Life
What the fuck is this shit even about?
Bad bitches and good weed?
Bad bitches and cold drinks?
Bad bitches and good dank?
Champagne and easy widers?
Movies?
Casting...
I'd like to sum up my life as floating on a cloud of superficial bullshit
landing on a planet of superficial bullshit AND success
and then falling into flyness... and superficial bullshit, with satisfaction
and self content.
But we all know this shit is not true.
well... part of it is.
shit... most of it... I'm working on the success part though.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
i m y
The way your eyelashes fluttered and then parted slightly to reveal your eyes rolling to the back of your head was just so fucking sexy... I miss it. I miss the curves you possessed and the long, thick, brown hair that teased your shoulders and in turn teased me- for it got to touch your smoothe caramel skin more than I ever could have. Your thick thighs, your gorgeous hands, that smile that could brighten any day, together with your loud ass laugh and that scent that swallowed up every piece of clothing you owned. I want to drown in it. I want to live in it.
I wish I had the ability to go back in time to the night where I held you up against the fence outside the movie theatre and let my tongue wind up with yours. I let my hands roam everywhere, and I didn't care who saw it. They started with your hair and ended up cupping each cheek. Grown ass men walked by and stared in jealousy. You were mine, and not their's. With every kiss I took a deep breath to make sure I was completely absorbing you... and here you thought I was just being a hornball but it was so much more. I was creating a connection. Solidifying it. Making sure that the trust I was placing in you was secure. Furthering our relationship, with that one kiss.
I miss you.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
it's over
written 2/10/08
it’s over.
It's dangling from a string.
life.
existance.
oh it's wearing itself thin.
who gives a fuck about elvis?
STOP PLAYING ELVIS!
no one gives a damn.
at least not me.
he's fucking dead.
Existance!
People snatch it up and mold it into whatever they want it to be.
what if you want it to be gone?
Fuck, what if you can't fathom the idea of another day--
another horrific even that takes your gut and emotions and fucks them up the ass with a steel pipe?
that's real right?
that's life right?
Just BULLSHIT.
on the fucking regular...
i'm so angry man...so tired...so tired...so
AAAHHH!!!
i feel dead.
alone.
old.
cold.
ugly.
awful.
shitty.
LOVE me!!
LOVE ME!!
don't FUCK ME RAPE ME HIT ME BEAT ME HURT ME
don't tell me you love me and then take it back.
just...
hug me. and smile in my face.
please
it’s over.
It's dangling from a string.
life.
existance.
oh it's wearing itself thin.
who gives a fuck about elvis?
STOP PLAYING ELVIS!
no one gives a damn.
at least not me.
he's fucking dead.
Existance!
People snatch it up and mold it into whatever they want it to be.
what if you want it to be gone?
Fuck, what if you can't fathom the idea of another day--
another horrific even that takes your gut and emotions and fucks them up the ass with a steel pipe?
that's real right?
that's life right?
Just BULLSHIT.
on the fucking regular...
i'm so angry man...so tired...so tired...so
AAAHHH!!!
i feel dead.
alone.
old.
cold.
ugly.
awful.
shitty.
LOVE me!!
LOVE ME!!
don't FUCK ME RAPE ME HIT ME BEAT ME HURT ME
don't tell me you love me and then take it back.
just...
hug me. and smile in my face.
please
Friday, June 25, 2010
Except Me
Let's get something straight; I don't need you.
No weapon necessary 'cause my attitude is lethal.
But if we compare I'd suggest you stay in your place;
I could make you Fall Out Boy -Arm's Race.
But pass me the guitar so I can torture it like Wayne-
drive you up the wall, explode your brain -Kurt Cobain.
(Rest in peace, 'cause I really was a fan)
sitting in class writing Nirvana lyrics on my hand,
MY mind SO fucked up couldn't no one understand.
Had cuts but I stitched that shit up like Lilo
and no these not lies this is all real.
Born with money but still driven to steal,
too much love in my hear for others so it's me I had to kill.
Homeless and roaming, nowhere to go but I'm goin;
big lips, nice tits, no hips, they still hit-
if I aint wanna give it up, fuck it they steal it;
and then Dad called me a hoe, the doctor promiscuous.
If only they knew the shit I went through was ridiculous,
but fuck it I knew I was worth way more than this-
I'm not big fat and ugly, but dammit I'm still precious.
written 12/12/O9
No weapon necessary 'cause my attitude is lethal.
But if we compare I'd suggest you stay in your place;
I could make you Fall Out Boy -Arm's Race.
But pass me the guitar so I can torture it like Wayne-
drive you up the wall, explode your brain -Kurt Cobain.
(Rest in peace, 'cause I really was a fan)
sitting in class writing Nirvana lyrics on my hand,
MY mind SO fucked up couldn't no one understand.
Had cuts but I stitched that shit up like Lilo
and no these not lies this is all real.
Born with money but still driven to steal,
too much love in my hear for others so it's me I had to kill.
Homeless and roaming, nowhere to go but I'm goin;
big lips, nice tits, no hips, they still hit-
if I aint wanna give it up, fuck it they steal it;
and then Dad called me a hoe, the doctor promiscuous.
If only they knew the shit I went through was ridiculous,
but fuck it I knew I was worth way more than this-
I'm not big fat and ugly, but dammit I'm still precious.
written 12/12/O9
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
A Love Letter
Can we go like three words backwards? Suck up the words that were too eager to come out and lock them up inside, reserve them for a situation that better deserves them? Perhaps we can rearrange the letters so that they become more appropriate, less conflict-starting words, words that don't lead to the awkward silence that sure enough followed their placement. I think about you all the time. I think about you while my mouth is stuffed with chicken and my tastebuds are exploding with the flavor and deep down I wonder what your flavor would do to my tastebuds. I think about you behind closed eyelids and often think about the things you say to me and the thoughts we exchange and go over them in my mind. I soak up every detail of you that you allow me to and reminisce on every time you've created a smile- which is quite often. Never a sour moment has occurred and I want it to stay like that. I have hope and for a moment, it failed me. My protection sucked me up and when realizing what it had done, gagged on me and spit me up halfway. I've completely slipped out now, although you have not, and I am sure, will not. However, I remain without layers, because although you are not yet sure if I deserve that, (and I don't blame you, move at yourown pace), my heart is burning with trust for you and I am ready to say you deserve it. My guards are on break and they aren't ready to come back. The two left on duty are sleeping in the corner, and for some reason, although you woke them up with alarm momentarily, they're fast asleep again and I have a feeling they'll remain that way. And I'm content with that. Without that daily dose of you to shoot me out to the next galaxy and beyond, I remain bored, lonely and confused on earth. In the stars with you is where I belong. Let's stay out there this time.
R.K.
R.K.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Put A Move On My Heart
Overwhelmed by the catastrophe that clumbered around in her mind, she crumbled to the floor, curled up in the fetal position and then slowly crawled under the desk of her cubicle for fear of anyone discovering her break down. Her moment of weakness must not be seen. No one can see her crash, for she, her, is the ever strong female that younger nieces and cousins look up to, coworkers, friends, and girlfriends desire to be, and husbands and random men in the street want in their bedrooms or running their relationships. As much as she tried to contain the emotions that swirled around throughout each edge of her body, as much as she tried to hold herself back from falling into the neverending abyss of frustration, sadness and anger... it did nothing. She closed her eyes and cried. Under the desk seemed like the safest and cosiest place at the moment, where there was no one to judge her, no one to ask her for money, advice or guidance, no one to call her and ask her if she wanted to go out to the bar after work and knock back a couple of beers. She let out her anxieties and her hurt; every time her cousin attempted to fuck her or grab her titties came out in each droplet, ran down her cheeks and seeped into the corners of her mouth. Everytime her step-father pretended she was her mother and made her suffer for her walking out on them and leaving him sexually devastated came out in every clutch, twist, and squeeze of the hem of her dress. She wanted to scream and bawl out in pain and anguish but she didn't forget where she was. Instead she shoved her index finger in her mouth and bit down, clamped on it. She bit until it turned red, and when it started to bleed she glanced at it and remembered the way her heart bled when her father didn't show up to her high school graduation, her moving into college, her college graduation. She peeked out from below the desk and saw three of her coworkers looking down at her.
"Why doesn't she go get some fucking help?"
"Why doesn't she go get some fucking help?"
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Daria
In the past, when someone wanted me to do something, and I didn't want to do it, I sucked up my feelings and went ahead and did it. And complained.
Now, if someone wants me to do something, and I don't want to do it, then I feel compelled to not do it.
That's good.
I'm doing what the fuck I want to do.
Now, if someone wants me to do something, and I don't want to do it, then I feel compelled to not do it.
That's good.
I'm doing what the fuck I want to do.
Dying Battery
IT is fucking 446AM. And I'm up. The past few nights I've been suffering from insomnia. Going to bed when the sun is just rising and the sky starts turning blue. Something about that just puts my mind at ease, and I find myself falling asleep with my face to the window.
This new environment- which really isn't new at all- is getting to me. I stay in an apartment in Brooklyn with family that try their hardest to act like they accept me when I know, lowkey, they're jealous of me, and loathe me being in their atmosphere. I keep to myself, spending hours upon hours on the phone and on my laptop, which thank GOD, I can now use fast, easy WIFI, unlike at that God forsaken college I attend, and it seems as though they even loathe that.
My cousin here... I want to say it. Er, type it. But it feels like as soon as I place my fingers over the appropriate keys my soul breaks a little. My heart beast faster, as though I'm scared, and pain clouds up my eyes. My cousin... he...
I read my blogs I posted previously. And before that, I read the blogs of a genius. She knows who she is. I don't think she realizes how much our brief communication today affected me. To her it may have been light, it could have even been meaningless- just a check up on ol' spitty. But to me... it quenched my heart. It got me to write again, instead of just skyping and tweeting my life away. It made me want to vent. And I thank her for that. You genius, poet, artist, photographer. You already know, I'll drop the L bomb on you just for the impact you had on my life, all with our brief connections.
My cousin... since I was seventeen... he...
Why were all my blogs about FUCKING relationships? Was I really so juvenile? My world evolved around who I was dating, whether my mate was a she or he, how she or he used me, abused me, etc. Like, WHY? Why didn't my mind attempt to release all the other pains I hold inside? Why didn't my mind attempt to talk about being FUCKING HAPPY? Why couldn't I write some imaginary shit that just came to my mind? After all, my imagination is what I love the most about myself. No one knows that. I just confessed it. I love the stories I create in my head. I love how all the ideas for a nice little novella bumrush me all at once. The plot and characters just begging to be thrown into a blank document in Word. Now you know something intimate. Wanna know something else?
My cousin, whom I'm staying with now... he like... does this...
So why did I just write about heartthrob? I was in COLLEGE, surely more was going on? Obviously, I wasn't ready to think about anything else. Such as my future. Where am I going in life? How the FUCK am I going to get out of Miles College, the HELL HOLE that it is? Yeah, I said it. YOU SUCK Miles College. If I can go back in time and go "la lala lalal la" when my homegirl mentioned, I really would, really really loud. I HATE it there. I HATE the authority figures down there that act like they're your DAMN MOMS and I HATE how they abuse their power. I believe in respecting my elders, but there, at Miles College... let's just say I NEVER cussed out so many old people in my life. Who thought it was okay to charge students as much as they do for NO WIFI INTERNET? The LIBRARY for Christ's sake doesn't have working internet. The shit is down every other day! But I chose to go there, and I'm chosing to go back next semester. But best believe, I'm getting my New Yorker Yankee ass the FUCK outta there. Sorry, Mason-Dixon line, but I cannot fuck with below you.
Now... see, now, we're hitting something. I'm getting hot and bothered, and my leg is going numb. I'm hitting sensitive spots that I should have been hitting previously. -mutters- all this LOVE shit. That shit wasn't LOVE! I don't know WHAT that relationship drama was about... but LOVE? No. Baby puppy infatuation with strong sexual attraction. I guess. I wasn't even all that sexually attracted to them, because they were slanging dick. And I, my friends, must not deny my strong attraction to PUSSY.
NO, I am not confused. I know what I want, who I am, what I am, when it comes to dating, fucking, how I dress, my race, all that. I love to love basically. I like dressing like a nigga, but I'm sexy as fuck as a girl. Either way, I can pull. And right now, I like being the female that my mother pushed out of her pussy. So that, I am. Simple. [Judge me. Whatever.] I'm a capricorn, I'm practical, responsible at times, ,and passionate. Endearing, sensitive but aloof when necessary, and sometimes at terrible times. I'm black, east indian, and venezuelan, repping two flags: the Trinidad, and the American flag. I can cook curry channa and potato and fried chicken, even though I hate fried chicken... actually I hate anything fried. If I eat some shit, and it looks like I'm wearing lip gloss by the time I'm done with it, I don't want it.
My leg is getting number. This is what venting is all about.
As you can see from each entry of my blog, I can be very self centered. Whatever. I am a GREAT FUCKING person. So I can write about myself all day and night. What do musicians write about? Zebras? No. Experiences in their lives. How THEY feel or have felt. I love doing that shit.
Okay, now I'm just trying to keep myself off of that God-forsaken topic.
Have you ever had a moment in your life where, although everything seems to be in order, shit just feels upside down? Unorganized, chaotic? Unsolved... Everything is sorted out and normal as hell, but you still feel completely incomplete and lost...
Everything is in place and yet, YOU'RE out of place...
That's how I feel right now.
I don't know who I am anymore.
But I FUCKING love it. Because, like, it gives me a chance to refind myself. To go through all the awkward stages of learning new things about yourself, and loving them. Or finding thing about yourself that you dislike, cross out, and replace.
Well, it's that part of the night/day. When the blue comes out and the clouds try to find out where they fit in. Where the brick buildings of Brooklyn look magenta and maybe even pretty. Looks like it's time fly into my brain with my face towards the window...
and then we can tackle my cousin.
This new environment- which really isn't new at all- is getting to me. I stay in an apartment in Brooklyn with family that try their hardest to act like they accept me when I know, lowkey, they're jealous of me, and loathe me being in their atmosphere. I keep to myself, spending hours upon hours on the phone and on my laptop, which thank GOD, I can now use fast, easy WIFI, unlike at that God forsaken college I attend, and it seems as though they even loathe that.
My cousin here... I want to say it. Er, type it. But it feels like as soon as I place my fingers over the appropriate keys my soul breaks a little. My heart beast faster, as though I'm scared, and pain clouds up my eyes. My cousin... he...
I read my blogs I posted previously. And before that, I read the blogs of a genius. She knows who she is. I don't think she realizes how much our brief communication today affected me. To her it may have been light, it could have even been meaningless- just a check up on ol' spitty. But to me... it quenched my heart. It got me to write again, instead of just skyping and tweeting my life away. It made me want to vent. And I thank her for that. You genius, poet, artist, photographer. You already know, I'll drop the L bomb on you just for the impact you had on my life, all with our brief connections.
My cousin... since I was seventeen... he...
Why were all my blogs about FUCKING relationships? Was I really so juvenile? My world evolved around who I was dating, whether my mate was a she or he, how she or he used me, abused me, etc. Like, WHY? Why didn't my mind attempt to release all the other pains I hold inside? Why didn't my mind attempt to talk about being FUCKING HAPPY? Why couldn't I write some imaginary shit that just came to my mind? After all, my imagination is what I love the most about myself. No one knows that. I just confessed it. I love the stories I create in my head. I love how all the ideas for a nice little novella bumrush me all at once. The plot and characters just begging to be thrown into a blank document in Word. Now you know something intimate. Wanna know something else?
My cousin, whom I'm staying with now... he like... does this...
So why did I just write about heartthrob? I was in COLLEGE, surely more was going on? Obviously, I wasn't ready to think about anything else. Such as my future. Where am I going in life? How the FUCK am I going to get out of Miles College, the HELL HOLE that it is? Yeah, I said it. YOU SUCK Miles College. If I can go back in time and go "la lala lalal la" when my homegirl mentioned, I really would, really really loud. I HATE it there. I HATE the authority figures down there that act like they're your DAMN MOMS and I HATE how they abuse their power. I believe in respecting my elders, but there, at Miles College... let's just say I NEVER cussed out so many old people in my life. Who thought it was okay to charge students as much as they do for NO WIFI INTERNET? The LIBRARY for Christ's sake doesn't have working internet. The shit is down every other day! But I chose to go there, and I'm chosing to go back next semester. But best believe, I'm getting my New Yorker Yankee ass the FUCK outta there. Sorry, Mason-Dixon line, but I cannot fuck with below you.
Now... see, now, we're hitting something. I'm getting hot and bothered, and my leg is going numb. I'm hitting sensitive spots that I should have been hitting previously. -mutters- all this LOVE shit. That shit wasn't LOVE! I don't know WHAT that relationship drama was about... but LOVE? No. Baby puppy infatuation with strong sexual attraction. I guess. I wasn't even all that sexually attracted to them, because they were slanging dick. And I, my friends, must not deny my strong attraction to PUSSY.
NO, I am not confused. I know what I want, who I am, what I am, when it comes to dating, fucking, how I dress, my race, all that. I love to love basically. I like dressing like a nigga, but I'm sexy as fuck as a girl. Either way, I can pull. And right now, I like being the female that my mother pushed out of her pussy. So that, I am. Simple. [Judge me. Whatever.] I'm a capricorn, I'm practical, responsible at times, ,and passionate. Endearing, sensitive but aloof when necessary, and sometimes at terrible times. I'm black, east indian, and venezuelan, repping two flags: the Trinidad, and the American flag. I can cook curry channa and potato and fried chicken, even though I hate fried chicken... actually I hate anything fried. If I eat some shit, and it looks like I'm wearing lip gloss by the time I'm done with it, I don't want it.
My leg is getting number. This is what venting is all about.
As you can see from each entry of my blog, I can be very self centered. Whatever. I am a GREAT FUCKING person. So I can write about myself all day and night. What do musicians write about? Zebras? No. Experiences in their lives. How THEY feel or have felt. I love doing that shit.
Okay, now I'm just trying to keep myself off of that God-forsaken topic.
Have you ever had a moment in your life where, although everything seems to be in order, shit just feels upside down? Unorganized, chaotic? Unsolved... Everything is sorted out and normal as hell, but you still feel completely incomplete and lost...
Everything is in place and yet, YOU'RE out of place...
That's how I feel right now.
I don't know who I am anymore.
But I FUCKING love it. Because, like, it gives me a chance to refind myself. To go through all the awkward stages of learning new things about yourself, and loving them. Or finding thing about yourself that you dislike, cross out, and replace.
Well, it's that part of the night/day. When the blue comes out and the clouds try to find out where they fit in. Where the brick buildings of Brooklyn look magenta and maybe even pretty. Looks like it's time fly into my brain with my face towards the window...
and then we can tackle my cousin.
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