Tuesday, May 17, 2011

#51711 Junkie

he'd ruined music for me...
i was out with another. trying to enjoy myself, but really enjoying him enjoying me. across the table. i knew what his looks meant.

then a song came on and i couldn't look at this man across from me with anything other than bewilderment that he wasn't the right man.

because of my muse this one's time would be as short lived as all the others.
there was no escaping the inevitable.

i had been fated to love him even when he didn't love me.
i had been fated to think of him even when i couldn't be further from his thoughts.

other kisses were hollow in comparison
their mouths lacked the fullness of his.
their intensity never matched or surpassed mine.

they made it too easy to conquer them while he remained unnavigable.

i loved getting lost in the maze that was his mind
and signed up to do so time and time and time again.

i kept swearing him off
but like the junkie i am,
i've never kicked him...
he is my greatest vice
my favorite drug....

he ruined music for me.

me who has an eternal soundtrack for my life.
me who hears music in conversations
me who sings even without opening my mouth....

other's arms couldn't hold on strong enough.
other's embraces felt oppressive.
other's kisses tasted nasty to me.

they made it soo easy to be mean to them while he always got the best of me.

i wanted to get him out of my system,
then the chords of a song i'd forgotten would bring me right back
right back to the first time i realized i'd fallen in a well i couldn't get out of
right back to the first time he gave me goosebumps in body parts i didn't know existed.

i loved getting lost in the maze that was his heart
and signed up to do so time and time and time again.

the intricasies of his patterns
a creature of habit who confirms to none.

i kept swearing him off
but like the junkie i am,
i've never kicked him...
he is my greatest vice
my favorite drug....

i am addicted and there is no substitute for the high he gives me...
even at my worst,
i am my best for him and him alone....
i can't get him out of my system....
i've known a life without him and don't want to see those days again...
i don't wanna....

Friday, May 6, 2011

#5511 Camera Phone

It all started with a couple of glasses of wine for dinner on a weeknight and I got to thinking,

"I feel like rocking a wig."  

I don't rock wigs as much as I used to, but I like to keep one around 'cause....well, I've always liked being able to play dress up soooo....What? I'm a drama person and aspiring drag queen. You never know when you'll need a good wig. YAAASSSSS.....

What makes one randomly feel like she needs to rock a wig? With my return to #twitter & my twitterversary coming up, I was having a lil' bit of hair envy.  Some of y'all just have luxurious locks (both grown and purchased) all cascading all cross your shoulders and down your backs in profile pics & twitpics.  Yeah I Solange'd myself a million moons ago, but now I wanted something to be cascading down my back and cross my shoulders. #noheauxsht. I wanted daytime stripper hair.  (shout out to @saigrundy) Me with loooong hair and sexy poses would look awesome in a new profile pic.  He also hadn't seen me with longer hair. I thought about surprising him rocking it next time we went out.

Oooh he'd like that! I'd just show up w/my wig luxuriating like I'd gotten out ALLLL the Indian in my family blown out in the Dominican's chair.  Oooooohhh! What if I I played sexytime dress up by myself and snap flicks on my phone and sent those to him.  YAAASSSSS. He'd like that. (This is where having wine for dinner starts to be a bad idea....)

What started out as me creating and homage to soooo many people's faux fly camera flicks evolved into me playing out my skripper fantasies in the full length mirror in my room to achieve the perfect poses for my photo shoot then went all the way left and almost left me needing the ER last night.

Don't get it twisted,  the Doll is fairly fit.  I'm REAL sexy with my clothes on. Hell, once or twice I've  even been told I'm not just limber, but FLEXIBLE.....For my age anyway....Chile....In trying to achieve the perfect sexy yet anonymous photo I got about three cricks in my neck, did something strange that made my kidneys ache and somehow caught a charlie horse AND a deadleg.

I have a new found respect for those who have folders full of self shot self soft porn portraits on their smart phones.  That mess is not as easy as you would think it is.  I thought I'd be able to face the mirror, hold the camera just so and end up w/ a flick that both was and wasn't me.  I wanted it to suggest me, but not look like something I'd have to explain after I become famous when it suddenly surfaces on the top of someone's blog or comes across my bosses desk.  When I set out to try record my grown up game up by-myself dress up and take these semi sexy self portraits I KNEW not to commit the cardinal sin others have done in the past:


Some of you may already know that I am a woman with ink. The ink I rock proudly is fairly distinguishable and in places hard to mask.  Well, under normal FULLY clothed circumstances, you wouldn't be able to see it. But these were not NORMAL fully clothed circumstances.  These wer my attempts at creating a nudie representation of myself and by nudie, I clearly mean not even Skinemax worthy.  How was I to take a photograph of myself that had neither my tits my tats or my face would get me a more stern rating with the MPAA? I mean, the wig would help in hiding features I wanted to disguise, so on it went. That was easy.

Figuring out how and where to hold the camera was a totally different adventure. That mess was HARD!!!!

I'm a woman of a certain age so I have a fairly good grasp of what my good angles are, in what I look best etc.... It's something I  had to learn over time. It's amazing how the slightest change in posture or angle could add or take away years from my image on a real camera.  With a real camera I can appear fairly photogenic. I say this with great modesty from years and years and years of feeling awkward in what was my gangly body.  (You can take a tomboy out of her overalls.....) Finding out what makes me look/feel good on and off camera has been an arduous task.  When asked to take a picture, I would feel a certain way inside when I posed for the picture, but there was a decade or so where that feeling wouldn't translate to the film. In a lot of ways it was because I was trying way too hard to hide the discomfort I felt and trying to look like something or someone I wasn't. I have no idea who or what, just not me.

Within the last 5 years, somehow that all changed.

I finally felt comfortable in my skin.  Graduating to taking a big girl photo of myself seemed like a natural progression.  Practicing by myself was like the (un)dress rehearsal.

All bets were off with this damn camera phone.

First of all, in trying to mimick America's Favorite Camera Phone Poses, I have deduced that you have to have the wingspan of Shaq to take them well. I'm not a short woman, but my arms are far too short to box with the god of cameras on phones. Other than overhead flouresent lighting, NOTHING is as unflattering as the indoor lighting on "impromptu" phone photo shoots.  Every time I'd get what I thought was a semi decent pose or expression going, something disastrous would go down.  In trying to give the camera smoldering vixen, I ended up looking like a porous crone from zooming in far too much.  When I got what I thought was my petulant cherub pout going I instead looked like I'd scorched my lips on a curling iron.

I've seen sooo many people with actual sexy pics with their phone.  Somehow they have mastered the art of looking #popsiclehot with low pixels and resolution. Then to flaunt their skills and shape they post them all the time on thematically nude Twitter days.

How the hell does someone take a photograph of their own ass?
Are y'all hiring production assistants for these situations?
Is there some secret rule book or Facebook group that offers pointers on this kind of thing?
Why were my attempts at sexy pics coming out looking like a preschooler drew them with dull crayons on wet oaktag?

I started to feel like the awkard tomboy again trying too hard to be the Lolita and failing miserably.  The pics were dark and blurry and unflattering.  I could see my stretchmarks.  I sucked my stomach in until I could count my ribs. I pouted with an open mouth. A closed mouth. Snarled slightly. Tossed the wig. Put it back on. NOTHING I did or wore made the photos look nice.  I was about to give up the ghost and throw in the towel when it occurred to me:

Could it be my phone?

Do y'all know this old raggedy ass janky ass phone I've had for a year now still had the protective film on the lens?


Maybe it wasn't me.

Kudos to those with the time and expertise to perfect that utterly useless skill. It seriously took me the better part of an hour to get just ONE flick where I looked cute, inviting, and like one of my secret selves.  I've watched enough seasons of Top Model to know that taking an hour's worth of flicks to get ONE passable shot would've had Tyra telling me to return to the mansion, pack my bags, and go home. To top it all off, it wasn't even a SUPER sexy pic like I wanted.

Lawd y'all.  This is why some of us shouldn't have idle time on our hands...

'Til next time.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

#100304 exhausted


to see you makes me....smile?


sometimes i can't help but to beam when the idea of you crosses my mind.
I think of all of you
from the way you stare at me when you think i've fallen asleep
to the way everything feels like it has dropped out of my insides when we're unhappy....

making you mine was the only way this could have gone
i never planned on releasing you
letting you rest within my coils was the only way
i had to possess you
entirely wrapping my limbs around you
enveloping you in my cloud

fatigued beyond belief
you have made us this way
our quabble has forced us to live exhausted for two days
i would rather live exhausted from hours too late from drinking you

love him so much, it was all that mattered.
before i even opened my mouth to utter the words to him...
makes my speech seem tattered
words i'm used to using end up sounding foreign

#4901 My Love Is....


my love is....

there is no diet version of my love
i can not love in increments and single serving portions
i do not have a sugar substitute for my kisses

no lily-light for those afraid of decadence
my love is a rich souffle that takes days to eat in its entirety
(you almost want to ask for two plates so you can share)

my love does not come in petite sizes with slender waists
one size fits most

my love is....
my love is not afraid of full bosoms and thick ankles
that soften an embrace
paradiso in plus sizes

too much of everything has never been just right

my love is Baby Bear's bed
when you're tired
my passion is unforgettable
sleeping with divine

my love does not come in a base model
there is no dimmer switch

my love is all or nothing

my love is splendid
escape for the weary

my love transcends mapping
second hands on watches

it can only be explained in excess
purging on the supple
damn near suffocation
but the fear of not breathing has never been so sweet

#5411 Too Soon


Dancing between discretion and submission
got me wishin'
you were fishin' in my blue lagoon
too soon to give a damn whether you come or go....

too soon

too slow to realize we're moving too fast
can't last selling my milk away for free
saw you laugh at the scars on my knees
ready to earn more for you...
too soon to call your name when another touches me

seeing babies in your smile
not trying to be the mother of your child just remembering
innocence captured in the glimmer of your eye
innocence disappeared as your hands pulled my thighs

too soon

staring at the skyline under an amber moon
pretending not to stare at each other
too soon to call you my lover 'cause it's not love i have for you

too soon not to return calls from others dreaming of a brother
i long for within
too soon to tell him that we are unable to be more than just too soon

passionate about a passion that shuns me with its greatness
causing time apart to make me feel ill,
realizing you've begun to fill a place in my life too soon
too sudden yet loving the suddenness of your embrace from behind
behind dark hours that keep us safe from remembering time
behind clouds of vices denied
shunning the rules
inventing destinations creating them as we go
trying to listen for the song each of us forgot was inside
we hide from unworthy pretenders
becoming defenders of our feelings keeping ourselves from feeling anything new
too busy being through with everything we've already been through
to realize what the 2 of us could do
for days and days on end but then again,
we only have days before the suddenness suddenly is not so sudden
and sadly
i find myself alone.

Monday, May 2, 2011

#5211 Thinking of Midnight Eyes

Eyes Clip Art

Thinking of midnight eyes at 9 o'clock in the morning and wondering whose tongue will meet her thighs tonight.

A woman who is free can make 2 am eyes at half past five at the man who stares too long through his Windows of imported German glass
Run her hand up her shirt at happy hour,
For she really is happy,
Need not wonder who or where,
Just know that later there will be a who deep somewhere.

Thin line between coquettes and whoredom
She dances this line daily as she bathes away the scent and lust of midnight men and dawn screwing.

Remembering that the choice of so-called freedom,
A Liberated body bound to a conscious mind,
Was her own.

Thinking of midnight lovers at 9am does not always bring a smile to lips.
She thinks of vines in the twilight hours,
A swamp fog for a swamp fox.
He was her lover.
His eyes never told tim,
Only stories of what the midnight magic hour could bring.
Peyote kisses,
Hair like Spanish Moss.

This is what she thinks of when the man in the truck stares through his tempered Japanese glass.

She thinks of midnight eyes at all hours of the day.
Happily letting fingers dance' tween her legs,
Upon her bosom.
She thinks of kisses that guide her through the city's swamps,
Moist thighs,
Damp skirts flapping and biting her ankles all at dawn.

Those midnight men polluting her womb with unworthy attempts at planting progeny.
She stands in her shower while he sleeps in her bed.
Someone deep somewhere.
There are no swamps,
No timeless, ageless eyes.
Only a sticky stench that she watches pour away from her body
Run away to the drain between her toes.

Happy to have the freedom to dream of all those she has kissed with her knees,
All those she remembers at 7pm when the traffic has finally lightened up again.

When she smiles,
She can't explain why.
Being a coquette again,
Never a whore.
Never at midnight.