April 26, 2005
(UrbanWord NYC workshops)
Love Song to "Home":
It just so happens I've become entrapped in some colossal emotions to verify the notions of my adolescence being about me & not a separation from the identity born by my Jamaican/Dominican family tree.
I've never been one of compassion inside the doors of the home that nursed me, but my solitude is not to be confused with contempt because I'm so going to represent & breed my potential into little success stories...
I can't relate to a song for Cuba or a song for my home, but I know I can produce the ill love song if I wrote about my soul.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
April 18, 2005 workshops
April 18, 2005
(UrbanWord NYC workshops)
Free Write
S- sporting my color in solitude from intimate romance; the last dance & joining hands
I- intense spiritual walks
(never finished)
Workshop Piece #2:
(never finished this either)
My sonic sounds discriminate against totalitarians that swallow opportunity before it claims a fresh breath into immoral destinations of the under exposed beauty. My movement is the most negative birth declaring me an outcast where individuality is smothered by deception, perception, and that booty desire to be the girl starring in that BET movie. My cool iced tea skin smooths the desire of that intimate energy. I watched the trembled squatters.
(UrbanWord NYC workshops)
Free Write
S- sporting my color in solitude from intimate romance; the last dance & joining hands
I- intense spiritual walks
(never finished)
Workshop Piece #2:
(never finished this either)
My sonic sounds discriminate against totalitarians that swallow opportunity before it claims a fresh breath into immoral destinations of the under exposed beauty. My movement is the most negative birth declaring me an outcast where individuality is smothered by deception, perception, and that booty desire to be the girl starring in that BET movie. My cool iced tea skin smooths the desire of that intimate energy. I watched the trembled squatters.
An Honest Vision: (Hanging in Union Square) 4-12-05
April 12, 2005 (UrbanWord NYC workshops)
I'm handing the mic over to diversity because
This square is not about the majority from the 1930's
My heart beats like the fluttering of the wings from the birds that no longer rest on Ghandi's statue depositing their excretions
The booths for goods and the subways to thoughts of distinct expressions capture me
My heart beats like the tunneling of the voices here to change his-story
Starbuck goers are racing like the pace I conjure trying to link all this variety into the settings picture
Spring's peace breathes kodak moments; so let me snap this shot and connect with my soul deep inside the beating of my heart
My heart beat is so real & alive in the majestic paintings and correlations of commerce & the colors of freedom escaping the individuals that give me a taste of reciprocity and artistic pastries never too sweet for me to ingest
The nudity of various religious figures claim the attention of realms with one way ports while experiencing the body art
The pace maker breaks ... it cant hold my heart rate because as the break dancers pop and lock, my jumping heart beat STOPS!
It stops in the depths of this park as I stroll to my train
My train to stability with the strumming of the instrument called my vision.
I'm handing the mic over to diversity because
This square is not about the majority from the 1930's
My heart beats like the fluttering of the wings from the birds that no longer rest on Ghandi's statue depositing their excretions
The booths for goods and the subways to thoughts of distinct expressions capture me
My heart beats like the tunneling of the voices here to change his-story
Starbuck goers are racing like the pace I conjure trying to link all this variety into the settings picture
Spring's peace breathes kodak moments; so let me snap this shot and connect with my soul deep inside the beating of my heart
My heart beat is so real & alive in the majestic paintings and correlations of commerce & the colors of freedom escaping the individuals that give me a taste of reciprocity and artistic pastries never too sweet for me to ingest
The nudity of various religious figures claim the attention of realms with one way ports while experiencing the body art
The pace maker breaks ... it cant hold my heart rate because as the break dancers pop and lock, my jumping heart beat STOPS!
It stops in the depths of this park as I stroll to my train
My train to stability with the strumming of the instrument called my vision.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
april 12 2005 workshops
April 12, 2005
(workshop poetry from UrbanWordNYC)
Perfect World Using Only Images::
diverted eyes with CD players and Walkman's booming with the listener so focused on the transformation into a cloud becoming music and inviting its natural high
I remember saying their eyes were diverted because everyone minded their own to develop some sort of peace and control
a mirage of peace, shattered glasses with torn open envelopes and deafening sound waves depicting the voices of dreams
tears walking the lane of innocences face because crying is the outlet from desperation, aggravation, determination, damnation, degradation, infatuation, and all that other bull that makes the world real
perfection quoted as the goal of... the goal of OCD as the bridge to insanity
individuals expressing the individuality escaping the morality that is supposed to construct their personality and the same morality that led to collateral damage; which is just another discrepancy
Bibles defining limited values not pronounced by life styles
darkness exposing... shit i'm done!
Experience - invaded like poem::
laying without the presentation of fluorescence illuminating the scene of infatuation
the music flowing like the silk of a gown exposed to the springs wind drowning out outside activity
inviting advances to explore the deeper side of solitude to relieve the lament of the drowning passage of teary evolutions
stamina and movement welcomed fatigue as the two souls drenched the rails for the flight to paradise
they became pedestrians on the path of new beginnings, but the breaking and entering quickly disabled them from continuing the welcoming sensation of their imagination coming to life
the demands and accusations sparked the match of misunderstanding forcing the authority to lash out at the complications too quickly rummaging through their mind
sex is a weapon and adolescence is dangerous
No, there are not two potentials expressing their curiosity; they were involved in a mood made for sharing their imperfections and heartache authority was too weak to listen to the explanation
(workshop poetry from UrbanWordNYC)
Perfect World Using Only Images::
diverted eyes with CD players and Walkman's booming with the listener so focused on the transformation into a cloud becoming music and inviting its natural high
I remember saying their eyes were diverted because everyone minded their own to develop some sort of peace and control
a mirage of peace, shattered glasses with torn open envelopes and deafening sound waves depicting the voices of dreams
tears walking the lane of innocences face because crying is the outlet from desperation, aggravation, determination, damnation, degradation, infatuation, and all that other bull that makes the world real
perfection quoted as the goal of... the goal of OCD as the bridge to insanity
individuals expressing the individuality escaping the morality that is supposed to construct their personality and the same morality that led to collateral damage; which is just another discrepancy
Bibles defining limited values not pronounced by life styles
darkness exposing... shit i'm done!
Experience - invaded like poem::
laying without the presentation of fluorescence illuminating the scene of infatuation
the music flowing like the silk of a gown exposed to the springs wind drowning out outside activity
inviting advances to explore the deeper side of solitude to relieve the lament of the drowning passage of teary evolutions
stamina and movement welcomed fatigue as the two souls drenched the rails for the flight to paradise
they became pedestrians on the path of new beginnings, but the breaking and entering quickly disabled them from continuing the welcoming sensation of their imagination coming to life
the demands and accusations sparked the match of misunderstanding forcing the authority to lash out at the complications too quickly rummaging through their mind
sex is a weapon and adolescence is dangerous
No, there are not two potentials expressing their curiosity; they were involved in a mood made for sharing their imperfections and heartache authority was too weak to listen to the explanation
Aja Monet
(workshop poetry from UrbanWordNYC)
April 5, 2005
Imagine hanging out with your inquisitive mind under the Brooklyn Bridge and falling in love with your soul. There it is. The secret exposed. I found my passion in my identity. I experienced the scene not for its purpose of delivering people to their destinations. I whispered my thoughts onto the page and found out what love was about. The false infatuations with the cuties I came in contact with dissipated. I mean, this love was separate from any mutual connection. I was on a a spiritual high with the purity of me absent from any anguish to demolish my hate. I peered into the water too far to see my reflection; but I saw not the blue; I witnessed life and the beauty of me. I fell in love on the brooklyn bridge with my soul. R&B sang to me. Hip-Hop spit its rawest degree to me. The wind captured me as I fell in love. It was irrelevant if anyone despised my joy because the love haters would always hate me as loves new found equal. My civil action to be about Aja was/is just as romantic as experiencing a love jones unlisted. I'm in love with my athletic ability, my social personality, my multiple ethnicities... overall I'm in love with me.
April 5, 2005
Imagine hanging out with your inquisitive mind under the Brooklyn Bridge and falling in love with your soul. There it is. The secret exposed. I found my passion in my identity. I experienced the scene not for its purpose of delivering people to their destinations. I whispered my thoughts onto the page and found out what love was about. The false infatuations with the cuties I came in contact with dissipated. I mean, this love was separate from any mutual connection. I was on a a spiritual high with the purity of me absent from any anguish to demolish my hate. I peered into the water too far to see my reflection; but I saw not the blue; I witnessed life and the beauty of me. I fell in love on the brooklyn bridge with my soul. R&B sang to me. Hip-Hop spit its rawest degree to me. The wind captured me as I fell in love. It was irrelevant if anyone despised my joy because the love haters would always hate me as loves new found equal. My civil action to be about Aja was/is just as romantic as experiencing a love jones unlisted. I'm in love with my athletic ability, my social personality, my multiple ethnicities... overall I'm in love with me.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Dome (Sapiosexual)
{Sapiosexual: One who finds intelligence the most sexually attractive feature.}
***Starts poem***
I've had some good head once.
***Starts poem***
I've had some good head once.
Frosting type brain; sugar glazed layers of pleasure; butt naked throwing layers of pleasure on genitalia from the tongues of fictionalized goddesses...
I've had some good head once.
Stem loving stemming from attraction; attentive to the attraction... eagle view on that clitoris...
I've had some good head once...
Aggressed by the non aggressor;
--------I've had some good head once
A mouth so good ...
A mouth so good ...
I've had some good head once.
I opened a Sister Souljah novel entitled "no disrespect">> I meant no disrespect when I used sexual descriptions to depict the non sexual head I had actually received.
Intellectual interventions... intervening wisely--- expeditiously taunting need and escaping want.. The desire for a mouth so good my womanly-ness will transform on a rapid transition into my lioness zodiac.
THE TRADE...
My vulva is taunting me... she, before me, had spoken enormous masterful pieces just positioning her insight;
Intellectual interventions... intervening wisely--- expeditiously taunting need and escaping want.. The desire for a mouth so good my womanly-ness will transform on a rapid transition into my lioness zodiac.
THE TRADE...
My vulva is taunting me... she, before me, had spoken enormous masterful pieces just positioning her insight;
sanctioning off a section just for wisdom---
I watched ignorance, beauty, and intelligence spar rhyming with no haiku;
poetry dome...
super dome wise thoughts dominating my every utterance;
susceptible to all knowledge...
eyes closed & inhaling the aura of this provocative spar
Intervening between a republican and a democrat I had the political gibber jabber during this damn good dome>> intellectual treats of conversation...liberalizing me into no stance I had been aggressed by the non-aggressor giving me that dome of geniuses and over achiever geeks proving that standardized tests can accurately pin point an IQ...
Intervening between a republican and a democrat I had the political gibber jabber during this damn good dome>> intellectual treats of conversation...liberalizing me into no stance I had been aggressed by the non-aggressor giving me that dome of geniuses and over achiever geeks proving that standardized tests can accurately pin point an IQ...
I normally aggressed
but here I sat sucked, cleaned, and orally fucked right into the right side of my brain... no high needed... no blunts rolled; this all stemmed from the attraction for words... two poets word dancing right foot left foot... (play your favorite song)
Her Nikon perfected lens of verbal dome took me to the comfort of a poets home where the door is constantly being knocked down by thoughts... Often disturbing the peace... but normally bringing the peace of never ending visions to life....
Her Nikon perfected lens of verbal dome took me to the comfort of a poets home where the door is constantly being knocked down by thoughts... Often disturbing the peace... but normally bringing the peace of never ending visions to life....
Her Nikon perfected lens of verbal dome took me home... into her home... I loved living rent free there
I've had some damn good head once...
take it as you please...
take it as you please...
A Broken Hearts </3 Body Image... (a lot of thoughts)
I had learned another language; an education robbed of the unfortunate counting my fortunes within the appreciation of this lesson ....
Knowledge = some damn good dome
have you tasted the knowledge of a broken heart...?
thats some damn good scorned dome packed with the aggression of a mothers loss
aggressive dome is good, but ... ... slow down >>>
the pain comes... a broken heart in all its physicality... no one can prepare you for the the physical goosebumps and internal agony--- the only prescription is to be gifted with a smile... but how can you deliver a light within a smile in the darkest alleys and forgotten swamped dark days
irreversible broken trust; healing where? (3rd person thoughts)
praying hands yielding a need for deliverance... have you ever received the knowledge of a broken heart?
this analogy of the broken heart ... {lets carry on with the lesson}
Body image is a mental depiction of the appreciation or lack there of concerning one's self--- my own definition--- but the body image of a broken heart is like... ...the misguided friendship blowing up in your face, full of blame, pointing and increasing the "he say she say" games by default... torn and unforgiving to oneself and another... the body image of a broken heart is the unknown and unfamiliar comfort to oneself to trust and love not only others but yourself... the body image of a broken heart is "bitch I'm not fine... damn I can't remember when I was...I want you to stop asking, but please ask again I need to release"... the body image of a broken heart is the desire for someone to truly uncover whats wrong... but this broken heart can't let go of the insecurities of maintaining my broken image
The body image here is unfortunately flawed
Lady bugs travel slow on foot... perhaps shes waiting to fly when her broken heart is restored
"miss lady bug why do you travel on foot"; if only I could have this conversation with her
"I know your luck hasn't run out in your wings... your the luck behind every humans wings... excited to pocket you and not instill any damage... fly in my palms.
Ms lady bug you are the muse to my memory..."
"Ms beautiful bug I must transition on this journey with my lyrical accolades that will knight that broken body image into the wings of a butterfly. "
(Our conversation ended)
the unknown... the unfamiliar...
a broken hearts body image = collateral
collateral is always the tragedy of these cruel love wars
Knowledge = some damn good dome
have you tasted the knowledge of a broken heart...?
thats some damn good scorned dome packed with the aggression of a mothers loss
aggressive dome is good, but ... ... slow down >>>
the pain comes... a broken heart in all its physicality... no one can prepare you for the the physical goosebumps and internal agony--- the only prescription is to be gifted with a smile... but how can you deliver a light within a smile in the darkest alleys and forgotten swamped dark days
irreversible broken trust; healing where? (3rd person thoughts)
praying hands yielding a need for deliverance... have you ever received the knowledge of a broken heart?
this analogy of the broken heart ... {lets carry on with the lesson}
Body image is a mental depiction of the appreciation or lack there of concerning one's self--- my own definition--- but the body image of a broken heart is like... ...the misguided friendship blowing up in your face, full of blame, pointing and increasing the "he say she say" games by default... torn and unforgiving to oneself and another... the body image of a broken heart is the unknown and unfamiliar comfort to oneself to trust and love not only others but yourself... the body image of a broken heart is "bitch I'm not fine... damn I can't remember when I was...I want you to stop asking, but please ask again I need to release"... the body image of a broken heart is the desire for someone to truly uncover whats wrong... but this broken heart can't let go of the insecurities of maintaining my broken image
The body image here is unfortunately flawed
Lady bugs travel slow on foot... perhaps shes waiting to fly when her broken heart is restored
"miss lady bug why do you travel on foot"; if only I could have this conversation with her
"I know your luck hasn't run out in your wings... your the luck behind every humans wings... excited to pocket you and not instill any damage... fly in my palms.
Ms lady bug you are the muse to my memory..."
"Ms beautiful bug I must transition on this journey with my lyrical accolades that will knight that broken body image into the wings of a butterfly. "
(Our conversation ended)
the unknown... the unfamiliar...
a broken hearts body image = collateral
collateral is always the tragedy of these cruel love wars
Sunday, December 2, 2012
the Forgotten Monster
I am the forgotten monster... left alone under some bridge incapable of scaring the tourists trampling above along my bridge; I dare not approach because with a weakened roar I have no scare tactic intense enough to incur fear yet still as the forgotten monster I am feared to relationships... I am the forgotten monster of friendships and love where hearts had built walls to protect oneself from the terror... I am the forgotten monster that once conquered all prey I haven't even been preyed on because down here in my slum the forgotten monster is as good as a dissolute fairy tale. I'm the forgotten monster no longer needed ---> appetites had changed; heck even hostess no longer has value to the name because like uneaten twinkies I am the forgotten monster that once fattened excitement and sparkled walkways on dates
!!!runaway forgotten monster!!!... its deeper than last place when you can't even place for a position in the lives once touched by my mere monstrous blink
*waving the shit out of my white flag*---> is there no end to this war?
becoming the forgotten monster was easy from heart breaks and disappointment... aiming to please without pleasing oneself was silly; with this I became the remnant... the Forgotten Monster
the forgotten monster now sinks back into the swamp below the bridge while the "innocence" above trots along whispering and snickering deflecting thoughts of the monster once known to be loved. tucking away in dark holes, I, the forgotten monster will no longer scare again...
{maybe if I kiss the frog I'll transform into the remembered love}
!!!runaway forgotten monster!!!... its deeper than last place when you can't even place for a position in the lives once touched by my mere monstrous blink
*waving the shit out of my white flag*---> is there no end to this war?
becoming the forgotten monster was easy from heart breaks and disappointment... aiming to please without pleasing oneself was silly; with this I became the remnant... the Forgotten Monster
the forgotten monster now sinks back into the swamp below the bridge while the "innocence" above trots along whispering and snickering deflecting thoughts of the monster once known to be loved. tucking away in dark holes, I, the forgotten monster will no longer scare again...
{maybe if I kiss the frog I'll transform into the remembered love}
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