Chris Brown finally gets to do his MJ dance

but meanwhile, who is this chick he is dancing in front of? nooo not the one that was showing us her panties, the other one....i think i might google her face...

honesty box replies

I miss the old days when I (we) were younger too. I often wish 4 those moments of 'chill'....real chill not nosey-ness guised as judgement...seemingly 'adulthood' filled with clear drama. I remembr when I tried 2 roll a white boy with 1 of my closest friends. Bitch we wrapd the papers around a pencil and said we'd pour weed n2 it. Lol. Then anothr time I remembr when I and anothr friend did EVERYTHING 2gethr bc I didn't mnd chilln and neithr did she....man chilln was the shit bak then. I miss it. Nowadays everybodys tryna secure a future or make a point.

Blah. That shit don't mean nothn 4 real. Mostly I jst wish the phoney and fake would melt away and I could jst chill with my people lk I used 2 do. Not caring that theyr straight and I'm gay or that they cheat and I dnt...etc etc etc.

I jst miss trust. Yeah. That's what it is. I miss those days when people said what they meant & I could trust their word.

Bn younger...iono bout that so much now that I've thought it thru. I thnk I miss the trust. I dnt trust any1 these days....literally. I miss when we were younger and I could trust u.

Dead

I start having heart palpitations around 1:30...



... by 2:00 I'm in full cardiac arrest.

I *heart* Tricky

Serendipity

Serendipity taking over,
I think soft thoughts of you,
Breathe moist breathes of you,
Drink moments glistening of you.
I live this prose composed by you
Snuggle into my thoughts,
And breathe you in deep,
Exhale steamy memories
As I drift into deep sleeps.
Wake from sleeps filled with your dreams of me loving you intensely
But my love bursts at reality’s seams intentionally
‘Cuz serendipity has taken me
To places where what you make makes me believe
Kismet must’ve been involved in this ‘we.’
We.
I like the sound of ‘we’
Like the sounds of we getting tangled without the sheets
Or when I stare and hear you breathe
The dew of your words moistening my cheeks
The droplets dance, forming abstract rings
Integrating transitions of you in me

The thought often sends me swirling into a world filled with smiles and wiggles
Kisses and giggles
All brought forth by you and your tickles
Even in your weakest hour, you amaze me
Hollandaise me as you cover me with your love
And though I get drippy and sticky
You continue to feast on my wisdom
You grow when I speak and sometimes I think
Wow, is this really a possibility?
This ‘we’?
What appeared to be an impracticality
Turned out to be this…this…’we’
This divine ‘we’ that I can’t imagine not existing
This serendipity-induced joy-infused mildly-obtuse ‘we’
So supreme, each day, Kheper, I thank thee
For bringing this ‘we’ into being.

Cuz with serendipity taking over,
I think soft thoughts of you,
Breathe moist breathes of you,
Drink moments glistening of you.
And together we’ll live this prose we’ve composed till our pages are full.

Guuuurrrrrrllll!!!!!

Dead.

Coke Lines

Your pain is no excuse.
Disdained and abused,
There is no recuse for my stupidity.
You outwitted me,
Bullshitted me,
Still I stood there
Clean,
Pure,
Unadulterated lust dressed in lover's silk
Wavering gently in your smooth
Coolness.

It's moments like this when I wish I'd never met you.

Look. Your eyes are pissing.

I think back to summer days. Early 90s.

Where is mommy?

Sarafina on the 26 inch, color. Encyclopedia in lap. Sandwich on bed. Thirsty...I'll drink from the bathroom sink; the kitchen sink is harder to reach. Or maybe Sarafina will save me from my thirst. She's my super hero.

Back then, she kept me sane. Kept me focused. If she could take all that, the beatings and killings, this meant nothing. Where she would be slapped, I'd be looked at. Sternly. What kind of coward would I be to cry? There is nothing to cry about. Dead bodies do not surround me. Though gun fire awakens me nightly, it's rarely close enough to do me much harm. (I still slept on the floor many nights, too afraid bullets would grow wings and reach my fifth floor boudoir.)

About 5:15 into this video, I hear life's voice echoing through time. Hinting at my death if I rebelled or thought about fighting back...against poverty, ignorance, commonality, fitting in, cycles of addiction and abuse. How any resistance to its treacherous plan to have me be anything but the greatest, any deviance from the path of crack babies, baby daddies, jagged keloid memories across my face would result in death by failure and disappointment. But Sarafina, she made it clear: there are far worse things than death.





This movie helped raise me. Taught me to be a fighter, to stand up not only for what I believed in, but for what was right. Moreover, it taught me to make sure the two coincided, if not always, often. I am by far no Sarafina, but I refuse to let my transgressors see my eyes piss. I saw how close she was to flat lining when they saw hers.

PS

First one to get me this on DVD gets a prize.

Fear God

Sooooo word on the street is this sexy bitch

















got a baby by this dude























and that's fine....my only problem is, in addition to fearing God, I'mma just need you to be scared of a dude crazy enough to get his freakin eyelids tattooed. this man wanted to get a message out so bad he risked losing his eyesight. i don't know how i feel about that.

then again if u creative enough to think to tattoo your lids, i guess that would explain their naked entanglement. but I digress. the beautiful thing is, even though they weren't happy about the pregnancy, she didn't use abortion as a form of birth control.

they gon raise a baby yall!

Vacate Nonsense's Premises

Woke up this morning, decided today would be better than yesterday. Started this year determined it would be better than last year. Promised myself I would stop making promises. Decided to stay single so I could meet my future wife. Even said I would stop shopping so I could take more trips (for which I would need to shop). But this morning, I decided I was being too controlling of my own life. Speaking to someone from my past of my recent shenanigans, I hear myself turning into a me I worked so hard not to become. I am becoming less mature, more worrisome about nonsense.

I need to vacate nonsense's premises...and I mean that in both the ways you just thought it, or at least should have. I've clearly been on vacation here wayyyy too long. Meditation beckons. I haven't in weeks...ok months...and I know it's not good to starve my soul but I thought it'd be the easiest way to lose weight since my heart's been so heavy lately. I realize now exercising love makes it stronger...makes me stronger.

I'm in this for the long haul. I ain't never been scared to bust a sweat.

*delete*

soooo I'm cleaning out my emails, cuz even though I've transitioned into my new career, it's new. they're tryna go easy on me...anyhoo, I come across this email from this slutbucket .... I'm sorry, this female I used to "date" for lack of a better work. Since I spoke on this issue before, I won't even get myself riled up. it was foolish on my behalf to trust my safety to anyone. Ms. Morrison tells me that all the time. I'm over it. No, I don't forgive her, but I acknowledge how I can only blame myself for allowing someone to have me in a space like that to begin with. Contrary to popular belief, there are some things not worth forgiving. She is one of them.

But you know what really pisses me off (said in Buddi's voice)? When someone apologizes in such a way as to make you realize that they are patronizing you, merely conducting the act of the apology just to appear righteous....when there are double and triple entendres littered through the piece (because clearly this type of apology is an artform of master manipulators) so as to have you question not only the motive of the communication, but the "real" message behind it, that is what really pisses me off.

The audacity of hoes.

This is ooo so typical of this said slutbucket (screw it, she is one). I almost responded viciously and without compassion; instead, I decided to ignore her. Or did I? Sometimes it's hard for me to discern what's even real anymore.

Nonetheless, in this message she mentioned one of two things:

1. She reads my blog. To that I say, "Good for you. My creativity and my ability to completely wipe someone out have nothing to do with each other. The more the merrier. Also, since you're probably reading this, it implies that you did not take my advice in previous communications to kill yourself. Do so immediately. Thank you."

2. She includes this:

ek het jou lief
ana behibek
bung srorlagn oun
mi aime jou
Ik hou van jou
ewedishalehu
je t'aime, je t'adore
ich liebe dich
ti amo
amo-te
333 (roman numerials...that one is tough)
mo ni fe
ndinokuda
seni seviyorum
phom rak khun
ua Here Vau Ia Oe


I dont know what the hell that means. one line in there, possibly two, is french. the rest....got me. The funny thing is I used to care enough to try and figure it out because anything she said was golden. These days I recognize spray paint don't shimmer quite so dull. *delete*

I'm thirsty

For some reason she makes me think of milk and cookies.




I think it's the gloves.....(if you thought of cookies and some apple juice when I said cookies above, please kill yourself immediately. I just did.) I'll drink to that.

Ok I get it

You guys want me to start writing again...I am....I have tons to say. Give me a minute tho...i gotta work first.

I think monkeys are cute....

I have some of my most profound thoughts while pooping. Like my thoughts are metaphorically the shit. I dump out some waste but occasionally there is the unmistakable vital nutrient that I was too busy bullshitting to absorb. For instance, amongst the spam and forwards known as my email box, I came across this picture, shook my head, and proceeded to delete. But taking my evening dump this picture floated across my mind again and I gave myself the evil eye for not paying closer attention.

A Barnes & Noble in Coral Gables, Florida had a display honoring President Obama. In the center of the display? A book titled Monkeys. Surrounding the monkey book were books boasting President Obama and crew's delicious faces.

Sitting there patiently waiting, I silently screamed that I would take this opportunity to fulfill my destiny: to tinkle alllll over the self-help section of a chain bookstore (making sure to miss Suze Orman's Young, Broke, and Fabulous since it clearly has changed my life). But after further research I found that B&N had nothing to do with the scandal…..


Official statement from Barnes & Noble, Inc.:

Barnes & Noble would like to publicly apologize for what happened in our Coral Gables, Florida store. We believe that a customer played a cruel joke and placed an inappropriate title in the front window of our store, where we were featuring books written by or about President Obama. We want to assure our customers that the book placed by someone other than our booksellers was never intended to be included in our display and was removed as soon as we became aware of the situation. We are looking into it and are taking the steps necessary so that it does not happen again. From time to time customers will move titles from one area of the store to another. In this particular case, we do not condone whatever message may have been intended with the placement of this title in our Presidential display. It certainly was not part of our merchandising and we regret that we didn't see the placement of this title immediately.

Mary Ellen Keating, Spokesperson
Barnes & Noble, Inc.


You win this time B&N. But I will be waiting to fulfill my destiny!

Oops...She Lied

So for those of you just as pissed as I am with this alleged season finale, here's the first in a string of desperate attempts to keep us guessing on who killed Jenny. Instead of just telling us, we must endure these short clips of interrogations. Tina's up first.

1 is the magic number

although ive been single now 4 several months, im only 2 months into this "single for 09" thing.i kinda like it.i never understood b4 y people would choose 2 b single when thr are so many lovely ladies deserving of good loving. it wasnt until today that i realized i was wrong. most of them dont deserve good loving, at least not from me. in the psychotic way they feel they own me and can dictate my actions i should see that they are undeserving. the annoying tone they use when they question my whereabouts and need minute by minute details of my gps coordinates puts it all out on the table: u dont want me 2 love u. u want to dictate the way i show my love. its these brief moments in my life where i feel that i kno every answer 2 every question i havent even asked yet.

dumpin u

sometimes, to help myself sleep at night, I think of you. the way u used to make me feel. the way i hope u still do. i think about all the things that we said. all the beliefs we thought we shared. all the kissing. reminiscing. the cute way you looked at me when u spoiled me. i think of the beautiful energy we created and how it became this putrid love affair. how seeing u makes me dizzy and forces bile from my soul. how much u disgust me with ur sheer existence. i think of the masses that are completely misguided and blinded by ur manipulative rhetoric. i think of how until 5 seconds ago i'd almost completely forgotten that u existed until i sat here on this toilet and this one little piece of shit jst would not come out no matter how hard i pushed. u r that piece of shit taunting me. but i have a fleet. i always win.

I wish 'I love you' said it all

It’s funny how you cant find the words and someone else says them for you.




Meanwhile, she makes me wanna get ready for the beach. First, I'll need every last thread of swimwear in this video.

Career Choice

So I've been contemplating what career choice I should make. Not where I should work next. Not who's gonna pay me next. But what career I want to spend the next 20 to 40 years doing. What job I will find the most fulfilling. And I came up with writing.




But between now and the New York Times Best Sellers List, I would be honored
to teach the next generation of poets, rappers, scholars, and video vixens.

No but really...

I know I talk trash about shawty looking a lil brighter than black but I REALLY DID think she was some random white chick singing country last night. The volume was on mute and my legs were....ummm I mean I was a little preoccupied at the moment so I just happened to glance over while I was changing....where I was sitting and ahhhhraahhhhh yeah.

But she doesn't look all that light in this pic tho. I'm on the hunt to find something brighter. Meanwhile, from the lil tidbit I heard on the news this morning, she sounded pretty damn amazing.

No, I will not comment on Aretha. She's a legend. R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

Just a little more randomosity via Shamblesville.

Love in Limbo

The thing about newness is it's hard to stay new
Hard to stay fresh without looking used
Hard to stay me and add pieces of you
Hard to glow purple without some blues


I think my biggest fear isn't myself anymore. It's commitment, devotion, trusting that someone will do for me what I'd do for them. Going through all the motions just to find that the actions, feelings, thoughts, words, desires, needs weren't reciprocated. It's like this intense urge to know everything knowing full well that it's impossible. Wish I could fast forward into those 20 years and see what we've become. Impossible. So instead I just press play with half speed.

Right now, I am not following my heart. Or my pussy. I'm listening to personality #1, the rational chick. Ms. Know-it-all. She's even digging you with optimistically cautious open arms. But what does that mean??? Do I just let life be? Do what I want and say what I mean? No is her response because it's too soon. Then #2, the lover, chimes in and explains that matters of the heart have no sense of time.

Not falling in love with you is becoming a struggle I don't want to fight anymore.

25 Depictions of Lyrikk's Randomosity via Shamblesville

Taken from facebook.........
************************************************

1. My ultimate goal is to write non-fiction articles and books about my life since I'm so interesting. I think other people would relate. People like to feel like they aren't the only one so I think it'll work out.

2. My non superficial biggest fear is to wake up and realize that all the people I thought loved me never really gave a damn. Superficially, I'm afraid of being excessively fat.

3. I like to write because I can be honest and people call it art (when I speak honestly people call me a mean asshole).

4. I think people who have anal sex are cool.

5. I am secretly in love with all my friends in a (mostly) non-sexual way. I admire each of them for something different and sometimes wish I could live in their head for an hour a year and write down their thoughts.

6. I was very shy growing up. To overcome this shyness I imagine I have sex with every female I meet. So that's not real confidence or cocky-tude you see when I speak. It's me thinking I've just given you the best orgasm of your life. And I think you sharted.

7. I am extremely paranoid.

8. I have a very bright clock in my bedroom because I am afraid of the dark.

9. I hate spending my own money.

10. James Baldwin is my hero. In addition to be very literary, he cursed in his writing and still got props. I'm working towards that. My goal is to write so well that when I say 'shit' you'll find it quite possibly so realistically like me (poignant yet still gangsta) that you'll hear my voice as you read.

11. I think middle class people are mildly retarded....mostly. And wealthy people are brain dead....completely. This is only in regards to reality and life.

12. I have key phrases that include, but are not limited to, 'meanwhile', 'in real life tho', 'ooo chile', 'guuurrrrrl', 'kill yaself', 'can we talk about it?', and 'take 2 shots of bleach and go to sleep. If u still wake up n the mornn then bitch just kill yaself'.

13. Number 12 is 1 of many reasons why (& yes I have been sayin this for the last 5 or 6 years but it hasn't happened yet so I will repeat it) a video camera should follow me and my friends around. Famous people always have catch-phrases that people can repeat and put on t-shirts. Club night minimum is 3 cameras. (From all angles right jess???)

14. I dance in mirrors 2 escape. For further explanation, please see lyrikksnotes.blogspot.com (shameless plug 1). I also secretly wanna be a personal stripper for some rich black dudes wife.

15. I blog because I secretly want to be famous for my sense of humor and eloquent rhetoric. For further explanation, please see lyrikksnotes.blogspot.com (shameless plug 2).

16. I just found out today that Ana is a copy editor and I secretly hate her for it (I love editing!).

17. 'Secretly' is on the list of "Lyrikk's Catch-phrases".

18. I am easily pleased. All you have to do is everything I want. And, yes, I am very spoiled. I pout and whine (not exactly in that order) and my biggest pet peeve is when people want to spoil me but fight the urge just to try to break my whining and pouting. O, and people that tap me annoy me, too.

19. Small things, like getting me juice after sex, make me feel special.

20. I have such vivid dreams that I find it hard sometimes to tell whether something really happened in real life or not.

21. I hate when people have the wrong impression about who I am based on one situation or what they heard about me. If you really wanna kno, experience me in the raw

22. I believe in reincarnation. Probably because I feel like I'm too important to only live once. Plus I've got a lot to learn. This lifetime's lesson: how love, honesty, and integrity effect everything.

23. I believe masturbation is essential to self-love.

24. I lack will power when I am bored or drunk.

25. I love people. The more unlike me, the better.

Hi. My name is Lyrikk and I dance in mirrors.

This is where I escape the hers and the shes, the lies and the lust. This is where I go to get away from my own morbid reality of hysteria and confusion. So when u see me dancing in the mirror ogling myself, it’s not via conceit or arrogance or annoyance at watching you have all the fun sweating away to the new bullshit labeled music. It’s me imagining I’m someplace warmer, brighter, quieter, or just other than here.

The mirror is my escape from everything and everyone.

The swivel of my hips become the hypnotizing ride to Noplace Land, where I rule on high and you simple plebeians cower in my shadow (or perhaps we laugh and rejoice together. Depends on my mood). Where the hers aren’t jealous of the shes and the lies make the lust that much sweatier.

When you see me tilt my head just so I can look at my own ass jiggle, it’s not because I’m vain or cocky or because you can’t shake yours like me. It’s me imagining that those waves are gonna wash over my face at any moment and rinse away my makeup. And the salt stinging the corners of my eyes aren’t from beads of sweat but from years of pure water smashing into rocks, creating the perfect mix for a gentle emollient.

Yes, when you see me in the club sweetie just know that I’m not there to steal your girl or make you hate me or to hate on you or to dance for an audience or to meet new hers or to entice all the shes. I’m there on vacation from my home in Le Shamblesville and I’d appreciate it if you gave me fifty feet.

And yes bitch.

I will measure it.

And so, it is written.

So for the last 14 days I've told myself that I'm going to post a blog. Going to post a blog. Going to post a blog. And yet, all I did was post a video. A funny video at that. Nothing thought provoking. Nothing to evoke emotion. And so, here I am now finally upholding my end of the bargain. Though I have been cursed out via text, email, phone call, and face slap (in real life tho), nothing has pushed me over the edge to write anything.

Until last night.

I got a voicemail, a voicemail I will not transcribe but will, however, explain the effects of in great detail. In this voicemail, raw news played its music for me. Things I’ve heard before but never listened/danced to for their lack of rhythm (since they were so encapsulated in anger and hate). But these words were born from the love for me one of the most loyal people I’ve ever met (at least loyal to me) has. She explained how my selfish behavior was beginning to take a toll on not only our relationship with each other but on my ability to stay constantly aware of the effects of my actions on this lifetime.

I believe this lifetime is to teach me the importance of love, honesty, integrity, and loyalty. How each of those things entwine to create a perfect love free of inhibition and full of trust. I had that love once but it is no more. Slowly dissipated because of life's trivialities. But I still believe it’s possible to love like that again. And that’s when I realized why I haven’t been writing. I am lacking a truly deep love. The kind of love that pushes you to do things you thought ladies didn’t do. The kind that has you up at 2 am in the morning crying laughing even though there’s no music, no sex, and just you and her (and neither of you really understand what the hell is so funny). The kind where attitudes last for five minutes and are quickly followed by both sides apologizing and somehow turning that sweet, gentle hug into four hours of pleasure, just in time to get ready for work.

This epiphany helped me realize just how much of my life I’m wasting right now. Party time is over. I don’t wanna play these games anymore. I’ve said it then and I’ll say it once more. I am ready.



PS.

Happy New Year. Nine has always been my favorite number. “The number 9 relating to a balanced numerological personality or cyclical timing energy is most often associated with tolerance, generosity, forgiveness, passion, creative energy, success, romance, benevolence, and a deep love of life. Nine energy flows like water and is reflective of universal love.” Get into it.

In Real Life Tho....

the only thing missing from this video is me dancing in a mirror....



and some attractive "studs(?)".

No time to blog....

but there's always time for your pearl on my tongue.... (you might wanna log onto your computer for this one ms morrison....dont laugh too hard)



sincerely,

pants


ps

i GOTTA eat it just to survive. you betta feed me.

As a reminder....

I'm still totally obsessed with her.



This is mainly so adorable because it's just fun. Not too flashy. Not too plain jane. It's totally something I would wear to dinner for a date or to brunch with my girls. Ooooo RiRi...after my own heart.

This is for you Ms. Morrison

i love everything about this pic. the shoes. the legs. the dress. most importantly, that smile.

Hormonal Text Messages

swirling hazel eyes: what you thinking about?

pretty brown eyes: argh just Y.O.U. It's kind of terrible. This is why i hate the hormone thing. Things that would normally just b hypothetical thoughts passing become my obsession until i find solutions or answers or just shit i need to hear. i feel so vulnerable and exposed. i miss u so freaking much! its like i wanna kno what beat i would dance 2 if the baseline was in sync with the rhythm of ur heartbeat and whats ur middle name and ur bra size and ur best childhood memory and everything about ur past life and how it sounds when ur thinking and how it feels when ur yearning and what ur bliss tastes like. i wanna swim in all that. live like a mermaid in ur atlantis. i dont know why everything i write about u leads me 2 atlantis but i always come back 2 u.

Atlantis.

She totally resembles...

this black chick I know named Beyonce. Doesn't she?

I effin love this dress!!!!

Why....

...does it seem like somebody is pasting her face on these bodies???

Yes

This white woman is Beyonce.





Or maybe its Sasha Fierce???

Ait ait!

Nononono!

I repeat: Keep my life outcha mouth!!!

Britney Spears - Circus [Le Clip]
by mondomobile

I'm getting better but sometimes I still feel this way.

PS.

I think I might be falling in love with her. Don't quote me on that.

My Life in a Snippet: There are still 5 of us.

We fought for two days. We made up in four hours. I woke up to eight guns. Only one was shoved in my face, though.

It’s a funny way to wake up, actually. After hours of love making, real love making, not the fake sex stuff you see on TV, after hours of that, you get this vibrating pulse through your body. The euphoric aftermath of having that many orgasms, it pushes you into a warm and fuzzy rest. It’s relaxing and quaint, the lazy, comfortable way you sleep with all your guards down. I laid in her bed, naked, stripped of inhibitions and anger, clothes and fear. We had made up. I was happy.

I came by that night to obtain my left-behind belongings. Or so I said. Really, I just wanted to reconcile what we had. I missed her. Missed us. The soft way we nuzzled into each other’s aura. Mine is purple. Hers is green. After blaming everything on her, after her claiming her wrongs but not letting me off the hook, after dinner, after wine, we hugged. We kissed. Looking into each other’s eyes, we tried to transform our replenished emotional energy into a battle of the fittest: who could withstand love in the form of pleasure the longest in all its intensity and fierceness. This took four hours. Four good and long hours. I couldn’t wait ‘til morning. She always makes me breakfast in the morning.

But instead of being awakened by sunlight or scrambled eggs or alarm clocks, the brute force of a steel handgun against a wooden door jolted me from my slumber. Instinctively, she jumped to the door to protect me. Intuitively, I hid myself in the shadows of her dirty laundry. She swung the door open and nine millimeter steel lips kiss her nose where I had hours before. I see her try not to glance at me. I think this was when I realized that she would die for me.

In my nakedness, I scurried to find clothes before those steel lips returned to defile me with their shimmer. I found a robe and hurriedly threw it on. Afraid to walk out of the room, I sat and waited for my fate, still half asleep, hoping this was just a nightmare.

It was not.

“Come on,” a masked man said to me, waving his gun towards the hallway. Though I know it’s a cliché, there is no other way to describe my inaction. I was frozen with fear. Stiff as if arthritis had built condos throughout my body, I could not move. All I could do was stare at him. He inched closer. Cold steel lips are thrust upon my forehead. “You think I’m fucking playing with you?!” No, I think you are very serious, sir. So serious that I am afraid to even do what you say. Those were my thoughts. Somehow, I managed to scurry out of the room into the living room.

The scene to follow this bedroom interaction pushed me again into a rigid stupor. Her mother lay on the floor where the burnt orange carpet and white linoleum create a black union of rubber. A pool of blood lay on the floor in front of her, slowly growing wider, fuller as thick, red life drizzled from her chin. She is beside her mother. I already knew she would die for her.

Across the floor stretched out, holding his mouth is her cousin. He cannot speak. His mouth is an amalgamation of anger, blood, jealousy, and sweat. His pool is much larger than her mother’s.

Then there is her sister. She is not crying. She does not look afraid. She is barking answers to their questions.

My girl is not hurt. Her sister is not hurt. I am not hurt, but I can’t hear. I’ve grown deaf and dumb in the twelve paces it took for me to get from the bedroom to this union of linoleum, carpet, rubber, and blood. “Tesha, just lay down, baby. Just lay down.” The sound waves of her voice tickle at my ears breaking me from my trance. I take my place next to her cousin, the only place on the floor where I could curl into a helpless ball and pray that tomorrow morning comes for me.

This is real. This is no nightmare. It hit me like four inch thick hail dropping from cloudy heavens, beating me with questions of did I pray this morning and is loving her really going to keep me out of heaven. Closing my eyes, I pray anyway, as fruitless as it seems. Ask for some safety, for the chance to write just one more time, sing just one more note, live just one more day. Three of them are not wearing masks, street code for no witnesses will live to tell. I just pray louder.

My prayers are answered. They leave with little of what they came for and spare our lives after seeing a police car patrol through the street next to us. Just like that, they were gone.

Them.

There were eight of them.

Us.

There are still five of us.

(if you would like the extended version, notify me via email at lyrikkmashairi(at)gmail(dot)com.)

Sometimes I dress....

a bit like a haute couture slut....



but most times I dont.

Keep my life out ya mouth

I'm getting better.

Email confessions

to savior from sinner....

so i dont kno what imma do about moving next week. this shit is crazy. im thinking about all the things i can do to get some money and bam i think, "i could be an escort" so i go on craigslist (cuz that thing has everything u could ever need) and search for it and i found a site. so i start to fill out the applications, upload the photos and the final question is multiple choice: "what services would you be available for?" so im like "services. what the hell do they mean services" so i read. and the list includes "in-call, outcall, dinner dates, licensed or unlicensed massage, nude or partially nude bartending, and strip tease. *gulp*


i cant live like this.

S.P. said she looks like me....

i'll be that.

My Newest Obession is tagged Olu Butterfly Woods

But I still love Rihanna tho.