PERNAISISM

The Only Luxury

2010-11-05T08:09:00.000-07:00

This is a piece I wrote recently about a young girl facing a dilemma: does she follow the rules she's been taught, or does she go with her heart on this one? She goes back to the source for help, but ultimately, the decision is hers to make. Hers and hers alone.

The Only Luxury

Mommy,

You'll be so proud of me,

I've found myself the perfect man, finally!

He's got PhD.s and all kinds of other degrees

from the best universities you could ever imagine.

He's got a great job in a big company

And my friends are all jealous of me

because I managed to bag him.

And mommy,

you should see when I go shopping!

The mount of things I take home in my shopping bag dem.

Gucci dis, Louis dat,

name any designer and you know I got dem.

And I don't even have to do a thing.

He says no wife of his should be working,

so all I have to do when I'm not shopping,

is take care of the house for him,

and make my daily trips to the gym

to keep this body looking right for him

so i'll look good on his arm at company functions and things.

But mommy,

On nights when he's been out drinking,

He comes in with his arms swinging,

and when I look in the mirror the next morning,

I don't even know this person I'm seeing

because her face is so badly swollen

from the beating and the biting and the kicking and the thumping and the slapping and the boxing.

And my womb is still crying.

Woie mommy!

I don't even feel like going shopping anymore because my friends don't believe me anymore when I tell them I walked into a door and that's what caused my latest bruising.

Mommy,

I don't feel like going shopping anymore, because the only thing I want is the one thing I know I can't afford, and that's to buy my freedom.

Mommy,

I know you're so proud of me,

But if you knew what this perfect man does to me

behind closed doors,

would you still be?

...................................................................

Mommy,

Please be happy for me.

I've found myself a good man, finally.

He doesn't have any PhDs,

and no fancy job or money to spend on me,

But he's got street smarts and so much ancient wisdom in that big old heart that he's opened up to me

for free.

See, he's not asking me to have money to spend on him and buy him things in return for the love he's giving.

And he's not even asking any reciprocity of me.

No, all he asks is for my honesty and that I just be me,

so he can love me.

And he's got history.

He's been through so much and come so far that to me

his courage and ambition are a sheer mystery,

but just being with him motivates me.

And he worships me.

He's got these big old arms that are so big and strong

But when I start acting funny, he just wraps them around me gently and asks,

"Baby, what's wrong?"

And he makes me smile.

Well actually, he makes me laugh out loud like a little child

and I'm so happy when I'm with him

that I’m starting to forget everything that happened before him,

just like my friends who say I can do better than him have obviously forgotten the beatings and emotional scarring

before him.

And I see a father in him.

He's the kind of man who'll teach his little girl that all the material things in this world don't mean a thing

because she's going to leave them all behind when she dies and what really matters is what's inside,

so he'll teach her to be beautiful from the within.

And he'll teach his son to always be strong and have pride,

Be honest in his dealings with those around him,

work hard, and find a strong like-minded woman to stand beside him,

and together they'll make it through anything,

and in so doing,

he'll make his mother proud of him.

Mommy,

I know it's too much to ask you to be proud of me

because I know you were expecting more for me,

But can you please at least be happy for me that I found myself a good man finally?

He may not be “the perfect man” you had in mind for me,

But he loves me unconditionally,

And his love isn’t tied to money.

He's ready to devote his life to making me happy.

For as long as I will let him.

For as long as will accept him.

For as long as I can accept to be happy

With a life simple and free,

A life where love is the only luxury.

Pernais Morrison©

Nubian God (A story)

2010-10-31T07:58:00.000-07:00

I’m wrapped in the embrace of a Nubian god, the kind that could only be penned by a Colin Channer, a Kwame Dawes. A man so beautiful, he defies all of nature’s laws.

His body is sculpted from stone, his heart, warm and soft. And even though you’ve just met him, one look into his eyes and you can see inside him. And his love for life is the only thing that transcends his love of art.

He’s holding me close from behind, his lips on my ear. His breath warm and sweet on my neck has me thinking that this is so much better than sex. His arms are wrapped around me. I’m enveloped in his warmth, the tender strength of his hard body, as we dance in the middle of a street-dance where all the patrons have faded into another time and space. The street is ours, and ours alone as we dance to the rhythm of something slow. Beres Hammond “What one dance can do” has us steadily grinding into each other, each following the other's pace.

He’s still holding me from behind, and lets his hands glide from my waist down to my thighs, then back up to my hips, where his fingers play the same tune he’s playing on my neck and shoulders with his lips. Then his palms cup the cheeks of my ass and with a tiny double-squeeze, I feel a wobble in my knees. So, I lean further into him, but not for support. I just want to be closer to him. And he presses further into me as we grind, so close now that I can feel him blink, his rock-hard shaft pulsating like a raft on the tiny stream of sweat trickling down the valley south of my waist where my two ridge-like mounds meet.

I’m clinging to him now, nails digging into his thighs. He has one hand wrapped around my lower body, the other tracing a path along my stomach, circling my navel mischievously. Then, continuing upward along my taut abs and straying still further north, he pauses between my breasts, fingers splaying out for a quick caress, then after resuming their journey, they come to rest gently wrapped around my neck.

I’m leaning forward now, one hand on my knee, spine fully outstretched, my hips moving in a trance-like dance as I roll my ass for him. His fingers free my neck to dance over the curves of my lips, and I flick my tongue out, warm and wet, dancing over his delving fingertips.

He whips me around to face him, fingers entwined in my necklace, which he uses to pull me towards him, and I feel it slip from my neck as it breaks and falls from his fingers hitting the ground one precious bead after another. And I feel like screaming, but my voice is a mere whisper when I ask him,

“Did you have to do that?”

Lips pressed to my ear, he replies,

“Yes, because I needed to do this…”

And with his fingers digging into my upper arms, he strings beaded kisses along my naked neck and shoulders, unhindered by beads and strings.

He’s now sucking on the soft silkiness where the top of my dress meets the top of my breasts, and I’m clawing at the muscles rippling through his back. I’m so hot now, I feel like I’ve melted into him and we’ve been smoldered together by the fire burning beneath our skin.

Suddenly, he eases me away to stand tall and look down into the depths of my soul. And in a voice hoarse with passion, he whispers my name and says,

“Baby, there’s just one thing I need from you.”

I’m mesmerized. Dumbstruck, my eyes reply,

“Yes, baby. Anything you want, you know I’ll do!”

And he begs me,

“Kiss me baby! Just kiss me! I need it now!”

Fingers grasping his cheekbones, I pull his face down towards mine, and our lips collide in a hungry kiss, hard and wet, like the crashing of a wave into a ready and inviting shore. I feel his energy rushing into me, his hips still moving against me as our lips engage in a passionate play-fight as beautiful as a dance, a martial art, the ebb and flow of the tide. And his teeth are nipping at my lips, rough but still gentle enough to have me fully aroused, like the stubble on his face as my fingers make their way to the nape of his neck.

His hands on my hips, he raises me ever so slightly, and positions himself beneath me. I shiver as his knee brushes my inner thighs, slowly moving up, and further up, until I feel him gently nudging at my opening, willing me to open up to him. My lips finally part, and he slides his tongue in, declaring a readiness to claim what he knows belongs to him.

I open up wider, taking him in, surrendering everything to him, falling so deep into him that I can no longer stand on my own two feet. My legs now wrapped around, my fingers twisted into his dreads. I cling to him for dear life, knowing that whatever dreadful twists and turns life may bring, I could cling to him. I wanted to face them with him.

And he needed me there with him. But all he ever asked was that I kiss him. And his lips are sweet and firm, like the swollen pulp of some mystery fruit, the name of I never did learn.

And as I’m biting into him, I feel him pulling away from me. I’m looking into his eyes now, and I can see him drifting away from me. And the part of me that wants to cling to him is twisting and turning, but there’s another part of me that knows there’s no use fighting.

So I open my fingers and smile at him. And although he looks scared, I know it’s time to say goodbye to him.

And with that, I open my eyes to the morning, cursing reality’s timing. The sheets, a twisted heap on top of the bed I’m lying in, alone. No Nubian god next to me. And I start to ask myself what could it all have meant? Who was this man in my dreams, and why did it all feel so real? Why did he beg me to kiss him? And what was it about the way he kissed me that did more for me than any orgasm ever did?

And then it was all as clear as day to me. As the faces of every lover I’ve ever had began to flash before my eyes in single file, I realised that none of them had ever kissed me a simply kiss that could penetrate to the core of me. Penetration usually took place with something else. And yes, I’ve had some good sex, but when it’s over, what do you have left? The memories will also wilt and shrink back into your head.

But this one kiss with the Nubian god, the man of my dreams, was confirmation of something I had always told myself, but never quite believed. It’s going to take more than sex to satisfy me. Yes sir, it will definitely take more than sex to make me happy.

So the next time I meet a stallion of a man in the street and he has stripped me naked with his eyes and is probing me with a piercing look of lust, I’ll look him deep in the eyes and simply say to him,

“I know that you can fuck me, but can you kiss me?”

“I know that you can wuk mi, but can you kiss me?”

“Missa Man, Missa Tan-pon-it-long,can you kiss me?”

“Can you kiss me?”

“Can you KISS me!!?"

Saturday January 8, 2010.

Poetry (Last Night)

2009-12-12T07:48:00.000-08:00

This is the last in my series of "angry love poems", planning on being happy this year. Lol. This one is excessively angry, but don't blame me, blame the drinks! It's a piece I wrote some time ago. Just publishing it because it's the last of its kind and I'm not planning on writing any more like it so I just needed to get it out there.

Also, will probably be taking a break from writing. Can't say how long, but these days when I get the urge to write, what comes to mind makes me cringe and somewhere deep in the back of my mind I scream "Not another love poem!!". Got to find something else to write about, or resist the urge to write when it comes along.

Till then, thanks to you all for reading my shit, even if you didn't like it. For those who had good things to say, I really appreciated the support. Blessed love.

Last Night

Last night,

We danced circles around each other,

The whole time, you leading me on.

You smiled at me, like you knew more than I did about me,

We danced to the music of our own song, last night.

Last night,

You took my hands, cold from my frozen strawberry daiquiri,

And warmed them against your body.

You kissed them, wrapped them around your neck,

Your own hands playing with the curls at the nape of my neck

As together on the dance floor we worked up a sweat, last night.

Last night,

You held me from behind,

Whispered sweetness into my ears

Made me blush like a little schoolgirl,

I almost turned as pink as my nails,

Nails that dug into your back

Nails that traced the freckles on your face

Nails that dipped below your waist as we danced, last night.

Last night,

You wanted to have the rest of our lives planned.

Tried to convince me that long-distance relationships weren’t as bad as I thought and,

Though you’re moving to another country, you still wanted to be with me.

Whatever it takes to make it work, we’d come up with a plan

Cuz you wanted, no, you needed to be my man, last night.

Last night,

You were so into me,

Asked me so much about my family, what I did in college,

You asked what I studied,

Said it would be good to teach our kids different languages.

Yeah, we talked about our families, and me having your babies, last night.

Last night,

We left the club together,

Looking to satisfy our hunger

for cheeseburger and fries,

And when we finally made it back inside,

You kissed me, like you had been waiting your whole life for me,

Like your life was nothing before me,

Like you wouldn’t know how to live without me,

Like you had finally come to life, last night.

Last night,

You had me wide open.

Your tongue in places it really had no business being,

Causing mini-earthquakes under my skin,

Wide open,

on the bed, on the floor,

Me kissing you like I’ve never kissed anyone before,

Kissing you like I may never kiss anyone again,

Boy, you had me wide open, last night.

But last night,

I had this strange gut feeling,

And it wasn’t from all the alcohol I’ve been drinking this weekend,

It wasn’t because of my period again

No, I had this strange feeling in my gut about YOU.

You were just too good to be true

You made me feel special,

Like I was the only woman in the world for you,

Like I’d never meet another man like you,

You made me want to forget that I had just met you, last night.

And this morning,

When I woke up,

That feeling was still in my gut,

And even after puking all the alcohol up,

A few things about you still worried me.

Guy like you, as fine as fine could be,

Good job, nice personality,

Yet no wife, no girlfriend, no children,

Oh, it worried me.

Or could it be that I just got really, really lucky last night?

So this morning,

When I finally got up,

Instead of celebrating my luck

I called my girlfriends up

And I’ll admit to feeling dumb as fuck

When they told me that you said the same things that you told me last night

To our sistren Kelly Rushmore from ova Portmore the night before

And that’s not all,

Last week it was Michelle, Camille, their gay friend Steve and his cousin Paul,

Oh you dirty, dirty boy!

What the fuck was I doing with you last night?

But as much as I didn't want to believe,

I kinda felt a bit relieved

Cuz while some other girl would have been terribly heart-broken this morning,

Me, I put it all in a poem

Knowing that throughout the whole ordeal,

You might have had me weak in the knees

But my heart remained as fucking frozen

As those strawberry daiquiris you kept buying

So I could wash down the lies on which you had me feeding

last night.

Lies that tasted so sweet on your lips

As you knelt between my hips

Last night.

Pernais Morrison©

Poetry (Letting Go)

2009-12-05T23:16:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I know I said no more relationship mumbo-jumbo, but I just had to get this last one out there because I've finally started taking my own advice.

Wrote this piece as a song some time ago, so if it's a bit slow when you read it, wasn't exactly written to be spoken. It was based on a conversation I had with a male acquaintance about his crazy girlfriend who refused to let go although he was over her. When I asked if he had actually told her it was over, his reply was no, because he's trying to let her go, but he doesn't want her to fall. Was the most cowardly thing I had ever heard! But it made me think of all us females who know when a guy is stringing us along, but refuse to admit that it's over, which I think is the most selfish thing you could ever do, even if your man is a coward!

But, enough rambling. Enjoy!

Letting Go

He’s trying to let her go,

But he doesn’t want her to fall.

And telling her he no longer loves her

May push her over the edge after all.

She’s built her world around him.

To him, it feels like prison walls.

He’s trying to let her go,

But he doesn't want her to fall.

He’s trying to let her go,

But he doesn't want her to fall.

So he does enough to keep her close

To the edge of the ledge that she walks.

She thinks that she could change him,

If she could break down the walls around him.

He’s trying to let her go,

But he doesn't want her to fall.

He’s trying to let her go,

But she’s already fallen too hard.

Head over heels about him,

Breaking up would be too hard on her heart.

She’s convinced herself she loves him

Doesn’t think she could live without him.

He’s trying to let her go,

But she’s not ready to be gone.

But sister, there aint no use in clinging to

someone who doesn't really love you.

And brother, if you know that you don't love her,

Be a man and tell that girl the truth.

And if you really do care about her,

Ask yourself how she feels about you.

Cuz if you’re doing her wrong, and she’s still holding on,

She don't love herself enough to love you.

So let her go,

If you know that it’s over.

Let her go,

Spare yourself the torture.

Let her go,

If you really care about her.

Let her go.

Let him go,

Don’t deny that it’s over.

Let him go,

Learn to love yourself my sister.

Let him go,

The pain won’t last forever.

Let him go, you’ll feel better.

I know you’re trying to let her go,

you just don't want her to fall.

But telling her you no longer love her,

May be the best thing for her after all.

She’ll take the time to look around her,

And pull herself together.

Just let her go,

The ground aint that far.

So just let her fall.

Pernais Morrison©

Poetry (The Break-up/Denial)

2009-12-05T20:02:00.000-08:00

This is maybe going to be the last relationship-themed piece I'll be posting here for a little while. Feel like I need to write about something else in protest against the bleeding-heart bullcaca that the voices in my head have been feeding me lately. (Yes! I just said the voices in my head talk to me! But I refuse to be their slave!) A Christmas in JA poem is on the way next week!
But back to relationship mode, because as my friend Howe puts it, man problems, man problems! LOL!

The Break-up/Denial

I'm glad you're leaving.

I feel like now I'll be out of harm's way.

Boy you're really something.

But something tells me I'd grow to hate you if you stayed.

And I'm already hurting.

But not because I'm going to miss you in any way.

No, I’m just wondering,

With all we’ve been through, why now baby? Why are you going away?

Baby why are you leaving?

I know you know I'd prefer if you'd stay.

There's sumn bout your loving

That has me hooked in the worst kinda way.

And I'm not really into begging,

But, do you think you could

maybe stay?

I'm just asking.

If you don't want to change your plans then, that's ok.

So, you've decided you're leaving.

And there's nothing I can do or say

To stop you from going.

You expect me to just, just watch you walk away?

Ok! Go on if you're going.

But I never thought we would end this way.

And now I'm watching you packing,

Asking myself how I let you get away.

I never thought YOU'd be leaving,

Thought you'd be the one to stay.

Always pictured myself going,

Me doing the walking away.

But you're grown enough to know what you're doing,

And I'm grown enough to not STAND in your way.

So, I'd love to help you with your packing,

But you'll excuse me, I have to go and lie in the driveway.

Pernais Morrison©

Nora Jones-like Questions (Poetry)

2009-12-02T00:26:00.000-08:00

This is a little sumn-sumn I wrote on my recent flight to Okinawa. Was bored but also had a lot on my mind, so I decided to write. The baby sitting beside me with her daddy kept trying to steal my pencil, so it was kinda hard. But she was so cute! Had me thinking I want one of them. But that's a whole nother poem! Enjoy this one!

Nora Jones-like Questions

I don't know what this thing is that we're caught up in
But there's no explaining why after all this time you're still an enigma to me

And you won't hear me asking
no Nora Jones-like questions like
"what am I to you?"
Won't have me begging you,
"Darling tell me true."

And it's not that I don't want to know
It's just that love hurts,
but the truth hurts more
So while I'm still strong enough to let go,
I'm going to be walking out that door.
And if you know I'm not what you're looking for
Then you have to let me go.

Cuz it's been far too long since we've been doing this back and forth and back and forth and forth and forth and forth
And I don't know if I'm third or fourth
But I know I'm not second or first in your life

And I'm not asking to be your wife
Hell, I'm not even trying to be your girlfren,
All I ask is that you let me in
Let me into your life
Into your living
Into your being
Let me in.
Let me under your skin.
Cuz it's far too late now for us to just be friends.

So when your frens
come asking
What's the deal between me and you,
I'm not telling
I tell them to go ask you,
because I wouldn't know what to tell em
I wouldn't even begin to know the truth.

There's no explaining why after all this time youre still an enigma to me
And I don't know what this thing is that we're caught up in
But I'm afraid of asking
Cuz love hurts, but the truth about love hurts even more.
So while I still have the courage to let go,
I think i'll be leaving.
I'm walking out that door.

And you won't hear me asking no
Nora Jones-like questions like
"what the fuck am I to you?"
But maybe I'm just afraid of the answer
Cuz maybe baby,
maybe you'll tell me true

That all this time i've been doing this back and forth and forth and forth with you
I wasn't even third or fourth
And was obviously not second or first in your life

As a matter of fact,
I'm starting to think that
the mere fact that
I'd have to ask you any question like that
Just simply means that
That maybe I didn't mean that
That much to you.

In which case you
need to go find yourself
a Nora Jones-like kinda girl like
the kind that will put up with you tonight
Cuz babes, I'm through.

I can't do this anymore with you.
I'm not prepared to hang around and play the fool.
Getting up every morning asking you dumb-ass questions like,
"Baby, what am I to you?"

No, nuh because me nahv nutn betta fi do wid my life dan siddung mad ova you!
(hisses teeth)
My yute, a weh mi look like to you!?

Pernais Morrison©

Poetry (Poem for You)

2009-11-16T05:44:00.000-08:00

This is something I came up with in the shower recently. Quick shower, short piece. Kinda feels incomplete, but hell, such is life!

Poem for You

Babes, I think I’m going to write a poem for you.

But before I do,

I’ve got to get to know you

And I don’t mean spending a whole night naked with you,

I mean knowing you on a whole nother level.

I’ve got know what moves you

What kinda songs you can’t help but get up and dance to

What kinda sports you’re into

And what kinda books you can’t put down until you’re all the way through.

I’ve got to know what the laughter of children playing does to you

And how you feel about the woman who gave birth to you.

I’ve got to know how inspiration comes to you

And what knowing me has done to you.

I want to know what makes you laugh, what makes you smile,

What kinda situations make you shy,

And when you’re not busy being a big old tough guy,

I want to know what kinda movies make you cry.

And I, I’ve got to know how you see yourself in your own eyes

And what you think is your purpose in life, and

How far you’re willing to go for what you think is right,

And if you know when to back down from a fight.

I’ve got to know,

When you’re in bed at night

And there’s no one there with you,

Do the voices in your head sing sweet lullabies to you,

Or do they recite your unwritten poems to you too.

Mine do, and they’re telling me to write a poem for you,

But before I do,

I’ve got to get to know you.

I’ve got to know what you’d do, if I

Wrote a poem for you,

And will it change anything between me and you,

If I never do?

Pernais Morrison©

Tokyo Lover

2009-10-24T19:28:00.000-07:00

This is a piece I wrote recently, after a trip to Tokyo. I absolutely love Tokyo, mostly because when I'm there, I feel like I can be in Japan without being in Japan, i.e, I can have the best of Japan and a little bit of everything else the world has to offer. My favourite thing about being in Tokyo though, is that it always reminds me of what's important in life, good people and just the joy of living.

Keep in mind though that I had just gotten back to my little town, and I was really missing the city. Beppu isn't half as bad as it sounds when I'm ranting, and I do have some good friends here.

Tokyo Lover

I’ve got to get out of this town,

I’ve got to surround myself

with people I can relate to.

There’s nothing here for me to see,

nothing to do.

No hardworking, club-hopping friends,

No writing poetry over lunch at TGI Fridays.

No delightful gay men to fall in love with my fierce, bald-headed, beautiful self,

No beautiful straight men to tell me how delightful I am

And spend all night lying to me though I’ll probably never see them again.

No streets lined with hustlers under billboards and neon lights,

No friends reviving friends passed out on the street side

from having too much fun for one night.

No subway hopping

in the daytime watching

people get on and off.

Wondering where they’re coming from,

where they’re going,

What kinda lives they have.

No jumping from train to train

Trying not to miss my stop again,

Exploring an underground maze.

Lost in a map again,

Trying, not to lose myself again,

Trying not to lose my way.

No watching one-night-only lovers say their passionate goodbyes in the hallways of the subway.

No him kissing her, telling her he loves her,

No her saying she feels the same.

No getting off the train,

lamenting the three long ass flights of stairs to be conquered before I see the light of day again.

Thank goodness for this escalator cuz,

My skinny ass losing weight climbing these stairs

Woulda been a shame!

No hooking up with friends for dinner,

So high on life and good company (not weed!),

That you’re likely to forget you’re ordering more than you can eat.

No sitting over drinks listening to stories of love lost and fears conquered,

stories as interesting and varied as their main characters.

No sitting with girlfriends

in heated discussions about men:

The fine but openly gay ones,

The equally fine but straight man-ho ones,

The down-low, pretending to be straight ones,

The cheat one the wife with the neighbour and she don’t even know ones.

The fall head over heels with every girl they meet ones,

The unafraid to tell you how deeply they feel ones,

You know,

The same ones who’ll say anything to get into your drawers once.

And the spineless, let their family and friends living abroad come between you and them ones.

And then there are the good ones.

The hard to find ones,

The ones that will make love to you for days and not leave you unsatisfied once.

The keep you on love lock-down for a week, leaving you only to go cook for you while you sleep ones,

The make your girlfriends ask you if they’re for real or you’re just making it up ones.

The keep you hanging on to the hope of finding one of them ones.

But in my town,

We don’t get any of these ones,

And no crazy girlfriends to have these interesting discussions.

Which is why I’ve got to get outta this town!

I’ve got to surround myself with people I can relate to.

I’ve got to have fun, challenging things to do,

Exciting things to talk about,

Interesting people to talk to,

Passionate people to write about,

And a passionate audience to recite my shit to.

I’ve got to find myself

A city to fall in love with.

The kinda city that I’ll actually miss

When I’m in some small town sitting around,

Itching to get out,

Dying to get out,

Dying to live

In a city like this,

With its daytime lull and its nighttime pimp-lined strips.

To live

in a city like this,

Where love and heartache are the story one everyone’s lips.

In a city like this,

With its budding relationships and irreparably broken friendships.

To live

In a city like this,

Tokyo,

I’d gladly walk away from life as I know it

To become

Your bitch.

Pernais Morrison ©

Good X (Poetry)

2009-10-24T03:34:00.000-07:00

This is a piece I wrote recently, inspired by a conversation with a friend about sex: what women want vs what men think women want (i.e, those who even bother to think about what we want). Enjoy!

Good X

Good sex will

have you at work on a Monday morning, smiling

At everyone including

your supervisor who you know doesn't like ya

And you feel the same about him

But you can't hide the silly grin that's been on your face all weekend.

Good sex will

have you walking

bowlegged

Or better yet, with your knees tucked in

Shivers still running down your spine just remembering

that last orgasm.

And all the clenching and squeezing and the biting and screaming

And oh yeah, the cuddling.

But mostly the clenching and squeezing, the biting and screaming, the headboard banging and the neighbours wondering if somebody next-door is performing

an exorcism.

Good sex will

make you want to call your mother and tell her you're having good sex!

Oh, sorry. That would be amazing aka I've Just Lost My Mind kinda sex! I haven't had that kind yet so... Let's get back to the poem...

Good sex will

make you want to call your girlfrens and tell them you're having good sex!

But you don't even have time to catch your breath

Cuz everytime you think it's over

He let's you know he's not done just yet

And you're both hot and sticky and wet

But it's the sweetest sweat you've ever sweat

Cuz it's all in the name of some good sex.

Good sex will

make you see a man in a whole new light

Surprised, cuz

You've always liked him but

you never knew he had it in him

And now he has you wondering

Why you

wasted all this time messing with anybody but him

When you

coulda been having

The kinda sex you're now having with him.

Some good, good, good sex.

Good sex will

have you forgetting

All the selfish things your man ever did

Cuz good sex brings out the selflessness in him

Good sex is when he aims to please you and not him.

See, the best sex is with a guy who's willing to put you before him

And not in terms of sexual positions and things,

No, I mean figuratively speaking.

A guy who is willing to put you before him,

And not just because his ego tells him he needs to,

but because he actually cares about you.

He cares enuf to not engage in

the stroke-counting and the clock-watching and the telling you all kinds of dirty names to call him and the watching himself in the mirror to see how great he's performing and

all those other things that a guy will be doing

Insteada just watching YOU and

Listening to your body telling him what to do.

See, good sex is

not rocket science

It's a shared experience.

And so to the guys who treat it like it's a one-man mission,

maybe sex is not for you Son.

No,

maybe you should just stick to...

Masturbation.

Still (Poetry)

2009-10-24T03:29:00.000-07:00

Rationalise as I may,

The part of me that’s telling me that when it comes to you I deserve better

Is the part of me that’s not making me feel any better.

And what hurts most and has me feeling almost bitter,

Is that I can’t even cause any break-up drama!

I can’t even end it, ‘cause I guess we were never really together to begin with.

So what’s a girl to do with all of these feelings I still have left for you?

I still wake up in the middle of the night wanting to hate you,

But wishing that you were here so I could wrap my legs around you and curl into you.

Yet, knowing that in the same breath,

I’d probably just wrap my fingers around your neck and try to choke out of you

whatever secrets you hold about how you keep me coming back for more

when all you’re giving me is nothing.

Nothing less nothing more than nothing.

You treat me like I’m nothing more than a friend worth seeing every now and again,

and then another two weeks, another two months of nothing.

And you don’t even have to say a thing!

I know what this is.

Just like I know that i deserve better than this.

But the part of me that’s telling me that I deserve better that what you’re giving,

The part of me that’s fierce and proud, that’s sensible and rational-thinking,

The part of me that keeps asking me, “What did you ever see in him?”

The part of me that keeps telling me, “You know, your family never would have liked him.”

The part of me that keeps reminding me that with you, the sex was just really boring!

The part of me that keeps saying, “Don’t worry, one day you’ll find better than him.”

The part of me that keeps doing this everlasting thinking and self-critiquing,

This nonstop talking and analising and rationalising and this on-and-on-and-on-ing

Is the part of me that I want to tell to shut the fuck up!

Because the part of me that’s still hurting and torn up

Is still not ready to give you up.

Still.

Woman Enuf (Poetry)

2009-10-24T03:19:00.000-07:00

I’m looking for the kind of guy I’d find if I weren’t looking,

The kind that would stretch my sanity thin, keeping me suspended in mid-air, somewhere between reality and the imaginary.

The kind that would be my everything,

My ecstasy, my speed, my morphine, my heroine,

And my rehab when I finally realise I’m addicted to him.

The kind that would make me fall in love with him, grow to hate him, then grow to love him more than I did before I knew that I loved him, all in the same day that I meet him.

The kind that would make me smile in my sleep, and laugh till I weep

But, keep me crying my eyes out because he’s hurting me so bad, yet loving me so good, that I hate loving him more than I love hating him.

The kind that would have me wanting to meet his parents and have his babies,

Yet wanting to give him back his ring before he even proposes.

And still, I’d keep my naked fingers crossed, waiting for the day that he does.

I’m looking for the kind of guy I’d find if I weren’t looking,

The kind that would be man enuf to tell me that I won’t find him

Because he’s either married, determined to play the field till the day he dies, or just too damn busy looking for his own guy!

Or maybe the problem is that I’m actually looking for this guy.

So, if you see him, tell him I’m just looking to break up with him before I even meet him,

So that we could skip the whole dating thing and just get to know each other,

Grow to love the little things we hate about each other,

Be happy together, mad at each other, or madly in love with one another,

For a few days, a few months, a few years, a lifetime, or just seconds at a time.

But with all the time that I spend searching for someone else to make me happy,

waiting for someone to come along and rescue me from me,

and all the while,

forgetting to nurture the beautiful, sensitive creature that is the queen inside me,

even if God does decide to send me this king I’ve been seeking

if I can’t love me enuf for me,

if I’m not woman enuf for me,

will I ever be enuf for him?

I Got a Way With Words (Poetry)

2009-10-24T01:48:00.000-07:00

I got a way with words.

See, I’ve always been a bit slow with numbers.

Don’t know why but, they get me flustered,

And any sum I can’t workout on my fingers

will have me reaching for a calculator.

So math and science have always been a problem,

And on any given day, I can’t count pass ten,

But give a piece of paper and a pen,

and I’m in creative heaven cuz,

I got a way with words.

See, it all started back when I was a teenager

And it kinda dawned upon me that

I was different, even if I didn’t want to be.

I was smarter, more artsy,

I was eccentric and skinny.

So the whole world had me feeling like there was something wrong with me.

And daddy wasn’t there to tell me he loved me

and that it was ok to just BE ME.

And mommy loved me to death but,

She couldn’t understand or begin to explain to me why I was so angry.

So, when the prison of my mind was closing in on me,

I took my notebook and a pen, and I started writing.

And the earth, the sea, the sky and the butterflies

All opened up to me, and entrusted me

with the daily task of describing their beauty.

And I no longer felt oppressed or depressed or repressed so I guess…

You could say,

I got away with words.

I got a way with words.

And as my teenage mind would soon discover,

there wasn’t a situation I couldn’t write myself outta.

And when I take these words off the paper

and bring them to you,

There’s nothing I can’t do.

Picture me on trial for murder.

I wouldn’t even need a lawyer.

And when I’m done, and the jury says I are not the one,

And everyone’s asking how could it be that they would set me free?

While I’m smiling and waiving at the paparazzi

My only explanation would be,

“I got away with words!”

I got a way with words.

But if I had a word

for every time in my adult life

that I’ve had my heart stumped on by some guy,

By now, I would have compiled a whole volume of poem after poem.

And maybe it won’t be too long before I do.

Cuz every time I get my heart broken,

instead of sitting around moping,

Or calling up my girlfriend’s crying,

I grab my pen and let it do what it do.

So, I might shed a tear or two but, before I know it,

I’ve written some beautiful (if not excessively angry!) shit,

And I’m as good as over you.

Cuz Babes, here’s what YOU never knew,

You can leave me if you want to,

but these words, they never do cuz,

I got a way with words.

I can make them rhyme,

Blow your mind any place or time with my poems divine

With these words that I twist, it should be a crime

I’m not a rap artist,

But when I spit what I spit,

Every word is mine so you know it’s legit.

Shit,

I’m so crazy with it

I could steal your man and make him mine with just a few lines

Like:

“Babes, you need a poet in your life, lose the mime.

After the show, we’ll go back to mine

and I’ll SHOW you…

I got a way with words.”