pain…I am mine,

Wanting you to be here as I fine dine on my pine


Hyped up on an all- black coffee, no cream or sugar I am inflammable,
I am thinking big picture, big Apple, unstoppable,
From the beat of my heart to the glint in my eye the world pours over,
I feel crazed, like a wild animal, in the jungle, unstoppable,
Words play lightly on dancing finger tips and I watch these academics,
I am intelligent and think many things of the future,
Eating pizza, observing as the sweet olives melt away on grated Parmesan cheese,
I feel cultured, understanding the accuracy of tradition and the brilliance of time,
The passage of time is beneath us, I stand on cracks of earth whence one day in this earth America declared its independence,
I am patriotic but vigilant in my support of the constitution, the words,
Worsened by an ill economy but still bearing the symbol of religious African history,
I flock Ethiopia, I visit Kenya, I sleep in New York
More often than not I question the people’s who globalize,
Why not centralize? I am baffled by ignorance, I surrender to innocence, if we have the means- where are the ways?
Staring out into the wide expanse of fluffy clouds and the world beneath,
I figure out the meaning of a life well spent in a global village,
I ponder over the thought of my existence in a mix of eccentricity and freedom,
I fumble my way across nothingness,
For what little steps we take to change the planet when bigger strides are taken collectively,
My voice is heard like tiny whispers in a small village


POetic WorkshOP

Make a list of 5 art forms or medium

  • sculpture
  • jewelry
  • painting
  • miming
  • scribbling
  • Write about how it feels to meet a stranger, using an allegory

    The scribble, dibble, of a time when paper met pen is really just the beginning of an art form nobody envisioned but i knew that it was a silent note,
    with my hand gestures and movements i believe i can transform myself into a series of different movements that may otherwise be interpreted from my delicate expression,
    my movement is fluid and my hands are still, poised for the moment when i can wait for paint so wet to come dribbling down canvas so that I know my nerves are cracking and shit’s going down,
    scribble, dibble, on this canvas I start to spider my drawing round the idea of brisk movements, not too fast but yet so still so that i can value the portrait unfolding,
    My mind’s racing with the thought of delicate sounds infiltrating my vessel so I’m less able to fully speak down, so im following truth and seeking higher order,
    The pieces together, the chain is not broken for no one, i will build my temple!
    ill write up the end, ill close it with truthful synchrony and blend in my colors, ill stand