SISTERS!

All my sisters Minus Justice and Iesha. Take a second to check Britt out with her shades on at night in a dark club...is you rollin?

Throw back of Desiree and Junnie

Sunrise pt 2

And I say, I think I saw the sun today

I thought the sun had went away, leaving my skies so very gray

But hey I say, I think I see the sun today.

I’ll go out and bathe. Take my time to see the sun.

So many times it has come and gone.

So many times the rain will come.

But this time I think I will dance.

Prance around in the rains promising puddles.

All the while, smiling in hopes that I will see the sun.

And I say, I think I saw the sun today

If heaven was a Mile away

We often forget just how close we are to heaven.

If Heaven was a Mile away

Would my sobs be heard?

Would my shoulders and eyes still feel so heavy from burdens placed.

If Heaven was a mile away,

Would I smile more often knowing that God was right down the street?

Would I pray louder outside the gates, or ignore the kingdom like so many?

If Heaven was a mile away would sin still take over my soul and grow exponentially?

Or would I finally believe in the obvious power before me?

Could I ignore the worldly problems and live, be tranquil and happy.

Happy going without, but knowing that Heaven was so close I must be blessed.

If Heaven was a mile away, would I be able to clasps my hands together and dispel

My heart to the ceiling knowing that my voice only had to travel a mile,

Not as far as the cosmos.

If Heaven was a mile away…many a times we forget just how close we are to Heaven.

Lingering

Sometimes I think its wrong.

That love still lingers on.

I don’t understand how or why.

But sometimes you just come to mind.

I guess that means it was real. Love.

I couldn’t say ok, I’ll just find another.

To toss and turn under my covers.

I hold them and think of you. But its ok.

Love done hurt and healed me twice over.

I’m beginning to see clearly like a drunk mind now sober.

I smile at you and your other person.

The pain you caused has vanished, not worsened.

Tears don’t greet me in the morning no more, but sometimes

I still think of you. But its ok.

Love taught me that she can be a creul beast.

But gentle like a mother soothing her baby’s whine. 

And that she go away when she feels, not when you think its time.

I’ve learned so much by loving you its impossible not to smile.

I don’t take it back. I loved you on purpose, even after you were gone for miles.

Sometimes I think its wrong.

That love still lingers on.

But I smile anyway. But its ok.

I smile anyway.

Colors

The colors of life tend to blend and create the most beautiful portrait. If only we stop to appreciate it all. When we see the streaks of yellows, greens, pinks and all the beautiful, beautiful blues that burn across the living canvas we are astounded.

These colors, are essential and here for the gazing. They smoulder for only a moment. They fade so quickly and like rain to an elobarate hue of a sidewalk chalk drawing, they dissolve.

So beautiful the tints of life can be. So devastatingly beautiful.

Call and Response

“I feel used.”

“SHUT UP. I’M NOT USED. HE REALLY MEANT WHAT HE SAID.”

“There could be somebody else, he don’t really want me as much as I would like to think.”

“DON’T SAY THAT. YES HE DO! IM THE ONLY ONE HE REALLY LOVES. YES, HE LOVES ME.”

“I’m pretty sure love don’t feel like this. How could he do this if he loves me?”

“EVERYBDOY HAS THAT ROUGH SPOT IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP, THIS IS OUR ROUGH SPOT. HE’S JUST GOING THROUGH SOME THINGS.”

“Love don’t feel like this. I can do better.”

“WE ARE TOGETHER FOR A REASON. THERES NOBODY ELSE I WANT.”

“I’m not scared to start over.”

“IM SCARED TO LET HIM GO. HE STILL NEEDS ME.”

“I need me.”

“I NEED HIM. I KNOW HE NEEDS ME TOO. I GOTTA BE THERE FOR HIM!”

“Who will be here for me?”

“HE JUST NEEDS SOME TIME…BUT I KNOW THAT WE WILL BE OK AGAIN. JUST LIKE LAST TIME.”

“This is crazy. The same thing keeps happening because I’m letting this happen.”

“THE SAME THING KEEPS HAPPENING BECAUSE I’M NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH.”

“I cant be scared to let him go and let God work on me.”

“IM SCARED TO LOSE HIM COMPLETELY.”

“I’m scared that I’m losing myself to him.”

“I CANT MOVE ON BECAUSE IT HURTS TO MUCH DO SO.”

“I cant stay because it hurts to much to do so.”

“HE MEANS WHAT HE SAYS.”

“He means what he says?”

“STOP!..”

“Stop!...”

And then with tears in her eyes and pain in her heart she rolled away from the mirror and integrated her thoughts once more. With her shins parallel to the ground and hands in perfect symmetry she began to talk once more…this time there was no feedback. She unloaded her mind and filled a space that was once occupied with doubt with hope and most of all…peace.

*Untitled...

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The apology was sweet and sour.

He promised me and I felt butterflies rush into my stomach again…

Like when I loved him before.

Before when my flaws didn’t bother him.

When he protected me from the world and helped me put myself back together while adding much needed additions.

Before his sweet whisper didn’t rumble and boom about the bedroom.

His hands would lay gentle onto me sending shivers up my spine.

Before his hands became rough, demanding.

Hurtful.

But the apology is always sweet and sour topped off with butterflies

That flutter wildly in my hopeful, nostalgic stomach.

Reminsicin' part 3

During a very peculiar time in my life, a time that was also extrodinarily cold, my mother and youngest sibling would walk to what felt like every library in St. Louis. On dreary, miserable days in our house we would escape the ice inside and venture down Page avenue to the various libraries. My younger sister and I would walk on either side of my mother, looking her in the face. Watching for any signs of greif, but none came. Even though her eyes were heavy, her voice shaky; she managed to joke, play around and entertain us with stories as we made our way to our destination. My mother never seemed to get too tired to journey with us. She never once rushed us even though we left well past dusk sometimes and she had to be up before the sunrise to get us and herself ready for school/work the next morning. Once we got into the heat of the building we would take off our layers of clothes, worries, and problems, lay them on a table and roam around the books, computers and different rooms. She sat patiently with her head in her hands making sure we weren’t destroying anything all the while igniting something in me. The first time she told us we were about to walk to the library, I wasn’t too thrilled to go, especially since we had to walk, but I was happy to get out of the house. But as the trips became more frequent I began to look forward to them. Among those books, I ventured everywhere. I was a San Fernando valley princess, a wizard, a ninja, a WWII veteran or even a slave. There in the St. Louis Public Library I learned the power of words. How these people had managed to escape the realities of their lives through the stories they told. It was something powerful about being able to tell a story. Being able to create your own ending, your own histories and myths. I loved going to the library. We escaped our present and journeyed into distant lands that took about 45 minutes on foot. We would check books out and pile them in backpacks to be hauled home. There my mama, even though we were well past the age of being read to, would read to us anyway. She encouraged us to read and create. She covered our ears and egos from harmful words, trying her best to protect us from emotional harm. And when she couldn’t get to us in time to shield us, she whispered words of encouragement to us and like a band aid to an open sore made it feel better. Our circumstances tried their best to make us feel like powerless, helpless girls. But my mama, like a fierce lioness killed the thief that attempted to take away our ability to be what and who we chose to be. I’ll never forget those walks as a young girl to the library. And as we got older, we would make the walk/bus ride, even when she became too tired to journey with us.

Ode to Woman

Indestructible, sway in the wind woman…

Resilient..bounce …bounce…bounce back woman…no storm can stop or destroy you

Temples of man that you harbor deep within; the very ingredient needed to thrive. Don’t let them deface your palace…sell all your treasures…breathe, woman…your magnificence is unparalled.

STAND UP woman SING…it’s a man’s world…NOT POSSIBLE WITHOUT A WOMAN OR GIRL…smile woman for he knows not what hes missing…

Sway, woman, but do not break…some will not recognize royalty…queens would never waste time with those who cant acknowledge her as such…LEAVE WOMAN…

SWAY WOMAN…DO NOT BREAK…love woman.

Sounds of Heartbreak

What does it sound like when a heartbreaks?

Is it a shattering sound that pierces ones ears causing them to bleed

Does it sound like a gun shot that puts a hole in anything it rips through?

What does it sound like when a heartbreaks

Is it the shrill scream of the voice that told you this was gonna happen anyway

And that you should’ve ran as hard and fast as you could away.

Or maybe it’s the echo of tears hitting the bathroom floor

It’s the short weezing breath that comes from crying in your sleep.

It could be the snap of a lock on the bedroom that keeps the world from examining and judging the aftermath of a lovers decision.

It’s the footsteps that sound off as one runs for the lecture door to excuse themselves.

The sound of choking back tears, the back of hands frantically rubbing away tears  before anyone can see..

The sound of the phone constantly ringing and it never being the one you really wanna talk to

The voice of everyone around you telling you to get over it and your own voice leaving your mouth as you gaze in the mirror broken, asking how.

It’s your own sobbing that wakes you

It’s the sound of constant prayer

The sound of thin pages of the bible turning as you look for the remedy and reason within

What does it sound like when a heartbreaks?

Pain

Priceless

It sat on a shelf, on a shelf sheltered from the outside world. My precious glass, made of precious stones, priceless gems and an immense amount of emotional value. Only a few have actually held it, I never put it in their hands long enough to cause any damage. No, not my glass. It meant the world to me, until you came. You told me that you wouldn’t drop it. You told me that you only wanted to look, nothing intended. You took my precious glass out of the sheltered case and sure enough, you dropped it. You broke it. Shattered it to pieces. Damn, it was so easy to break and damn near impossible to put it back together.

Not titled yet, What yall think I should call this?

Her middle finger on her left hand right above her knuckle was scratched.

The contrast of her black skin stretched tight over her hand against her off white

Meat being exposed always fascianated her.

She stared at her middle finger on her left hand where her skin was scrapped

And cracked open like a plum that had been split exposing its inner flesh.

She often wished that miracously one day she would wake up,

Shower, and see her deep plum colored flesh begin to peel away like the skin

Of an overripe fruit.

Leaving her covered in the dazzling off white meat that adorned her middle finger.

She knew this was impossible.

So she prayed.

She prayed to a porcelain God, regurgating all of her soul that

Had over the years become accustom to binging on lies until her very being

Was swollen and hurting.

She craned her kneck upward and prayed to the stars.

Flipping through them wishing so desparetly to ascend to glory and take her place

Next to them.

She stared at her middle finger and stared down at the scale.

She counted the glistening, twinkling beings that almost seemed unreal.

As closely as she counted everything that she placed to her lips to ingest.

And bring back up for reexamining.

She had no doubt that she was a beautiful black women…

Who looked better red.

So she kneeled several times of day to spit out a prayer that exposed her soul

And lunch to a merciful deity that would allow her ascendance into the stars…

Into beauty, into acceptance.

Envision, Power

I imagine that God can hear me.

Even from the gutters my voice floats above the clouds to reach her.

I close my eyes and unleash a barrage of request upon her.

I wonder if in short I’m telling her she’s not doing her job well.

Still, she smiles upon me peeling my eyelids open everyday to catch the sun rising.

She casts light on the world around me exposing the beautiful devastation that is life.

I imagine her eyes are hidden under her wild, mysterious bushels of wooly hair but still…

She looks down at me piercing and infusing my soul with curiosity and longings.

I imagine, she demands me to thirst for a space quite different from our current state.

I’m quiet with my eyes glued to the sky waiting for her voice to boom down instructions.

But her voice is always the loudest when my eyes are averted from the sky and directed towards the mirror.

I imagine that she doesn’t sound too different from me, God.

But sometimes I even tune myself out.

I imagine she rejoices every time I soak up her utterances that beam down on me

I envision her eyes unleashing replenishing tears that drop on my head when I inevitably contradict us and am reminded of just how human I am.

Sometimes these tears from her are as gentle as lukewarm water being poured over a baby’s head at bath time.

Other times the downpour can be as firm as a loving smack a mother delivers to the back of the head as a way of telling you to get yo shit together.

I imagine that she sees our relationship as important.

I see our relationship as important.

I imagine she see’s me as a rebel child, who knows better but…

Still doesn’t know how to do better.

She instills power in me that tingles under my black skin and sometimes gives me goosebumps.

I imagine she chuckles as I marvel at the power of Angela, Kathleen, Ella, Huey, Bobby, Fred, Stockley, Shirley and so many others.

I imagine she shakes her head as I sometimes fail to see the power infused in them has sparked the power that has also been given to me.

I know she is patient.

I imagine she watches me closely. Keeping my thoughts grounded.

I imagine she gets frustrated with my insensate behavior and yet I know she still loves me.

I imagine that even from the gutters my God has charged my voice with so much potential…

It shoots up from the slums…

Into the sky…

Breaks through the clouds…

Tears through the cosmos…

And lands to fill her ears.

Even though I don’t always get an immediate answer back.

She shows me she is still listening…

And can hear me.

The Loudest Words Not Spoken

Oh man, I was going through something writing this shit..lol.

our connection is unbreakable. It runs to deep to be measured or observed. Our conversations impenetrable, our language incomprehensible we speak,

the loudest words not spoken.

Our eyes dance with fury when we fight, our hearts mosh with jubilation when we lovein’. Our hands lock together, specially made for one another. The left and the right bind together to tell a harrowing story. Our bodies intertwine as we slowly become in league as one.

We create the most magnificent music, never heard.

 When we turn from each other, we put cracks in the earth with our hailstorm of tears. Our rage shifts the land and causes earthquakes..

The most turbulent storm never generated.

Sorry.

The loudest word not spoken.

Reminiscin’ pt 2 (part one later..lol)

We couldn’t stand each other. Sometimes just being around her made my blood boil over. I’m sure she felt the same about me. Any excuse was a good excuse to fight. She stayed in the bathroom too long, she looked at me while I was talking on the phone, she had on a belt that I really didn’t need but just wanted her to take it off, like I said. Any excuse would do. Really, why did we fight so much? Frustration possibly, being in the house with a mad man at times and having no one to take anger out on could take a toll on the best. We had no hobbies, few friends and little to no privileges to go out and about. Still through all the drama, through fighting each other, I would gladly take a bullet to for this arrogant, ignorant, and sometimes a downright mean bitch. Through thick and thin we have stayed together and as the years transformed us from girls to women so has our relationship changed. Her shoulder has become the sponge in which all my tears are gladly soaked into. It never seems to get too soggy to hold them. Her ears and mind are constantly listening and solving problems, sometimes for six different people at a time. She’s never too busy to listen or cry with you. Together we have seen the light of day and all its glory but we are definitely not strangers to the dark and all its miseries. We persevered together and for that you will always remain my friend, my keeper, my sister. Much love LaRita.

Expired

I get so tired of the bullshit…but if we get to chose what we eat why do we seem to order the same unhealthy dish everytime…it goes bad to quick…its never enough to fill you up…but it looks so damn appetizing…sometimes.

We get sick…it seems like their only serving one kind of dish on this buffet line…looking around it seems like all the good dishes are taken or theres a line waiting for it…

Stepping away from the same old buffet line I ease back to the good line…eyeballing the area I see a sign: Estimated waiting time till good, fulfilling meal off a CLEAN PLATE = Only God Knows…

Sighing I look at how long the line is…too long…stepping back.

Stomach growling…should I continually eat garbage…

Ingest lies and regurgatate excuses for the horrible dish…

Take in heartbreak, let it run through my system and absorb all the non-sense, pain, lonliness and other “nutrients”…no pain no gain…sometimes you get worms!

Carry on trying to finish the greasy, grimy, and cold meal to no avail…only option is to scrap the food off the plate and no matter how much time you spend washing…it never gets clean. The last meal and all its elements…good and bad… is bound to taint the next serving…

Dying of hunger I step back to the abundance of down right marred food…pick through mountains of entangled greens laced with poison that will seep in you and re-wire your circuits…ecstasy is what you’ll feel while they parasites hidden within the leafs run rampid…

I poke at meat wedged in between spikes that pierce your soul if you get too close…causing it to bleed uncontrollably…as the poke pierces the skin the pain is so unbearable one instantly fears getting poked again…so they begin to devise ways to avoid that pain at all cost…

This portion…these servings…I eat…off a dirty plate and bitterly complain about the lack of edible food when all I have to do is wait and be patient…my turn would have came…hunger overcame me.

Skyrise-High

We get skyrise high to put distance between ourselves and lies

With stars in our eyes we try to thrive not just survive with Benjamin as our lifeline.

We put him at the finish line and like a runaway slave we keep our eyes on the prize.

We keep the pace…never too tired to run this race…even if it leads us… in… circles.

Cause nobody cares bout the nigga tryna make it giving away mixtapes out his mamas basement…

And no one gives a fuck about the girl on stage shaking so she can go to school so she can turn the next page….in her life…

So we get high…intoxicated off our own fumes…

Fuck the world cause all it got is bad news…

But Dead presidents fill the void and buy some new shoes…

They say you cant buy happiness but goddamn I was fooled…

Cause, in the ghetto its babies crying for food

And the government say you too poor to get assistance

And when we strike out and become pistol totting fools

They lock us up…. Put us right into the system…

A system where the jobs are gone and neighborhoods are broken…

A system where the schools are closed but clubs are always open…

A system where addiction runs rabid…addicted to the money anyway we gotta have it…even if it means we the reason for yo mamas habit…

A system where you get more time for selling drugs than murder…

And once upon a time they wrote laws just to hurt us…

But right now…eyes too low to recognize this crime…

Tryna put distance between ourselves and that life…

Get skyrise high…

The Love Eraser

My love like print on a page, my love like a tattoo on your heart forever but can be covered up.

My love like a message written on a dusty window using the tip of a finger.

My love like chalk on the board that sometimes gets on the back of the professors pants.

My love like graffiti marking up a passing train and subway, so bright bold loud and memorable. Passing as fast the train.

My love so strong like a kitchen thick with the smell of thanksgiving, so full off my offerings but hungry again.

My love like perfume on a shirt, filing the nostrils with nostalgia but rinsed off so very easily.

My love, easily forgotten.

We

We be loud, lip smaking, finger waving girls who don’t take no shit.

We be screamin, we fighting and we boast our chests to compete with the boys.

We smile shyly as our crush walks past and talks smack with the best.

We stand strong taking care of our own and close our eyes dreaming,

Cinderella dreams full of glass slippers and hoping that we are princesses after all.

We cook, clean, and love. We wild, laughing full of pain, eyes full of emotion as heated

Words roll off our tongue and hit the world. Fist ball tight we fighters, yes we are. Our hearts hardened with war holds a deep core that surprisingly still pumps warm,

Vunerable blood through our veins.

We loud. Lip smacking, finger waving girls who don’t take no shit.

We scream in silent voices and struggle to see anything else to be but black and woman.

And so that’s who we shall be. And so that’s who we be.

Members Only

I don’t really attend that regularly.

So they say I gotta be a member first.

I dig in my pockets and pull out lint, I can’t pay the fee.

They wrinkle noses and look at me sideways, welcoming me with crossed arms.

And expressions.

They say I can come but the cussing gotta go.

Shit!

My vulgar language offends the easily offended and he looks angrily upon it.

I wash my mouth out with soap, but fuck slips every now and again.

They try to save me…

A seat in front. So he can look me in my eyes and speak.

I’m moved. My heart filled with passion, love until it threatens to pop.

My eyes pool with tears of joy…as a mystifying feeling rushes through me.

In love.

But I still cuss so they tell me that my love aint good enough.

And my fee’s are past due.

I reach in my pocket and pull out more lint. I’m still allowed to stay though.

The only one without a halo, because sex aint all that bad to me and…

When I swim I don’t wear cover ups because its too hot for that bullshit and…

I don’t attend very often because I cant pay my fees and…

The kind of shrubbery I burn is far from holy but…

The passion and love I felt still occupies my heart infusing me with a mystifying feeling that puts my mind at ease and allows my heart to…

Forgive them for crossing their arms and expressions and…

Excuse them for ignoring me when we ran into each other outside of attendance…

Pardon their whispers as I passed and…

Look pass their condemning stares to find Love for them because…

Even though I don’t attend regularly, this feeling never goes away.

Why This?

Out of all the things I could dedicate a blog to, I chose this. Some people may ask why. Why girl? Why? Why not fashion? Why not hair or natural hair, you got dreads! Why not Kim Kardashion or other celebrities. Honestly I don’t have an exact answer for that. I do like fashion even though I look up to my younger sisters Justice, Soleil and Mikey to guide me with fashion. And Im in love with my hair (I just celebrated a year locked 7/17/12!!!!!!). I couldn’t tell you how proud I am of my thick locks. But I still didn’t want to write about that. And Kim is just a porn star. So to write about her and not the other famous porn stars would be unfair (I’m not too versed with porn stars anyhow). So why this? Why present these intimate poems, post, pictures and random thoughts on a blog to be posted on the internet. Why this? As stated before, the reason isn’t fully known but I can tell you this. I wanted to show to others like me, other black women, just how human I was. How I struggle with the world and myself and still found a way to be. I wanted to present black women as human. Being able to take on any form weather that be student, rugby player, mother, victim, hero or even God. In short, regardless of the reason I foolishly decided to spill my soul on the internet; my main goal was to invoke emotion. So before you leave, feel something. Love it. Cry to it. Hate it. Or even despise it. It really don’t matter to me as long as you feel something. Enjoy bitches.