It's Been Won

Caught in a blender is what he called it.. like Everclear to an alcoholic.. I.. can't.. help (trouble) but to cause it..
Whether you're with me or against me.. cheeks puffed up in anger - Dizzy Gillespie.. halo bent like you were once touched by Dell Reese..

It's all complementary.

Let your trippin get the best of me.. scantron read wrong like this was a test for me.. you can't fathom my destiny

Child-like.. I'm forever a Toys'R'Us kid.. too strategic and cautious to do stone-cold bids.. love fresh air.. orange jumps suits just don't compare..

Be scared.

I rarely let loose the wrath, ya hear? And if you didn't grasp the jab, let me be clear..

I'll only allow the fuckery for so long.. keep thinking that you're running shit, but you've thought wrong.. whatever it is I possess is nothing shy of strong.. just ask ya man 'cause he's been chasin it all night long.

'CIDAL

Feeling like the walls are positive and negative - a sanctuary and a prison - a magnet of tension.

Can't breathe without counting each breath - they are watched and sought - freshly made nooses with thick knots.

My reserve is wearing so thin - over-bleached cotton - unraveling thread once forgotten.

It'll be the death of me - if I internally release this shout - beware my fatal blackout.

Is it bad that..

It has come down to an ultimatum.. Do I do it or don't I? I couldn't bring myself to diss you.. Because my feelings, they just don't lie..

I'd be flexed out if I said I don't wanna ride. Hell, I sometimes fantasize about you grabbing my hips and caressing my thighs.

It will be on my terms, if only for a night. A time when we could kiss and lick and do whatever we like.

I will warn you though, baby, that I will walk away when it's done. Just don't be feeling salty if I'm gone before the sun.

Playing With Fire

The thrill must be fun for you
How does it taste?
Her jealousy won't wane
Especially if we're in each others' face

She can't deny or stop it
The fire that we make
But being the center of drama
Is something I can't take

My body does react to you
Every inch of me does tingle
It's just that it seems we forget
That neither of us is single

I wanna lay low
Without laying it all on the line
So we'll have to settle for less
Just this one time..

Apologetic After The Storm

It was never my intention to play angel, then devil. I am who I am. Do what I do. Sometimes, I don't pay enough attention to what I SHOULD be doing.

I was reading something tonight about all the dimensions of communication and the correlation of balance. Due to my stifled physical communication and over-stimulation of mental, spiritual, and emotional stimulation, I'm off balance.

My issue is that I chose to relieve that tension at an innocent person's expense. Whether it was worth it or not doesn't even appeal to my remorseful nature. What's done is done. All damage aside, though, I am apologetic for it ONLY because someone got hurt.

Does that make me selfish or accomodating?

I tend to use my actions as a way to get things done while making sure everyone is appeased. I should actually alter my actions to still take care of business, but please me in a non-offensive way instead. But no matter, it seems like there will always be someone offset or suffering because of it and it's usually me.

On some real shit, like a confessional with no clergy -- a lushful admission with no liquor-- I won't be made to feel sorry. To say "I'm sorry," would mean that my character is sorry -- worthless, inadequate, a penny with a hole in it. I AM NOT SORRY, but I am apologetic.

Day After Birthday Introspection

My head is swirling with confusion.. What do I do? What is there to say? I have absolutely no clue where I'm heading or how I'm going to get there.

This is so fucking difficult. I struggle to keep from struggling.. It's redundant.. ass backwards.. I feel like I'll never get out of this hole.

Then, people want to be around me. Enjoy my company.. but I'm miserable! So, what the fuck?

Life is too short and I feel like my stress will be the death of me.

I'm not ready to die. Aurayah still needs me like I needed my mom. She left me too soon and there was nothing I could do. I can't stop struggling because she needs me to.. so she won't have to.

Damn.

In Love Mentally.. (Meant To Be?)

He gets me completely

To have someone feel me

Gives me good feelings

My mind is reeling

A lover, a best friend

Someone to confide in

To bring on this something

These butterflies are jumping

Who, what, where, how?

I feel less than scared now

I'm high, won't come down

In so deep I could drown

Where are you taking me?

Not blinded, but can't see

The future, an epiphany

Of gorgeous things yet to be

Virgo the Vixen

Definitely lovin the feel of you, yours hands on me
Can feel my wetness secrete from deep in between
When you're not around I reminisce the whole scene
Often followed by an X rated dream

I know where my passions lie, what I wanna do
Can I just wrap my lips around the length of you
Make the muscles tighten from your neck to your toes dude
It's Virgo season and I wanna be a vixen for you

I'm perfect at the art of giving and I'm willing
To go down low, just imagine the feeling
Because no one would know, it would be thrilling
Your hands on my thigh has got my skin chilling

I can feel your sex coming out your pores
A look in your eyes that says you want more
I wanna do so many things with you behind closed doors
I wanna ride you slippery and wet until your dick gets sore

The Devil's Rapture

Contrary to popular belief

I am not, positively not, a thief

It happened before I met her

Was already surrendered to the swelter

The devil had swept me onto sheets

Could be carrying his anti

Nine months that can't lie

I say, "No, it's not yours!"

My check on his chess board

But why did I deny?

A sweet bundle with his pupils

Where the hell were my scruples?!

Still reminiscing those acts

A secret we kept as a pact

Possible siblings have quadrupled

His blaze calls out to me

Blinding fervor invisible with ease

My thigh burns from his touch

A feeling I sinfully miss so much

For whose will shall I please?

In The Thick Of It

So, there we were getting along

We listened to some music, sang a few songs

Drank a couple beers, inhibitions getting low

Both silently wondering how far this will go

Your girl isn't around, though she's nice

This chemistry is hot, sweet and spiced

Your touch vibrates through me like an echo in space

I dreamed a kiss, opened eyes to see your face

Natural, it felt, to hold you in my palm

All night long I've lured with my charm

My body on alert sensing some sensual alarm

Before I could stop there was jizm on my arm

Your pleasure feeds me like hibernation to an epileptic

The rush of this forbidden feel keeps my thoughts hectic

I'm not all innocent, I actually expect it

This type of secret that ends with a medic

First Ride

You pulled up to my spot and asked if I wanted a ride.

Your vehicle was fully equipped and had a fresh paint job on its side.

When I was handed a helmet, I was afraid deep down inside.

But that motor bike made me show excitement I couldn't hide.

I slid on slowly atop of the seat.

It was so wide that I was cautiously on the tip toes of my feet.

As long and wild as it is, I refuse to admit defeat.

If I can withstand the ride, then I'll be in for a treat.

At first, you went slowly.

I was told to hold on because, how to ride, you'd show me.

My legs shook early on so you growled, "Just hold me!"

My head got light and I started to loosen up wholly.

You soon sped up, baby.

I knew exactly where you were trying to take me.

It seemed like your shot was always aimed at me.

So, I rode that muthafucka until the tank was empty.

To Those Bitten By Me

I spin around in circles
What a tangled web I weave
It's critically strategic
Some sort of trap I always leave

Why can't I be normal
Let bygones free to be
Is it that I want the world
To fall head over heels for me?

I just want you happy
Your whole life full of glee
I don't mean to interfere
Twos company becoming three

I can go on my way
Spin my web, leave you free
But I'll always be in your corner
You'll always be a part of me

Impromptu via Sleeplessness: My Knack for the Act

The throes of attraction are stronger than any gorilla glue

The thumping in my chest gets louder when I'm next to you

Instinct like an animal brings the scent of something deliciously new

It makes me want to know you, babe, and quite physically too

I can't hide the smile that naturally spreads across my cheeks

The stir in my belly when my name is said like sex when you speak

My contracting secrets are strong but my will seems weak

When your body's language is head strong in wet hide and seek

KING of HEARTS

The King of Hearts; how appropriate is that for you?

Now, a king may have many wives, but a successful king has only one queen.

I am an Ace of Spades in this game. Highly sought, am I, yet lying dormant until the time comes to trump every odd against me.

For you, though, I am content on taking on the role of queen. That is, as long as it isn't occupied. In that event, I will withdraw my standing and be an ace all on my own. One who knows no mercy nor seeks the companionship, courtship, of a king.

The way I play depends on the draw. At the moment, I'm in your hands. Will you have me? I'm not meant to be just a wife or labeled "other," I can only be queen or the unattainable ace.

Let me be the strongest card you hold in a deck with no jokers.. where nothing is wild.

Let's just talk a minute. My mind is on an imagination trip. I'm in need of dire assistance. I want you inside of me until you're knee deep in it. Hold on... let me finish. Run your fingers through my hair then pull it gently so I can feel it. Speak to me in your baritone and grow while you drill it. Wait. Lemme go change my panties. I
stay slippery wet during and between the times that you have me. Let your thickness expand me and when you beat my box beautifully, you're renowned my vigilante. I don't wear things that are scanty. Even in the homeliest attire you make me feel so fancy. I prefer you on the tip of my tongue like a name I wrack my brain to remember. And as the ember of your blunt glows in the dark, bitter breezes of December, we swelter. Furnace-like and slickened with sweat. I empty you out so well, you can hardly catch your breath.. but I'm not finished yet. You know I know your spots. Let my tongue agitate those places that get you oh so hot. At attention, yet again? Let me taste you until you drop.

Cancel Out The Non-Factor

I shook my head. 'Why?' he wonders. Hmm. The 13th still looms about me. It festers like an infected wound. Insult to injury. Being disrespected by words is easier to discuss; there's no conversion needed. In this case, his actions [or inaction] are what vex me most. Who was she? Why was it okay for her to be that close.. that comfortable? Is she a re-run or a current season? Forgive me, I will say, because I don't understand. I've never had to deal with this situation. It's difficult to solve this equation without all the variables. Is she [x], and if so [y]? The only constant is the [2] of us, right? I would hope that we're definite, infinite even. There's no room for the uncertain [x]. What is her value? How does she change our product? Let her not be the deciding factor that divides us. At the moment, she is the fuel that drives me to strive for our multiplication: dividends, love, joint success. Until I know, I will not rest.

My Mother's Mother

She had hair, jet black, that fell to her waist; even in her fifties, there were no greys in sight. She was stout, down-to-earth in stature, but she was largely grand.

In my mind's eye I see her gliding about town in all of her grace. The hushed gossip whizzing around her like mosquitoes in heat. She does not digress. No! She's the medicine woman, my mother's mother.

A natural practitioner of holistic healing, she gave me, us, our talents. God given and honorable are they, are we.

From the inside out she healed; so much so that it led to her own demise before I could lay eyes on such a woman. The one who birthed such an unforgettable, special woman.. Mom.. From my mother's mother.

"She was an alcoholic!" they said.

Was she? I don't think so. She was a healer. Yes, she drank. Drank in all of the spirits to heal herself of an invisible plague. To this day I wish I could've been there to heal her myself, but I was not yet concepted.

The look and feel of me, my aura, my healing comes from my mother. Where did she acquire such traits? My mother's mother.

I have a sickening sway in my hips that will make you dizzy if you're not careful and a latina flare that sparks when I speak. My face is more ethnic than foreign cuisine and my poise is more regal than the Eiffel and the tower in Rome that constantly leans.

If you know that I'm different and wonder where I'm from; if you see I'm gifted before we speak; if you appreciate me and all I have, then thank my mom and mother's mother.

There's nothing like a spur-of-the-moment cry. It's like a downpour in hundred-degree weather; you never even knew it was coming. The flood gates are, well, flooded and every bitter thing that has ever happened in your life comes thundering down. You wish the clouds will stay overcast and no one can see the streaks on your cheeks. Right now, the sunlight would be blinding and the last thing you want is for someone to ask if you're alright. That question will instantly tear at you and your feelings will betray you. A breakdown is imminent. You can only hope you're in bed alone at this point and that everyone is asleep. Your whimpers and muffled sobs and sniffles will alert anyone who is nearly awake. Yet, you can't stop. Sometimes the hurt just bursts out on its own. Now I know what a rain cloud feels like. Once it's empty, it's drained of the heaviness for now and is hollow; it's a cycle that can't be broken. It knows it will soon be full of evaporated sorrows, years of tears of others and self.. Tonight, it rained. Tomorrow will be clear, but I can foresee a 90% chance of showers in the near future. The cloud looms. All I want to know is who is willing to get wet?

Rude Awakening

I slowly chewed my banana-covered French toast while a slow hum betrayed me.

"Mmmm.."

I couldn't deny that it was delicious. I blinked rapidly to regain focus. It was as if I was waking finally. My palette was too.

"Thank you, baby. I needed this,"

I said to my daughter only to be met by a doe-like stare.

"Thank me, no, thank you, Mom. You cooked, not me."

My chewing slowed to a halt as a bulge of grits lay in my cheek. Did I cook?

I walked to the kitchen to clear my plate; suddenly, I wasn't hungry anymore. There were dishes washed, coffee made, and after-breakfast pots piled in the sink.

What the hell.

Mornings are my mortal enemy.

I walked deeper into the kitchen and turned on the radio.

"I'm going to take my shower, Mom,"

my daughter yelled out to me.

"Alright,"

I replied as I waited perched on the counter. The bathroom was humming with a steady stream of water as the CD player sprang to life.

"You will wake up early. You will make me breakfast. You will make french toast, Mom. You will feed me, oh, and give me twenty dollars."

The CD repeated the eerie chant. I blinked blankly at the brainwashing that I fell victim to. I turned to my FM station quickly. This was too much to handle!

"Mom,"

my conniving child called to me.

"I'm going out to the movies today. Can I have twenty dollars?"

She smiled sweetly as my mind and mouth differed in response.

"I don't have it."

Is all I came up with. My eyebrows furrowed in aggravation.

"Shit,"

I heard her mumble.

I smiled on the inside at her defeat. She couldn't have planned for that.

I walked away and went to run my own shower. I still needed to shake the hold she had on me. Realizing I'd left my coffee in the kitchen, I walked back to retrieve it.

"The damned CD didn't work!"

I heard my beloved say into the telephone receiver.

I walked back to the bathroom plotting tomorrow's revenge.

Chores galore for the mini-me who tricked me on a Saturday morning. I was rudely awakened from my much needed slumber, so why not return the favor?

Rags To Riches; Stitches of Passion

There's nothing like the feeling of feeling good. There's the feeling of ecstasy.. Longing.. Fulfillment. Then there's this feeling I have uncovered. Happiness.

Let me start by saying that it took me a long time to get where I am emotionally. I fell in love with me just recently; it had to be within the last few years or so because for so long, I was trying to be who I thought people would love.

I will get to the point shortly, I swear. Just bear with me..

I've been dealing with someone (on an exclusive basis, mind you) and I, for the most part, am a homebody. I prefer slippers and Chucks over stilettos and pumps; pajamas and granny panties over lacy things that are scanty. That's just me.

My guy, *Stretch, is always decked out in finesse. His six-foot-six, athletically-sculpted frame is always accentuated in style. Bottom line is: I'm a diamond in the rough and it's time for me to shine.

I went shopping today, yesterday, and last week. The majority of my purchases were small pieces, tight-fisted buys, but I decided to renew my passion for me.

Now, *Stretch did have a hand in this. Inadvertently, he showed me what his tastes are; classy and unmatched. I refuse to be looked at as a homely female walking with him. I look like his sister and not the woman he has chosen.

Keep in mind that he has never spoken ill of my style or lack there of. The "lack there of" only comes from lack of funds. Now that the funds are in order, it's time for me to let me shit on these bitches!

I started off subtlety. A nice pair of shorts here.. A pair of walking shoes there.. Today, I went hog-wild! I got three pairs of shoes, two of which were Chucks (old habits die hard), plenty of shirts and tanks, and they weren't my usual blue and black (except an important pair of royal-blue, low-top Chucks).

I got a few nigga-esque pieces.. Again, that's just me. I needed a new hoodie and some Polo-like shirts.

Although I consumed all of these things for me, I am guilty with a motive that cannot be proven (yet I confess). When *Stretch sees me, he will be more turned on and attracted to me than he already is. This, in turn, will increase my admiration for myself and solidify the fact that I do have a great sense of style.

I am partial to comfort, so I have leaned towards it as if it were a crutch. No more! My hispanic/West Indian ambiance is actually a series of curves that are admired even in my tomboyish attire. Why not live a little and step out of the drab?!

I suppose the thought of spending hard-earned money on clothes always scared me. I find that I am actually exited by it, enthralled by that euphoric feeling.

I conclude that maybe in some odd but honest way, my *Stretch is the one to thank. I love being the one he holds close, confides in, cherishes. What better way to do it than in style?

The thrills of passion have led me to this, I refuse to take blame. As I sit in my grandmama nightgown and fuzzy slippers, I am content. Once I get hooked on lingerie though, there will be no turning back.

I am hooked on feeling good and looking like it.

Watch what I do!

* Actual name has been substituted by a nickname

Ponder This

I sit here tipsy and think: she would love to feel my lips on hers. I want to hear her purr while I dive down deep in a face full of fur.

Sure, that's the old me, but I still get excited by a physique like hers. Everyone thinks I'm straight, but the irony is that my spine is curved.

I can only dream of it. Biting on her nipples, squeezing on her tits. I really want it for one night, what the fuck does love have to do with it?

Spread hips, lemme kiss, no one has to know about this. Mums the word, you ever heard (?), as far as we're concerned I'm deeply in love with dick.

I see you, passerby. You walk hand-in-hand with your guy. That's fine, you're sly. Hit me when he's out for the night.

Fornication, anticipation.. I can give you everything without commitment. Flicking the clit, you bite your lip, and reminisce every waking minute.

Stay real with me, we both get our bliss.. As sinful as it is.

I love short shorts..

I got dressed in my newest clothes; they fit better than my skin. No one could tell me shit! I couldn't wait for the party to begin.

I put on my most comfortable shoes; I was in the mood to dance. Not even my man could handle all the ass in these pants.

I walked in and the bass vibrated in my chest. I started to sway my baby-makers while keeping my eye out for the best. I dutty wine a few songs. Now I need a drink and to rest my barking dogs.

I took a sip of a punch. My vision isn't all that clear. I guess I had too damn much; I'm grinning from ear to ear.

Now shit's getting crazy. Hands all over me. Grabbing my ass, feeling on my pussy.. Why does it feel so good to me? In the mirror, I'm all I can see.

Oh, shit! I can't stop. I'm literally feeling myself. Straight up, off top, I please myself better than anybody else.

Always Love, Especially Xceptionally

Deep thrusts..
No trust..
I guess that's the way of the world

Love's lust..
Change with wind gusts..
Kinda how you run through girls

Never expected
To be disrespected
Give back what you receive

Times are hectic
Emotions redirected
Now you realize you want me

I needed you
To console me through
All of the great and the retched

You replaced old with new
Got trapped, I see you
Wish you could rewind and perfect it

I still feel more
Love and adore
Never fault you for your mistakes

It's no chore
Who you care for
I'll support you morally no matter how long it takes

Late Night Yearning

I just wanted what I've been waiting for. I wanted my folds to be invaded by your callused, hard-working hands. Admire my genes naked of my jeans.

Tease my "on" button, baby. Talk that taboo shit that we silently think in public. I want to hear it. It makes me wet. And encourage my fervor. My skin is damp with sweat.

Feel every curve of me; you can thank my mama later. Right now, my sense of touch is magnified. All cells awakened and exposed. My moans escape having a notion of their own. I couldn't contain it if I tried. The calm before the storm is so intoxicating that I just might cry.

I want you to fill me, feel me. My lower mouth salivating, yet my mouth is dry. My breath comes out in shudders. We say "fuck the covers" because all we want on this bed is each other.

"Fuck me!"

You heard right. No, I didn't stutter. But you tease. I'm pleased, but I want more. Let my cries be symphonic in this score. Your fingers invade the space your dick should be. My G-spot warns me. My clit throbs uncontrollably. I feel like I've got to pee.

My eyes shoot open and I realize it's all me. Yeah, you've fucked me in my dreams.

Back To The Basis..

My passion, the way I thrive, has been eluding me. It seems that those around me regard my art highly; I ask why, internally. I have dozens of notebooks scattered and long ago begotten. Half of what I've collectively scribed has long since been forgotten.

I realized my interest when my sister would write. It wasn't until a rewritten sex poem I did in middle school that I discovered the limelight. The rhythm, the rhyme, the dopamine was sublime. I cherished the feeling of making the boys congratulate me and hide their hard-ons at the same.. damn.. time.

I knew then that it was my calling, my talent, my niche. So, why do I get upset at fellow writers and secretly scorn said "bitch?" They do what I do, but sustain their confidence while I sit back and waste time reading other people's shit!

Fuck this, let's get rich!

Actually, I would rather be noted as a well-versed chick. Be amongst Eric Jerome, Sistah Souljah, Zane, and the "Flyy Girl" writ.. I don't envy, I appreciate, because many were bred for this. So, please, drop a line and let me know you read it.

Bitter Kisses of Success

I caught him staring at my prized pout. God, he loved my mouth! My luscious lips. Each time my pearly's bit down on them he grew at least another inch. Every smirk was a tantalizing effort to stiffen his emotions.. And dick.

I finally placed it in my palm. The exposed skin was smooth, feverish, (on my mind) NOM! He couldn't stand the anticipation of the first kiss. So, I puckered, a dewy bit, and rested these negotiators on his tip.

"Ooh, shit!"

Yeah, I smiled. I was definitely going to enjoy this.

With a tongue three inches wide I slid. It was slow down the shaft with extra pressure poised to his lid.

"Yessss," he hissed.

He watched from his spot in the sky. Wanting to get a much better view, he placed his hands firmly on both my decadent thighs. His frame more than towered over mine, but I knew I was in charge when I gazed in his eyes.

Thicker, throbbing, and more penetrating he became with my added motions. Dripping, quipping, and slick he panted from my throat-box ocean.

His swinging pair felt neglected, so I took them all in. I let my hand glide up his length and stopped at the tip to spin.

"Black Beauty goin' in!"

I juggled three things at once; his praise was my encouragement. I consumed and tasted, devoured and provoked until he came and was beyond spent.

Caused my grip to relent. He shook and spasmed as if he had nothing left. I spat and rinsed, alcohol and kids don't mix. He cleaned, pissed, zipped, but didn't leave without another kiss.

"Damn, I love your lips!"

Another. And another.

"Tonight, I want the ones between those thick ass hips!"