How I yearn to break you off like perms.
But you remain kinked, tangled between my fingers, your texture. Your memories. Embedded in my fingertips, I reek of you. I lick you. I kiss you. I have become accustomed to....you. Tart and tangy yet tantalizing, I suck the slope between thumb and forefinger. I bite lightly on my palms, I suck your scent out of my nails; I invite you to taste my tongue. I drown you between thighs and I smush you against tits and I rub you against my legs like lotion; melt into me, layer me in your protection and let's fuck make love, make lust, make fudge. Make me taste like you. Make me melt like you and smell like you and smile like you and style like you and stiff and stuff it like you make it ruff like you.I want to be the wrapper in which you are contained. Let me embrace your crevices, your curves, your nuts.Let me keep you safe from other yearning fingers, because baby mines are experienced. My fingers have strummed against the strings of an unwilling heart and made it sing. My fingers have explored cold terrains and found warm beds. Sugar darling sexy baby, I know what to do to make you sweat...
Let's Fuck.
Sweet humid passion.
Hickies on your neck as I bite down hard and swallow.
Piece by piece I own you, I break you and I mold you into something beautiful as you fill up my throat.
I please you and I love you because the more I want you the more you give; you never stop giving, you never stop loving, you never leave, because you need my warm breath, and my wet mouth. Cum for me....
Shit, I Came too=)
Cotton panties stained with your drip drops. Bra smeared in your happy thoughts. Thank you for a freaky funky, bitter chocolaty good time...
Succulent bitch
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
I'll Never Be Your Beautiful.
Purging never felt so drunk.
Slurred words and bird's eye wide, trembling over troubles and stumbling over situations. Nauseated with your presence but never vomiting. Heads jerked to opposite sides so our gazes would never meet. Scoffs and coughs and blank stares. Such a reflex to flick the fuck you finger while verbally giving its definition. So quick to judge as if I was the gavel and gave the ultimate decision of justice[karma?]. So impaired that even the firework's light didn't show me the right side of your neck.
911 What's your emergency? My heart was ripped right from my chest and is barely breathing on the sidewalk. Slumped. Bruised. Bloody. Dying. CPR please. I need CPR. I need the comfort of his arms and his passion and his.....Flatline.
I did not survive his vicious attack of Lies. Of deceit. Of manipulation. Of cunningness. Of immaturity and idocrisy. I failed myself. I failed to love without you. I died in the arms of my murderer. Unmasked. Unscathed. And not guilty by reason of self defense.
It was considered my fault. I abused you with kisses and wore you down with hugs. I rubbed the right spots, I pushed the right buttons. I was consistent. I was content. But I loved you, I loved you and it was such a terrible thing to do.
Can't say I'm more sorry for you than I am for myself.
I fell in like.lovelust. with a Fucker.
Slurred words and bird's eye wide, trembling over troubles and stumbling over situations. Nauseated with your presence but never vomiting. Heads jerked to opposite sides so our gazes would never meet. Scoffs and coughs and blank stares. Such a reflex to flick the fuck you finger while verbally giving its definition. So quick to judge as if I was the gavel and gave the ultimate decision of justice[karma?]. So impaired that even the firework's light didn't show me the right side of your neck.
911 What's your emergency? My heart was ripped right from my chest and is barely breathing on the sidewalk. Slumped. Bruised. Bloody. Dying. CPR please. I need CPR. I need the comfort of his arms and his passion and his.....Flatline.
I did not survive his vicious attack of Lies. Of deceit. Of manipulation. Of cunningness. Of immaturity and idocrisy. I failed myself. I failed to love without you. I died in the arms of my murderer. Unmasked. Unscathed. And not guilty by reason of self defense.
It was considered my fault. I abused you with kisses and wore you down with hugs. I rubbed the right spots, I pushed the right buttons. I was consistent. I was content. But I loved you, I loved you and it was such a terrible thing to do.
Can't say I'm more sorry for you than I am for myself.
I fell in like.lovelust. with a Fucker.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Random Emotions Evoked From Everytime by Britney Spears...
i never judged you or called you wrong. i called you living.
every breath was blown into a world that couldn't see you for who you really were.
only as an entity of something more important. but this "whole" of which you partly represented...that was never made clear.
you left her, and him, and them, and that, and it. you left me.
and i've felt shallow ever since.
it feels. unjust. a kiddie pool overrun with enough water to fill an olympic size pool.
yet i don't drown. but you don't dwell. so it's hard to determine who wins and who lost.
what is my prize for being so diligent, for memorizing your life and loving your life and being your life for so long?
am i allowed to find myself now? because i miss who i was. who i am. it feels. ugly.
can i have a kiss on my cheek?
i don't want to feel ugly. i want to feel. feelings. that actually make sense. but i don't know...maybe i'm supposed to be different.
Are you reincarnated in me? Am i You? I want me back.
Leave me be. Where I need to be. Where you should not trespass.
Leave me back in my arms.
I want safety of the unsafe.
every breath was blown into a world that couldn't see you for who you really were.
only as an entity of something more important. but this "whole" of which you partly represented...that was never made clear.
you left her, and him, and them, and that, and it. you left me.
and i've felt shallow ever since.
it feels. unjust. a kiddie pool overrun with enough water to fill an olympic size pool.
yet i don't drown. but you don't dwell. so it's hard to determine who wins and who lost.
what is my prize for being so diligent, for memorizing your life and loving your life and being your life for so long?
am i allowed to find myself now? because i miss who i was. who i am. it feels. ugly.
can i have a kiss on my cheek?
i don't want to feel ugly. i want to feel. feelings. that actually make sense. but i don't know...maybe i'm supposed to be different.
Are you reincarnated in me? Am i You? I want me back.
Leave me be. Where I need to be. Where you should not trespass.
Leave me back in my arms.
I want safety of the unsafe.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Grr.
It's something about me that I just can't put my finger on, which is crazy: I should be able to put my finger all around me and know how it feels. But I never put my fingers to my lips...yet no words escape through....
I like a boy, you guys.
And it has completely thrown me off my happy trail....We spoke ONCE. I smiled, and said thank you for holding the door. See you tomorrow.
And since that day. If we never had that one minute conversation. I would be peachy.
But now I feel it in my gut. In my gut's gut. I NEED TO TELL HIM.
I've told three people already, I told them not to tell like we're in kinnygarten....Cuz I wanna tell him. The old outgoing me would have told him. The somewhat.....__?_____?__ refuses to say a word. I don't know if this is a maturity thing, the yearn for chilvaric actions, or just me being antisocial. I always was a firm believer in dominance, that is who I have been and who I might be for a very. Very. Long time. But where is it? Where are my balls? Did they shrivel? I cannot even remember the last time I spoke my mind. It only takes three words to change eveything. I like you. Then I'd either feel stupid cuz I gotta see him for the rest of my summer or I'd feel awesome because he would say the same. But that's fairytale. And my life has so far been a joke, so why stop the hilarities now? I refuse to saw a word :(
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Peach Blush Gives You That Sun Kissed Glow...When Blended Properly
...........
How could you be so audacious?
Bolder than cleavage, you must be.
This is outrageous!
It took more than willpower to deal with your shit, it took heart, dedication, and ballet shoes to make it all look so graceful!
How I managed to suck those tears right back in my sockets I'll ever know.
Whenever that invisible ghost of courage possessed me, I haven't the slightest idea.
But I stood above you and I lifted you into the heaven as easily as a bodybuilder would his weights.
And I tossed you frisbee far, hoping that you'd fall into the arms of another who would never want to return the pass.
I knew it wasn't going to last.
The arguments were once words and soon became puzzles and my brain was not equipped to solve them.
Your sweet kisses soon burned like bullets and I had no gun to revolve them...back into your pores
Mines were broad and wide, open sores that could no longer differentiate the difference between love and hate because it all made my skin crawl.
And bleed, and peel, and chafe all over the bathroom floor.
Sometimes I wish I had the balls to blade my blood all over the walls, but I could never get the razor steady to make a sharp cut...you see I was a perfectonist and the scar couldn't be jagged
But I guess since my heart can't be seen from the outside I didn't worry much about its weary shape
Decaying like the food in Buster Baxter's locker. Bunny ears filled with wax mouth full of plaque and clothes full of static cling.
You were nothing but a magic trick performed wrong. Your face and dick was there but I removed the center box and your heart was gone.
And I wasn't the one who stole it because I had an alibi: I was watching Trapped in the Closet.
I wasn't enjoying it because you had a complexion just like R.'s and I kept checking my room to make sure you weren't hiding with a cigar. Singing stories about hicks and dicks and midgets trapped in closets...
But you weren't there.
Damn I was paranoid.
But maybe sometimes I wish instead of just breaking up you succumbed to an early death.
So I could have a grave to visit and lay down roses and kick the ants off your tombstone. Sit by your birthdate in sunny dresses and masturbate to the sound of the crickets in the late night because I knew you would love the spontaneity.
But God wouldn't have liked that.
So I guess that wouldn't have occurred.
But since you were dead you would have read my thoughts and would have smiled at my idea without me physically carrying out.
That's why I like the dead.
They can read your mind.
So die.
So you can read mines.
And realize I had not one intention of hurting you purposely.
And I wish I could still call you on the latenight after a bad dream and you'd soothe me to sleep.
And I really do miss you. And that ounce of love I put in your heart's account is still in the safebox.
Take if out and lube yourself up with me and feel me sting your skin (to let you know it's working)....
But since my calls have been ignored and my messages have gone unanswered...
Just die already.
How could you be so audacious?
Bolder than cleavage, you must be.
This is outrageous!
It took more than willpower to deal with your shit, it took heart, dedication, and ballet shoes to make it all look so graceful!
How I managed to suck those tears right back in my sockets I'll ever know.
Whenever that invisible ghost of courage possessed me, I haven't the slightest idea.
But I stood above you and I lifted you into the heaven as easily as a bodybuilder would his weights.
And I tossed you frisbee far, hoping that you'd fall into the arms of another who would never want to return the pass.
I knew it wasn't going to last.
The arguments were once words and soon became puzzles and my brain was not equipped to solve them.
Your sweet kisses soon burned like bullets and I had no gun to revolve them...back into your pores
Mines were broad and wide, open sores that could no longer differentiate the difference between love and hate because it all made my skin crawl.
And bleed, and peel, and chafe all over the bathroom floor.
Sometimes I wish I had the balls to blade my blood all over the walls, but I could never get the razor steady to make a sharp cut...you see I was a perfectonist and the scar couldn't be jagged
But I guess since my heart can't be seen from the outside I didn't worry much about its weary shape
Decaying like the food in Buster Baxter's locker. Bunny ears filled with wax mouth full of plaque and clothes full of static cling.
You were nothing but a magic trick performed wrong. Your face and dick was there but I removed the center box and your heart was gone.
And I wasn't the one who stole it because I had an alibi: I was watching Trapped in the Closet.
I wasn't enjoying it because you had a complexion just like R.'s and I kept checking my room to make sure you weren't hiding with a cigar. Singing stories about hicks and dicks and midgets trapped in closets...
But you weren't there.
Damn I was paranoid.
But maybe sometimes I wish instead of just breaking up you succumbed to an early death.
So I could have a grave to visit and lay down roses and kick the ants off your tombstone. Sit by your birthdate in sunny dresses and masturbate to the sound of the crickets in the late night because I knew you would love the spontaneity.
But God wouldn't have liked that.
So I guess that wouldn't have occurred.
But since you were dead you would have read my thoughts and would have smiled at my idea without me physically carrying out.
That's why I like the dead.
They can read your mind.
So die.
So you can read mines.
And realize I had not one intention of hurting you purposely.
And I wish I could still call you on the latenight after a bad dream and you'd soothe me to sleep.
And I really do miss you. And that ounce of love I put in your heart's account is still in the safebox.
Take if out and lube yourself up with me and feel me sting your skin (to let you know it's working)....
But since my calls have been ignored and my messages have gone unanswered...
Just die already.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
My Mind Travels Elsewhere.
I really think I epitomize the true meaning of individuality.
And sometimes I think it gets in the way of my capability to show regular human emotions.
But I was born into this world in the arms of one, and Godwillingly I'll die in one also.
Society has trained me to think that love is the answer to everything. That having a husband will magnify my chances for true happiness. That pleasure truly outrules pain.
Whatcha gonna do future husband? Nut in my wounds and make me feel better?
There's nothing to feel better. Only medicinal drugs and tainted beverages. Sex doesn't make feel better. Sex makes me feel dirty and raw, like freshly hatched eggs from a hen's womb.
Life has fucked me in positions even the Kama Sutra does not provide illustrations of. I have become flexible despite my unwillingness of these sexual performances.
Life is a pervert.
And he watches me undress, and gurgles bubbles in my bath water...he waits for me like the Grudge and forces my hands to clamp onto his pasty ones and he screams Death in my ear until my ears bleed. But instead of feeling morbid I feel rejuvenated, and I sink into the bathwater willingly. I drown in Life and I will continue to drown in Life's hands until the moment that the bathwater is gone and there is nothing to drown in. Then I'm just left sitting in an empty bathtub. My broken heart, pieces in the toilet. Washed away like a dead pet. Stopping up the pipes. Stopping up the pipes. Stopping up the pipes...but never coming back up to shore.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Stealing Charlei: "Where's My Boyfriend?"
It doesn't necessarily bother me that every dude I have isn't compatible with me. I'm a very unique and weird ass person and I don't expect anyone to truly understand me if you haven't known me for a couple years or so. But is it the fact that I remain unchanged in my personality that evades me from being happy with someone? It's not even that I get bored with the people that I have, but I got ADHD when it comes to relationships I just can't keep still. I always want to think it's them. It probably is me. But I don't feel as if there is any aspect of me that I would alter. SMH. Fuck it. I am too independent to sulk, I got this. Even if I don't feel like I do. I wasn't pushed out the womb with a man in my arms. I wasn't taught in school how to find your mate. I'm not taking relationship classes. Experience is all I have. And it's too much to keep trying and fighting because I'm almost there. I think. That's the comedic part of life. WELP! I have things to preoccupy me. Goodnight Blogger.
=) Gotta Smile.
=) Gotta Smile.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
"Why Can't I Keep a Dude? I know Why, I'm Just Too Pretty. That Must Be It"- Me.
I have been trying to sort out in my heart and mind what am I doing wrong to end up on the short end of the stick when it comes to relationships. Yes, I am the one that always ends them, but it's only after I'm emotionally drained from accompanying to one's needs. And no, I cannot change my ways, I think a dude that is worth something should have a female that gives him her all because he's amazing. But I have now realized the dudes that I've given my heart to aren't worth it. I know I have a lot of growing up to do. But it seems as if the dudes that I fuck with have some type of immaturity juice flowing in their veins and they just can't get over themselves. But if you like me, lol, this is odd. But if you ever would like a chance with me, whether now or in the near future, you must abide by these standards. I feel dumb doing this broadcasting what I want but hey, I'm not gonna find my dude just sitting in my bed watching Arthur all day...
1) Chivalry is a must.
I don't know why females just accept that chivalry is dead. Chivalry is NOT dead. It's rare though, as rare as raw beef. Sheesh. I don't like that. I've met, perhaps, one guy that I didn't even date that I was truly impressed by. He was like a knight in Nikes...just amazing with holding doors and mannerisms and all that good stuff. Just swept me. I am a freaky lady, a crazy lady, a thick lady, a whatever lady you want to use... fill in the blank _____. But in the end, I'm still a lady. And you should treat me accordingly. I'm not asking for you to cater, just do what a man's gotta do. I don't care how different the times are, I wanna have what my grandmother had with my granpa. I wanna have what my mother searches for. I don't want movie muscular long flowing hair beautiful skin tone big ding dong along clean fingernails gorgeous eyes plumpy lips! It's unreal. But I do. want you. to be nice. That's all. Shit!
2) Money.
I'm not a gold digger. But I feel as if I'm your girlfriend. And we go to the mall. And I see a cute shirt. You should consider buying it for me. Not that you have to. And ninety percent of the time if you offer me something, I will say no. But I think it's just a great gesture to show you care, because I damn sure don't give anybody money that I don't fuck with. Also, you don't have to have stacks upon stacks of cash. You don't have to stunt for me. All I need is someone who got restaurant money, movie money, and/or cab fare money just in case. Maybe hookah money. That's all. I got my own sweetheart. Your money doesn't make me cum.
3) Car.
I'm not that pressed if a dude has a car or not. Seriously. We live in DC. The metro and bus takes us anywhere. Plus you would be able to pay more attention to me if we were on the train as opposed to you driving. And I don't trust a lot of people's driving so...Yea. And it's saving gas money. I think train rides are romantic. I mean you need a car eventually, but I wouldn't be like omg I'm tired of walking. Or anything I won't yell. One of the sweetest moments I had was when me and my beau was freezing in each other's arms waiting for the bus. It was so adorable. Not at the time cuz it was just plain ol dreadful. But the memory is sweet because we just kissed the cold away and just tried to keep each other warm. So sweet!
4) I love You.
I don't ever want to hear those words again. Seriously. Tell me and we're over.
5) Fashion.
All I ask is that you look presentable when you're with me. You don't need to follow the latest trends and be all Oogly Googly Rich Looking..you're probably not. That's that stunting. Just be yourself but look nice. Cuz my style is crazy and I don't want to be doing me and you not doing you. That's awkward.
6) Education.
If you cannot spell. If you cannot speak grammatically correct when the time is appropriate. If you cannot hold an intelligent conversation with me. LEAVE.ME.THE.HELL.ALONE.
7) Personality.
If you're a goofy asshole, act like a goofy asshole. Don't be shy. If you're blunt, be blunt with me. You nasty, be nasty with me at the appropriate time. Show your true colors so I won't be surprised later on when they just creep up on me and I'm like wdf! Nothing makes me happier than a dude who keeps it a hunnit.
8) Game.
Spit it on the ground somewhere. Not to me.
9)Maturity.
If I have to explain what it means to be mature, than you probably aren't.
10)Sex.
I only fuck the worthy. I know all tricks, games, gags, whatever. I've been through it all before. My best friends are dudes. My godfam is mostly dudes. And I've had too many dudes. If you only in it for sex, I suggest you call a roller. Cuz I'm not in it for you to win it. Sike. In order to get to know my pussy, I got to know who the fuck you are. It doesn't come easy. It's not about playing the game right, it's not playing it all. That's how you win. And that's why you dudes lose.
11) Attractiveness.
I got a thing for tall, skinny boys. Calling all tall skinny boys lmao. Liteskinnneedddd. My world will revolve around you lmao. No really though, it's a preference but it's not a must. I'm just more attracted to it.
Ok. THE END and good luck.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
For August. Free-Write [Not Edited;Will Not Edit]
So. Hello. Blog.
I'm single. And it feels weird. But this isn't about how the breakup feels. We all have experienced that shit. I'm here to recall how the relationship felt.
My hands will not allow me to type the images that are swirling about in my head. I am trying to entertain you all with beautiful anecdotes on how great love is, or how I just loved when he held my hand, or how many I love you's spewed out our mouths like big bubbles from our chewing gum. But I can't think of anything. It feels as if someone took a beautiful canvas of a red beating heart, a heart engraved with his name of letters and spaces, the four names I was sure would be embossed in a wedding album or denting the inside of my wedding ring....and splotched and splatted it with murkiness. Browns and blacks and deep rich, velvety purples. And just destroyed every effort I made to keep my fate alive. I don't know what to do. I'm writing from the fingers but I have yet to realize how my heart truly feels so I'm ending up forming gibberish. I don't know where to turn and my eyes burn from trying to tear up but they won't because I'm trying to be strong but I want to show weakness for him. I want to run down the street in a see through shirt, breasts lively and jumping, yes. But symbolically showing that these mammary glands, this fat, this adipose tissue serves as a gate to shield me from the very thing that has hurt me. You have slipped through the cracks of cemented heart and you have infected me with your flu and now I reek of you. My body oozes you from my pores and I sweat you. You are the sugary taste in between my lips and that drop of flouride still glued to my teeth after this morning's brush. I lotion myself with your love and I moisturize with your lust and I glisten with your hate and I bathe into your desires, the same desire for me that grew so rapidly and passionately that I drowned. And I never really wanted to be rescued I rather commit suicide in your love than deal with the wiles of life, but I was given a lifeboat and a helping hand and although you swirled whirlpools around my legs and my torso and my neck, I was rescued and revived. I choked of you, I spurted you out with each push against my chest and then there was no more you left. And of course not knowing to do, I wanted to jump back in your magnificent waters and drift in your calming seas, but there was no more calm for the winds had picked up making you do more harm than good...and I was forced to leave my safe haven in your coves of love and as the lifeboat onto land I thought of the Titanic and how a simple iceberg made such a beautiful ship drown. It was the love it had for the seas, the powerful motor underneath the waters made love to the waves and arose bubbles as fish picked at them. It was the people who loved each other and played craps with one another and danced in its belly, danced in its belly, danced in its belly like guppy in sharks, not aware that they have been swallowed because they are still alive and swimming. Now knowing they were heading for doom because they were still alive and swimming. Not knowing that the bright lights cast shadows in the silhouette of doom. And they died happy and swimming. I lay rescued and lonely. I don't want to be rescued. I never wanted to be rescued. I just wanted what some people would call true love or the one or the soulmate, and I wanted him young so forever could really seem like forever. And we eventually form dementia when we're older and can't even remember each other's names or ages but we remember the love that was shared between us. That flame that never goes unless we put it out, and we never even wet our fingers because we loved how the light made each other's faces glow. But I glow no longer, I am still strong because the tears do not flow but my heart realizes it's sick and its needs healing and no rush from the bloodstream and no white blood cell can fix it. My infection is permanent. As long as my nose will be able to smell I will sniff you in the morning, noon, and night. I will bite you between my teeth and enjoy the sweet salty earth of your skin. But it won't be the same, your physical being is no longer entertwined with mine and your spiritual being has flown away. But your imaginative being, I create you with the lucky stars in my widened, non-tearing eyes. And we are together once more.
I'm single. And it feels weird. But this isn't about how the breakup feels. We all have experienced that shit. I'm here to recall how the relationship felt.
My hands will not allow me to type the images that are swirling about in my head. I am trying to entertain you all with beautiful anecdotes on how great love is, or how I just loved when he held my hand, or how many I love you's spewed out our mouths like big bubbles from our chewing gum. But I can't think of anything. It feels as if someone took a beautiful canvas of a red beating heart, a heart engraved with his name of letters and spaces, the four names I was sure would be embossed in a wedding album or denting the inside of my wedding ring....and splotched and splatted it with murkiness. Browns and blacks and deep rich, velvety purples. And just destroyed every effort I made to keep my fate alive. I don't know what to do. I'm writing from the fingers but I have yet to realize how my heart truly feels so I'm ending up forming gibberish. I don't know where to turn and my eyes burn from trying to tear up but they won't because I'm trying to be strong but I want to show weakness for him. I want to run down the street in a see through shirt, breasts lively and jumping, yes. But symbolically showing that these mammary glands, this fat, this adipose tissue serves as a gate to shield me from the very thing that has hurt me. You have slipped through the cracks of cemented heart and you have infected me with your flu and now I reek of you. My body oozes you from my pores and I sweat you. You are the sugary taste in between my lips and that drop of flouride still glued to my teeth after this morning's brush. I lotion myself with your love and I moisturize with your lust and I glisten with your hate and I bathe into your desires, the same desire for me that grew so rapidly and passionately that I drowned. And I never really wanted to be rescued I rather commit suicide in your love than deal with the wiles of life, but I was given a lifeboat and a helping hand and although you swirled whirlpools around my legs and my torso and my neck, I was rescued and revived. I choked of you, I spurted you out with each push against my chest and then there was no more you left. And of course not knowing to do, I wanted to jump back in your magnificent waters and drift in your calming seas, but there was no more calm for the winds had picked up making you do more harm than good...and I was forced to leave my safe haven in your coves of love and as the lifeboat onto land I thought of the Titanic and how a simple iceberg made such a beautiful ship drown. It was the love it had for the seas, the powerful motor underneath the waters made love to the waves and arose bubbles as fish picked at them. It was the people who loved each other and played craps with one another and danced in its belly, danced in its belly, danced in its belly like guppy in sharks, not aware that they have been swallowed because they are still alive and swimming. Now knowing they were heading for doom because they were still alive and swimming. Not knowing that the bright lights cast shadows in the silhouette of doom. And they died happy and swimming. I lay rescued and lonely. I don't want to be rescued. I never wanted to be rescued. I just wanted what some people would call true love or the one or the soulmate, and I wanted him young so forever could really seem like forever. And we eventually form dementia when we're older and can't even remember each other's names or ages but we remember the love that was shared between us. That flame that never goes unless we put it out, and we never even wet our fingers because we loved how the light made each other's faces glow. But I glow no longer, I am still strong because the tears do not flow but my heart realizes it's sick and its needs healing and no rush from the bloodstream and no white blood cell can fix it. My infection is permanent. As long as my nose will be able to smell I will sniff you in the morning, noon, and night. I will bite you between my teeth and enjoy the sweet salty earth of your skin. But it won't be the same, your physical being is no longer entertwined with mine and your spiritual being has flown away. But your imaginative being, I create you with the lucky stars in my widened, non-tearing eyes. And we are together once more.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
[N]Oprah
Today, as most of us know, Oprah took it upon herself to...once again...entice America with her monetary funds: This time with food. Every person in America has been offered the opportunity to print out a coupon from now until tomorrow for a free 2-piece grilled chicken meal with a biscuit and 2 sides from KFC. I am rather disappointed in Oprah, I really don't want to talk bad about her because I met her makeup artist for 33 years over the weekend...and they're really close. But I have never fully appreciated her because she hides behind her money. And noone can tell me different. The trips to Africa, South America, wherever: every celebrity does it. But for what really? To give back? No. For publicity. That one beautiful shot of a dirty child in the nicely manicured hands. One smile, grateful, teeth crooked and off-white. Those are the villagers, the rural farmers, and craft-makers. The blacksmiths, the children, the priests, the preachers, the people. Then there's that gorgeous sky-bright smile of the celebrity. The soft skin, touchable skin. The flawless makeup, contoured beautifully to accentuate her high cheekbones and make her eyes 'Pop'. She's beauty in the land of disaster. But I'm not writing about that. I'm writing about this KFC mess.
Attached to this blog will be one of the most triflingest videos my eyes have ever seen, and I've seen trifling. Tyson, KFC's lead chicken producer, has been seen torturing these poor little poultries to their death. It's disgusting. It's vile. It's inhumane and cruel. It's shocking. It's sadistic. People need psychiatric evaluations, seriously. If you can do this to little harmless animals such as chicken, how are we to be sure you won't come home from your job and want to wring a human's neck and decapitate the person while stomping on the body and squeezing it until they forcefully defocates on themselves? They are showing symptoms of what is called Conduct Disorder. It is a childhood disorder, but without the proper treatment, it can carry on into adulthood. Remember young Michael Myers on Rob Zombie's Halloween? It's something of that sort. And this information doesn't have much to do with my main argument neither, bare with me.
What I am more upset about is the fact that the Tyson controversy has been publicized all over the net. Many influential people such as Pink, Dr. Cornel West, the Daili Lama [SP], Pamela Anderson, Rev. Al Sharpton [You know he in everything], Jet, and other celebrities have spoken about the animal cruelty issue. HOWEVER, here comes Oprah in all her horribly HDTV pigmented glory, publicizing the chicken that was once stomped on and, and spat on, and spraypainted on, for us to eat. And it's not even the fact that we eat the food, many will eat it regardless. Many HAVE to eat it regardless, but if we don't have to...why will we? But why not Popeyes. Why not Burger King. Something. That's not surrounded by controversy? Because she's ignorant. A lot of people are ignorant on this subject. I was too. I quickly clicked the link and got my coupon and just was a-jumping for joy, believe you me. But then I read about it and saw the video and was completely trifed out. And once again, Oprah hides behind the money. Because this ain't no local celebrity. Internationally known Oprah doesn't have the sources telling her this would be controversial for her? That she's placing her money into an awkward situation? That this exemplifies promoting animal cruelty? No. Of course not. Who gives a shit? Because it's Oprah. And I guess she's God of the Universe. Well I'm tired of talking. I got studying to do. But you get the point. Don't you?
Attached to this blog will be one of the most triflingest videos my eyes have ever seen, and I've seen trifling. Tyson, KFC's lead chicken producer, has been seen torturing these poor little poultries to their death. It's disgusting. It's vile. It's inhumane and cruel. It's shocking. It's sadistic. People need psychiatric evaluations, seriously. If you can do this to little harmless animals such as chicken, how are we to be sure you won't come home from your job and want to wring a human's neck and decapitate the person while stomping on the body and squeezing it until they forcefully defocates on themselves? They are showing symptoms of what is called Conduct Disorder. It is a childhood disorder, but without the proper treatment, it can carry on into adulthood. Remember young Michael Myers on Rob Zombie's Halloween? It's something of that sort. And this information doesn't have much to do with my main argument neither, bare with me.
What I am more upset about is the fact that the Tyson controversy has been publicized all over the net. Many influential people such as Pink, Dr. Cornel West, the Daili Lama [SP], Pamela Anderson, Rev. Al Sharpton [You know he in everything], Jet, and other celebrities have spoken about the animal cruelty issue. HOWEVER, here comes Oprah in all her horribly HDTV pigmented glory, publicizing the chicken that was once stomped on and, and spat on, and spraypainted on, for us to eat. And it's not even the fact that we eat the food, many will eat it regardless. Many HAVE to eat it regardless, but if we don't have to...why will we? But why not Popeyes. Why not Burger King. Something. That's not surrounded by controversy? Because she's ignorant. A lot of people are ignorant on this subject. I was too. I quickly clicked the link and got my coupon and just was a-jumping for joy, believe you me. But then I read about it and saw the video and was completely trifed out. And once again, Oprah hides behind the money. Because this ain't no local celebrity. Internationally known Oprah doesn't have the sources telling her this would be controversial for her? That she's placing her money into an awkward situation? That this exemplifies promoting animal cruelty? No. Of course not. Who gives a shit? Because it's Oprah. And I guess she's God of the Universe. Well I'm tired of talking. I got studying to do. But you get the point. Don't you?
FMI:
http://www.torturedbytyson.com/
http://www.petatv.com/tvpopup/video.asp?video=tyson_heflin&Player=wm
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