Love made out of paper

A love made out of paper


I'd give you anything that your heart desires,
and I'd treat each moment with you like antiques.

and never will my gray hair
make me feel embarrassed
as silver begins to become sneaky
and peek through the black.

while you'll never have to
worry or wonder about my wrinkles
and if I am ever ashamed of them
the newly defined lines upon my skin
un-hidden they are evidence of your movements
living deep inside my smile;
like the reason for my possessions of crows feet.

and you don't have to confirm to me my youth
as if fresh age hasn't quite started to fade yet
with you I forget years of creaky bones
as daily laughter erupts from deep in the soul

and with I won't be afraid of love...

or papers

jfh.0409

Haiku's

Love Sacrifice (written by me)

For you I'd hide my
hair; always wear long pants; not
hold hands in public

*************************************

Love Delight (written for me)


Her taste is so good,
that I gave up carbs. Now I
live longer with her.

*******************************

True love is in the sole (written by me for me)


I like my men to
be like my money. Can buy
me many cute shoes.

Love like Foreign Lands VII (for Babak)

Love Like Foreign Lands –VII


I plan to write the atlas to your soul,
become so scientific with the method of discovery,
I want to dwell deep within and learn every inch....
bone,
curve,
scrape,
bump,
scratch,
bruise,
and
mole,
the birthmarks,
that maps your body,
I'll study your lips, kiss them to measure the softness,
bite them slightly to see how full and thick they are,
run my tongue around the outline to take note of the borders,
suck them to get their natural flavor,


hmmmm...


and in my memory, I'll write that each touch of them
each brush and press of them against my lips,
taste like the air on a warm spring day.
and in your eyes, I see the sun,
infinite possibilities of happiness
some secrets of what we plan to build, hopes of future will.
while in your eyes, I'll see the son,
roots embedded deep in fertile soil
encourage the build of a stable family tree,
and seeds that live inside our lap,
the evidence of a evolution, the evidence of a simple caress.
so I'll study your touch, as you imprint yourself into me,
your body temperature perfect, brings warmth to my cold flesh,
the pressure of a hug, anxiously closer to you I pull,
wanting each cell of my skin
to find a perfect mate to kiss
among each cell of your skin.
close my eyes and breathe slightly,
I want you to sink and rise inside me.
as the urge to have us infused and bind,
we conquer the ability to share space and time,
and I will chart and graph each event,
all the kisses, touches, whispers,
precise and accurate, treat each year's new resolution
as the reason to devote every day
into re-surveying the area of your body,
learning of your aura, as if it was the first time again

It isn't overrated

It isn't overrated


Sometimes we are just
not doing it yet.
Confused, begin to call an
anthill a mountain.
no one is ever impressed with
conquering mountains
the size of anthills?
just as well as excitement dies
in cases of mistaken identity,
a common wrong made
popular by many.
While to those who have
reach the top and seen the view
it isn't overrated
You'll show with actions
and I'll use my words
while every now and then
just for the thrill to be able to
shake things up quite a bit
we'll trade spaces through
place and time.
and we both can agree
it isn't overrated.
my baby,
{joonam},
my heart,
{azizam},
my sweetie,
{kuchuluam},
my darling....
I want to call you...
I want to call you every name under the moon
just because...
I like to hear the way they roll off my tongue
and sing to you, therefore ....
it isn't overrated
I want to desire, to beg for a kiss
just one more upon my lips please...
{meboosamet}
just for the thrill of it, not
because I've been deprived by you
but I want to bring that rise in you.
it isn't overrated
I want to desire, to beg to sit on your lap
just so I can talk dirty in your ear....
{meekonamet}
just for the thrill of it, not
because I've been deprived by you
but I want to bring that rise in you.
it isn't overrated
I want to desire, to beg
just for the sake of begging....
{mikhamet}
just for the thrill of it, not
because I've been deprived by you
but I want to bring that rise in you.
it isn't overrated
we can buy tickets for two
and share a seat as we journey
on a ride to fill a lifetime
enjoying every
twist, curve, surprise,
just to confirm the truth of the wise....
hoping to do it right
for the good of it
for the bad of it
it isn't overrated





jfh-12.10.08 (4 my favorite...)

selfish

let me hold the monopoly on your memories
because I'm selfish like that
give me
the good times
the bad times
the ones filled with laughter
those sentiments you captured
in pictures to be kept long after
the events have come to past
and when it gets tough
I want you to remember
how looking into my eyes
made you realize things would be alright
no matter what it seemed like, on the outside,
I want to be submerged and smuggled,
hidden in photos and dreams
and sections in between,
scents that linger
and song that trigger
memories .....because I'm selfish like that

let me hold the monopoly on your fantasies
because I'm selfish like that
I want
the kinky times
the freaky times
the ones with all things mushy
and romantically incline
that could make even the toughest
woman made out of hot molten rock erupt
and melt into warm lava
while she slips away inside your arms
until the morning sunlight comes.
give me those afternoon thoughts when
we've been apart for way too long,
and those pre-planned four play plots
from nights as you drive,
impatient and excited for the arrival home
just to act out everything
you mapped out
that you would do
to get me to that level of love supreme
just as you pictured
would happen inside your
fantasies ....because I'm selfish like that.

and in return I'd give you
the key to my soul
the book to my laughter
the movie about my heart
and the map
to show you the way back
to my eyes
just in case you forget the way
sometimes...
I've saved my touch
for you to come and stake and claim
selfishly keeping just so you can
treat my body, mind and soul as
your very own monopoly
as I sometimes tend to become
slightly selfish when making major decision
that happen to be just so important like that.





jfh-12/2008

4 u

4 u



You don't know how great you are,
while I can express it a thousand times
and say it in a thousand rhymes, all clever
carefully plotted lines composed of
the obvious off center climax.
You'll never truly know just how great you are,
so the acceptance of my gratitude you will
absorb in all your attitude like humble pie.
while that is the reason why you are ....
while that is the reason I love....
while that is the reason you become more...
while that is the reason that mere words..
You don't know..

unfinished poetry

Sometimes I begin to write things and never finish them...this is one of them....sometimes the ending pops into my head but my process is usually to not write things down so quickly like in the past but I let them sit and if I can remember it 3 weeks later...then it deserve ink and paper to make it offical...this is stuck between the two worlds.... I have no name or real ideal where it may end up but I worte it to begin with as I did know back then a month ago until my mood changed...so I think I might finish it or just scrape it and use the parts I like for a better piece...like

"I bet the earth quakes
with each walk of your step
as it becomes excited
to be underneath
the heat of your body,
I presume in that same position
I'd crumble too,"


that is the part I like more or so over the rest...I don't know...just me rambling...

*I know words are not spelled right and it looks a mess...this isn't a final stage so ignore all grammar woes*



you're so cool
the way your lips move
in that sly little curl and snare
can't help but stare
as you demand all eyes on you.
and I can feel your gaze penetrate my skin
so I begin to play it cool too

pretend like I don't notice
the amazing skills of your aroma
and how delicately
it wraps itself around the room
and creeps into my aura.

you're so cool
I bet the earth quakes
with each walk of your step
as it becomes excited
to be underneath
the heat of your body,
I presume in that same position
I'd crumble too,
shedding my outside ice cold boldness

pretend like I don't realize
the amazing ability of your fingertips
and how smoothly
they view every inch, every area
and sneak into my radius.

you're so cool
the sound of your voice dances
the melody so smooth the trees sway
hips second guess if they should
continue to be wallflowers
or begin to bend like the rest
that have become subdue

pretend like I don't acknowlegde
the amazing power of your gaze
and how digilently
it tastes the mood hidden inside of me
and breaks into my inner core

(to be continued or not....)

(untitled - this isn't a marathon)

(untitled - this isn't a marathon)

it always feels better
when I'm doing it alone
set out to conquer life
as a one woman sprinter
while in my soul, I can never
run fast enough or
jump high enough
to make it over
that one single hurdle,
that always appears
out of thin air.
and sometimes I start to feel
if I can just do it in peace
then I can make it.
As they always seem to slow me down,
while for him
even though I want to lessen the pace
I don't want to lose the speed
I've already acquire
as he shows no signs of keeping up
anytime soon.
And to them it always seems like a
good ideal, to watch my burst of energy
fly by so quickly...
until they realize it doesn't change
so they start to ease up and
the attention span of keeping up
starts to wane and disappear.
so when I look up, they are gone
out of thin air.
even he, one day will evaporate
so I keep praying while fearing
of when that time comes
and I'll decide to look back
cause I know, there will be nothing there
but just the thin air.


januari 06/2008

untitled (for u)

I miss those lips
and moments when
I would wrap myself around you,
while leaning towards those hips of yours
I move inwards trying to rest my body
into you as if you've become a wall,
I plead with big brown eyes
and a soft smile,
hoping it will be enough
to supplement as a valid form of payment,
as I stand here begging for a kiss.
balancing on tip-toes to reach my prize
and to smell your scent again
my arms around your neck
I plant them as an anchor
preparing myself for when I begin to melt
as your mouth interlocks with mines.

and this is a moment between us two
that I want to last forever.
so I fantasize about if I could freeze time
or even slow it down for a second.
since we live in a world of our own
with a population that is made for just two
with each touch and glimpse,
of you to me, I'll fall in love all over again
like it was the first time you discovered my warmth
and to you my heart than begin to belong.

and I miss those afternoon naps
and night time silent slumbers
when I can be my natural being
naked in insecurities
but comfortable lying peaceful next to you.
while I tend to use you as a blanket
covered my body within your arms
and you keep me warm
when I drift inside those dreams.
where I harvest the replays of our days
working to store the newly fresh baked memories
created between me and you.
the sound of your breath in unison
with mines, I will with ease
inch nearer to your soul
sly in my ways of moving
just an inhale away from your heart
hoping you haven't notice the gap close
while you lay there sleeping soundly.
so I adjust myself to lay on your chest
since it has recently become my favorite pillow
I've decide to rest my head upon its comfort
now and always until the end of time.


and this is a moment between us two
that I want to last forever.
so I fantasize about if I could freeze time
or even slow it down for a second.
since we live in a world of our own
with a population that is made for just two
with each touch and glimpse,
of you to me, I'll fall in love all over again
like it was the first time you discovered my warmth
and to you my heart than begin to belong.

Love like Foreign Lands IV

Love like Foreign Land IV

It becomes amazing to me
how quickly I'm aware of your presence
way before the first kick,
or before cold gels and fuzzy screens
inside of a doctor's office.
My newly developed keen sense of smell,
as you make me feel life
and the world in high definition.
This is your way of sending me hidden signals.
It lets me know how forever we will bond.
I'll watch you carefully over the next year
growing through me.
Lying in bed wondering what stage you're in
at the moment you cross my mind.
Conditioning you with the finer things
through layers of skin and headphones,
I imagine you hear the muffle sounds
of the music that I play
or how I read you bedtime stories out loud.
You've never seen us
but you've manage to learn our voices.
Leaving tiny handprints in my stomach
from the inside looking out each time
you feel that he is near.
It's like you're aware that you are
just as much his as you are mines.
I wonder what you're doing in there,
maybe drawing pictures in my womb
leaving a story of the beginning
of your history for a future sibling.
I rub you and breathe in real deep,
send my voice and words through whispers
into my stomach instead of out in the hollow air.
I will tell you to take my eyes,
and if you have a choice to choose my lips,
and remember to take my lover's mahogany skin.
I tell you to have his personality
because that is what attracted me to him,
the man you'll soon call father.
I know you'll be a reflection of us,
regardless of who's genes you're blessed with,
as you'll be the perfect blend of two,
evidence that together in union we once existed.
Creating our greatest art piece, between us ever made


januari-08/2007

Love like Foreign Lands III

Love like Foreign Lands III

Always observing carefully
like an inspector, he checks and probes
with delicate intensity
as he traces with eyes
the curve and winding slopes of my form,
squeezing my arm and then my thigh.
I watch him take in the softness of my skin.
Before he rest his head upon my chest.
To him I'm rich and priceless as
ancient artifacts he just uncovered.
wide-eyed he becomes at a notice of my breast,
revealing them from their support
as if this discovering changes everything
in his studies before now.
taking use of all five senses.
touches my belly with eyes close,
begins to read my wants and yearnings like Braille.
presses his ear and breaths quietly,
listens to my lungs fill with rapid air.
he hears how I'm anxious from his presence.
smelling the dried faint scent lingering
on my navel from an early morning shower
now mixed with the aroma of sweat.
so he excites his palate
his mouth moves between each breast,
engulfs and hides each nipple it chooses,
tasting as a rhythmical art form.
tongue loops around the left, right,
right, and back to the left again.
he then eyes each mole like mapping out the
stars in the night sky,
like his guide to find his way back home
after long journeys through my bones and soul.
kisses the first mole at the top
where my forehead and my hairline meet,
kisses the one between my lips and nose,
moves to the one on my right cheek.
finds the one between my breast
(he will kiss there twice)
lifts each arm and leg to search carefully,
applying kisses to each spot, even the
ones that tend to hide, licks lips as he starts to
target the one near the top of my inner thigh.
He's thorough, uncovering down to the tip of my toes.
patiently doing his job, undisturbed in his
method of double spotting each point.
Tomorrow he repeat his routine, and I will let him,
as he makes sure to map each mole again.
comparing his findings with past research,
As he can never be to careful in his expeditions
of documenting my moles in his memories
just in case he just might discover
if a new one appears or an old one disappears.



januari-08/2007

Love like Foreign Lands

Love like Foreign Lands

We are Castaways
on an island made for two.
With time the customs become familiar.
Your body I study like a map.
There is a lake under your right eye,
mountains near your ear.
We must be lost living in or near the rainforest
at the base of your neck.
(my favorite place to rest.)
We've journeyed here months ago,
since wandering around searching for oasis
in the desert at your lower back.
Who knew that we'd find peace near your chest.
I've become pretty acquainted with this land of yours,
the rich brown finely texture soil, I could travel
with my eyes closed at night
and still find my way home.
Now I've learn to love this place,
Even if the area and the language of the natives is new.
Maybe within years I can obtain citizenship.
Our childeren will be born. We'll be side by side.
wanting and sitting.
Like how the tree and stone sit together.
waiting to do to each other
what the stone does for the tree
and the tree for the stone.


copywrite Januari - 05/2001


*************************************************************

Love like Foreign Lands II


I become 5 years old again
asking you a million in one question
as I'm curious to know your history,
thirsty for the story behind the pictures,
the hieroglyphics that cover your body.
tracing my finger around the large one
that covers most of your chest.
I study the past nicknames,
the design and symbols
that you might have compulsively picked
without careful consideration,
showing how young you probably were
when making poor decision.
I'm intrigued by each piece as they are
the key to your life before me,
I wonder why the guy on your left arm looks sad
or what makes you wanna get the one
on the right side of your chest
covered up with a new image.
I lay my head on my favorite one,
hoping that it will whisper secrets about itself
and tell me gossip about the others,
I wait for them to explain to me
the pain of the past that you sometimes hide.
I kiss the one on your back and conclude for now,
my childlike prowl will have to wait.
I pull you closer to my body and you soon feel
my eyes hint about science projects where
two bodies dissolve into one,
tonight you may not be ready just yet
to decipher your body's visual history,
but I have other ways love,
to find the past, much can be found without words.
So when the sun blends into the night,
you'll melt into my arms.
Where later I'll mold your soul into mines
studying you like a archaeologist with clay.
Delicately unraveling your history.


copywrite Januari - 08/2007

untitled #303

Blackness

In the Deep Concave Lenses
of your Eyes,
I search to find the Root
of this Blessing
to share your Essence.
Where I can see Africa in your Blood,
Brazil in you Smile,
Jamaica in your Hair,
Cuba in your Fight,
Suppleness in your Hips
Groove as if Swinging
to a Haitian Voodu Chant.
And if Ogu lives inside
as the Reason,
I must be ready to learn the
Possession of Ezili.
Cause I'm willing to devote
my Time into Studying you
Religiously.
Making Sacrifices of Heart,
Searching
Searching
and Searching
for a Soulution.
A Purpose to
Oppose Oppressed Feelings,
Subconcious Santeria Songs,
Create Melodies of Lullabies,
Food for my mind's Movement.
Stripping me of this
Continent's Synthetic Life
and all its Shallowness.
I want to stay Pure,
to Preserve the Gifts Received.
Grace to Beauty given to me.
More than just a Revolutionary Spur
of the Moment Thrill.
I can't Wash my Skin of your Color,
this Earthly Brown Hue,
I can't seem to Wash my Soul Either,
of this Naturalness.


januari harris - copywrite 2002



-----------------------------------------





(I wrote this when I was like 18...I don't think I ever shared it anywhere....)




Soul Children


Millions of little black children
baked in a pie
shackled feet, some broken bones
they still gonna fly.

Hold down the seeds, the peers, grandchildren
they are not a part of this cruel world
that they live in.
constantly they strive to stay alive,
no matter what happens
they still gonna fly.

Above the high rises and the barbwired
fences, hiding in the trenches,
emenies attack from all sides, but
they still gonna fly.

Dodging the drugs and the thugs,
gotta escape this world of hate
to break into the sky of love.
Destiny waiting behind gray clouds
If they make it thru this world they'll
make mother earth proud.
Waking up daily to live
instead of die, some way
they still gonna fly.

Little black children of future and past,
build memories that last.
revolutions to change the earth,
style brought forth at birth.
making statements
when things get hard
refusing to cry,
fly soul children
be beautiful, strong and fly.

januari harris - copywrite 2000

My niece always tells me I'm not the boss of her.

That may or may not be true (I can still outsmart her)...and at least I can write a poem about her.

The Drama Queen

If she were a superhero,
she would posses the ability to
make large amounts of things
mysteriously disappear.
as she has holes in her ears,
information goes in one, comes out the other.
and the holes in her mouth, food comes in and
ten minutes later, she asking what can she eat again.
and the magical talent of fast hands as
anything in her hands, she'd wave and tada it was gone.
only she knows that the magic words of abracadabra will
get the keys to walk out of toy boxes into
your hands when you've misplaced them.
she can even make herself disappear,
one moment she watching a my little pony movie,
then silence comes, and you know she has left without
a trace into thin air, off fighting a battle again.
she could be making sure the evil ice cream in the
refrigerator isn't becoming to powerful while
eating it into invisible status into her mouth, before
you've noticed it is gone and that there was a
possible terror alert of the ice cream ruling
your house to begin with.
if she is quiet than be aware, she is crime fighting trouble,
or more likely creating trouble she could get into.
I once watched her eat 5 bowls of cereal in one night
only to finish it off with spaghetti, and
all she did was grow taller, which means
it will take more for her to eat just to get her full, and
she will then just keep growing taller.
to think she is only four, imagine at seven when her
skills become even more profound.
she'll be able to clean out bank accounts on
barbies and at 12 she teach others her superhero
powers during secret meetings called slumber parties,
so when 18 comes she may rule the mall.
when shoes, and clothes, and purses will disappear inside bags
and into closets where the clothes will discuss plans to overthrow
the room government and claim the room as their own.
but no villain is too tough for her, as she is persistent at
everything she does, while most days she doesn't know
what she wants, she is willing to try everything.
but be aware if she likes it, then she'll so hide it.
maybe as she grows she'll use her superhero powers for
good and make dirty dishes disappear out of sinks and
and get things removed off of floors that belong on bookshelves,
maybe at 18 instead of ruling the mall
devouring clothes into car trunks,
at 18 she'll decide to use her powers on society
and help out the community,
while producing the talent of eliminating unwanted problems.
but who knows, since she is strong already at four, so
probably in 14 more years she'll be able to conquer both
the mall and the community,
at least one can only dream of the possibility.

copywrite Januari-02/2007

untitled poem number 1

So recently I had an old love with whom I had a lot of feelings for suddenly in my life appear again...well we never had any bad feelings or anything but "3 second high speed - space/time" travel haven't become affordable yet for the common man so we drifted apart..but regardless even though now I can talk to him and not feel mixed emotions from the past when I would try to hold onto something I wanted to happen so bad while knowing it had already gone away.....I find myself writing poems....





Greedy

Let me be your irregular lover,
as the urge to be yours
forever more got us
caught up in a deep mix,
we'll initiate the need to imitate
jumbled wave patterns more abnormal than
stilt-less houses in the Amazon.
And when we light fires of lust
between friction of moist bodies.
I want you to watch me
attempt to become your skin
treat myself like your second
set of limbs.
And you should wait patiently as
I figure out calculations
attempting to reveal hidden
solutions to your soul.
As I wait for you to indulge to me
all the unimportant things you forgot
to tell the others.
I want to awake from death
reincarnated as your birthmark
or perhaps the mole below
your left shoulder,
while obsession towards you
got me memorizing each
fingerprinted pattern.
I need you to calm my intrusive
invasions with stories where
you've implement me in your
past memories.
As I wait for you to indulge to me
all the important things you forgot
to tell the others.
I don't want to be that quick hit drug
but instead an altertative to your fix
Let me be the book that holds your history.
til the end of time,
til others find us kissing
behind moss, between pictures
upon stones, as we sneak around
dark caves secretly.

old poetry

The Yin, The Yang, & everything in between


Eternity seems impossible to reach,
dreamed the imperfect speech,
a loop hole in how to say
I love you
secretly,
without giving any fear of the knowing,
my skin glowing,
tells the tale of a farewell heart
re-birth for new beginnings
inside strong arms.
pre-warnings
inner voices speaks of
some soul to keep,
the yin of everything
pulls the force a little more deep.
good reinforcement, conditioned thru sleep,
Pavlov’s laws
greets positive ness
in the sound of breath
closed eyes, unseen is
the yang in between
we must come softly fused
puzzled pieces fitted with ease.
plan b put into action,
we move on to step two.
and I wonder if its noticed
how I hold air in for a sec.
listen quietly to catch
the rhythm of breathing patterns.
begin to initiate the process of science
remembering the rules,
for every action is a opposite re-action.
so I exhale when you inhale
I inhale, you exhale
our hands must lock,
body fits snug,
you wrap perfect around hips
better than cushion imprints,
left cold inside favorite chairs.
sitting entwined, co-dependant
as stick shifts
break and clutch
each touch, we gear up another speed,
shifts into
the perfect union of two.
So I exhale yin when you inhale yang
I inhale yang, you exhale yin
practices of balance
makes the possible reality
infinity
& everything in between.



_______________________________________________


Love like Foreign Lands

We are Castaways
on an island made for two.
With time the customs become familiar.
Your body I study like a map.
There is a lake under your right eye,
mountains near your ear.
We must be lost living in or near the rainforest
at the base of your neck.
(my favorite place to rest.)
We've journeyed here months ago,
since wandering around searching for oasis
in the desert at your lower back.
Who knew that we'd find peace near your chest.
I've become pretty acquainted with this land of yours,
the rich brown finely texture soil, I could travel
with my eyes closed at night
and still find my way home.
Now I've learn to love this place,
Even if the area and the language of the natives is new.
Maybe within years I can obtain citizenship.
Our childeren will be born. We'll be side by side.
wanting and sitting.
Like how the tree and stone sit together.
waiting to do to each other
what the stone does for the tree
and the tree for the stone.

Us Girls

Here is a recent poem I wrote.

Us Girls


We so fly. Our groupies have groupies,
Those Girls that wanna be like Us Girls.
Us Girls who talk fast, and switch hips
face made up, and caked up with makeup
at fifteen, they say our heel game look mean.
Meaner than those videos vixens,
as we got bigger fish to fry,
why waste days in class when
older hustla' be checkin out
our asses so Phat.
Us girl rock Baby Phat,
and fake Louie purses
memorize Lil Kim verses
otha' than humming
Nina Simone melodies.
we gonna be one of those
four women we will never
hear about, nor care to know about.
while most will call us
her name, wisphers and moans
of, "oh Sweet Thang,
I love you so...."
Us Girls is for daddies of all kind.
as long as they the type
of daddies that be Buyin
Us Girls like Girls like Us
to touch and let our
sexy Yung Thug Hustla watch,
and join us, as long as it gets us a
lil mo' of what Those Girls
who ain't us got.
Us Girls can't understand whats wrong with
those silly ones who don't
want what we got but search for
something otha' than green or
things that are So Icey,
to Us Girls, Them Girls don't exists.
Us Girls got dreams
to be in King magazine
cause we was told smart
women have goals,
and We smart enuff to
know that we mature at
fifteen years old,
cause some older boy said so.
and Our bodies is looking so Whoa!,
just like dem chicks that are models.
And they say we Thick in all
the right places, enuff to be models.
as Us Girls got dreams, cause they
say women needs her dreams
and we women enuff to know
that aint nothing wrong with sliding
down glitter poles, as
some boy said we could,
cause We more mature than most
of the older women they know.
Us Girls are Independant and do whatever
we please, as we know everything
as some man pretendin boy say we can
and we believe everything he gon say to us.
cause Us Girls is fifteen,
and stuck inside a Video World
all we want to be is just another one of them
Money takin, Money makin, Pimpin Dollars, Freak in the Bed,
Down Ass Chick, that every guy wants on his team as his
number One, we gon be that type of Us Girls
cause Us Girls smart enough to know we gonna need to
have us a realistic Dream that can fit inside a T.V. Screen.

for J. Dilla

The Perfect Beat

that's what masterminds do,

get caught up with addictions
to creating masterpieces.

and soon find themselves falling
in love with something beautiful.
in search of a balance between
the pure raw, and the harmony.
rhythms classicals enough to
outlast the lifetimes.

so it's no suprises that constantly
I seem to find myself in loops.
re-surfaced deja vu's,
while listening to a hot piece.

as that's what genius's crave,

the type of work that becomes
the scores people grow their lives to.
soundtracks produce fresh
with the smell of everyday grind,
sound so remarkable they
evolve into lifelines.

songs fossilized into my mind
strong enough to stir up memories
as I choose to play them
continous on repeat.

eternity comes forever through
the spirit of the melodies
as with the play of
each hook, riff, and loop
caught up in positive harmony

we listen closely as
you soul shines,
hoping to catch a feeling of
your sunshine,
grabbing handfuls of your memory
as it slip through the
reflection of each flawless piece

I alway catch myself wondering,
"damn, who perfected the beat?"




(p.s...
to Dilla with luv.)
r.i.p

Surrendering

Surrendering


it could have happened anywhere
maybe perhaps even on
a busy crowded
downtown street
while on a corner
waiting for the
street lights to flash walk.
or perhaps in a quiet
bookstore separated
by a shelve of books
packed tightly on a
oak wood frame.
a likely potent
passing might
brew in a grocery store line,
waiting behind
the woman counting
out two dollars
worth, of pennies,
for two soda's
one hers, the other
for a small grandson,
both just wanting to
share a moment together.
or the chance of a
possible proximity
of back turn towards back
in a little coffee shop,
sipping frappuccinos
simultaneously browsing
the new yorker or
wall street journal
might have been the
scene for the plot.
a stare could employ
overlapped lives,
as a smile proposes
gesture of marriage.
formal meetings
come coincidental,
familiarity eases eyes.
inverted awareness
brings buried,
yet unintentional
supple soul kisses,
seize equivalent
accidental touches.
conversations
begin to take shape,
fighting against the
body's solitary,
my heart is a dictatorship,
so selfish
when it comes to
sharing my soul,
I prefer to have myself,
single in a shelter shell,
all to my own.
while,
you’re so militant,
always fighting
against heart's
lonely happiness
ignoring the single man's
worry free baggage less
contentment.
it could have happen anywhere,
during movies, sporting events
club scenes, concerts,
such tight spaces where
people seem to
become jammed packed.
amalgamated, melted pots
of large groups.
of course throughout the world,
we'd share
numerous fate bending encounters,
of course we both knew,
one day,
orbital roads would cross paths,
so suddenly we clashed.
purposely pretending you didn't
mean to mindlessly
bump into my agenda.
caught up in your beauty,
it should only be natural that,
only you could
knock me off my feet.
needing balance, your strong
shoulders I'd grasp
to keep
from falling behind,
pushing to stay afloat
inside a busy line.
you counteract,
offer a friendly hand,
touch the lower
part of my back,
produce comfort in
movement through a
crowded path.
these advances,
your eye's glances
plot ideals to conduct
uprising and definite
attitude towards solitude,
the will of our bodies
too close together
in breathless rooms,
aid the revolution,
fight against freedom
blossoms harvest and
the next movement.

The Revolutionist Wants To Eat Me

The Revolutionist Wants To Eat Me


There is a woman
who lives on my back.
she brings gifts of unorthodox
disruptions to my humble pose.
her load is brutal upon my body
and soon one day, she
will overpower me.
her nappy, wild animal hair
unravels at the end
of my tips, while
she braids and weaves
her dreds into my orderly roots.
her brazen voice
so loud when she speaks
dissolves my
lady-like sing-song melody.
her face stuck in frame,
seems never released of a
continuous smugly fit smile.
her hefty teeth leave
imprints in sentences.
her stout arms supported
by her broad shoulders
create thunder with
every shift of order.
her callus hands
work lively while she
summons every task she's
ever attempted to accomplish.
her full breast suffocate
barren empty spaces.
her big animated belly
moves when she moves, while
she moves when I move.
her thighs always dancing,
have swallowed more than a
few grown men's waist.
her heavy legs
entertain whenever
she decides to walk,
her statuesque signature
lingers behind after
each pace, each step.
and I can feel her
following closely,
I can hear her harsh breath
on the nape my neck.
she is unruly in her style,
as she tramples through life.
she is selfish,
always wanting things her way.
her mind steady grinding
on plans, calculated thoughts on
how to capture the world
and change it to accommodate
her hips, her gender,
her race, and her seeds.
her eyes growl for she
has been starved of
equality in her bones.
while in her
uneven world, she
collects sharp knives, waiting
for the moment to
even the score and claim victory.
burdensome are her actions upon me,
as she carefully plots to
awake me of her existence.
this woman only comes around
to conjure up chaos,
and she wants to use me
as her vessel.
this burly woman want to
savor me on the tip of her tongue.
hungry and greedy, ready to
infuse me into her veins,
gobble the remains of my
personality during
a great carnivorous feast.
defusing the meander ways
of my meek and gentle figure,
this huge robust woman
wants to deliciously eat me.
leaving nothing behind but
my epidermis so that she
may dress in my body tomorrow,
anxious to have my
skin upon her soul.
she'll strut boldly in my being
ready to start trouble,
and stir up the world, acting
gregarious in her nature.
as she wears me haughtily like
her best sunday dress.