The Twenty Sixth Day…

…the day someone left and never came back (not death related)

I make me sick…these questions, man…~sigh~ lol

Welp, I’ve already spoken about my ex, my BFF from 5th grade, and since it can’t be death related (I’m a fucking genius)…I can’t think of someone.

*sighs and stares at screen for a while*

OH! I got it!!!

This chick…she was my best friend. I grew up with her. Told her EVERYTHING and never once betrayed her…or at least I didn’t feel like I did. I loved her like a sister…she was part of my soul. She was me but in another form. All I thought about most days was what else she and I could get into. NO amount of drama in my life or distance from her could turn me against her.

I mean, did I hang out with others? Yes. Of course. I had other friends. I had my friend who I sang with all the time…staying up until the wee hours of the morning whispering in the dark and falling asleep on her. I even had one who became my go to for sexy advice. She helped me broaden my sensual self and learn to be in touch with the full-fledged woman dwelling deep within me. I have my fun friend who brings out the artistic side of me…

but, I miss my first best friend. She left and didn’t return. She seems gone forever. I look at reminders of how good we used to be together and I find myself hurting at how abrupt her exit was. I wonder if we can make up…if I can apologize and have her come back so we could make it right. I don’t know. Maybe she was jealous of my other connections and felt some kinda way. I never meant to make her feel that way…I just thought she always knew I’d defer to her…always remember her as my best.

Here’s a poem my friend reminded me of tonight…it speaks volumes to my heart space right now.

LOST ART

i’ve never felt this helpless
lost to the art
and afar from the center
so estranged from inspiration
…i don’t want
every poem to be a non-poem
of poetic pain
a plea to the god of bards
to lift the weight
off of my pen…
i can’t tell if it’s due
to lack of paramour
or presence of apathy
either way,
i’ve never been here so long
it just doesn’t feel like me

not only are poems stilled
and erotica chilled…
books won’t bind
stories won’t end
things begin…
and end again against my will
when i see works
of fellow quills
i burn with envy
for my own passions
to be fulfilled
…i can barely read
the scribes of others
while my own muse’s heat
is snuffed and smothered

i feel as if this helplessness
can’t be helped
…and just when,
think i’ve missed it
i shrug with indifference
and nestle comfortably in it
i wallow in silence
i slop in muddled thoughts
an eerie acceptance
of aimlessness and loss

i count the pieces of me
that have broken and been cast away
all of the events remembered
like white noise on repeated play
and i know
that somewhere adrift
are the words
that escaped to be free
traipsing hand in hand
refugees…
overjoyed and over me

maybe they’re in Tahiti
on my dream escapade
tanning, swimming and floating
basking in French Polynesian rays
i might be able to locate
a few in the family i never made
or took up with another poet,
spoken words on a stage
it’s possible,
they grew wings
and became angels
with “mi abuela”
love
peace
bliss
all fitted with little halos
some stuffed in a box
interlaced around a ring
or maybe they’ve become lyrics…
waiting for me to sing

i just wish i didn’t feel strange
a stranger to it all
i want to find my place again
i want to do it all
i want poetry
and novels
and erotica
and blogs
i want it easy
like it once was
before this overcast of fog
find me…
return to me,
i miss my inner bard
i want words, stanzas and depth again…
i want to find my heart

Words on Wings © 2010

Just know…I miss you my Muse…My Poetry. I hope you read this and don’t stay gone. Novels, Music and Erotica could never take your place. I love you. I miss you. I need you.

~*thank you Renee…you showed me…well ME*~ ❤

The Eighth Day…

…a day you realized what you wanted to do/be

I know you guys are gonna laugh at me…but, when I was about 7 or 8, my mom asked me what I wanted to be. I told her a………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….clown. LOL

I didn’t REALLY want to be a clown, but I loved McDonald’s and I loved Ronald. I might’ve been craving some Mickey D’s…I don’t know. lol

The truth is…when I was younger I used to want to be a counselor. Perhaps even at 12, it seemed my job was to listen to my friends’ problems. “What kinda problems can a 12yr old have?” you ask.

“My mother hates me…”

“I can’t stand my siblings!!”

“Why doesn’t he like me?”

Yea…seems small, but in a tween’s world…that’s everything. I love being there for my friends and figuring out ways to cheer them up. I wanted to do that because it never dawned on me to take my writing and build on it.

Writing was such second nature mechanics to me. It was like air, eating, taking showers…I wrote everything down and in detail. Journals, letters, and sketched stories were the ways I expressed myself. I could articulate how hurt I was, how angry I was…far better with a letter than an actual conversation. Poetry and even song lyrics began to fill my notebooks and I never once thought of doing it for a living….

I did consider teaching. I loved bringing knowledge to people. It was like offering water in a bottomless goblet of enrichment. I would take my small (not pocket) dictionary everywhere. It was riddled with lines. Squiggly red, blue, green, circles. My favorite things were color coded. Everything one color…flowers, the Greek alphabet, names for fairies, states, and synonyms for everyday words…all beautifully highlighted. My ex saw my dictionary one day and said, “Wow, baby…I’ve never seen anyone treat a dictionary like a regular book the way you do…”

Still, I found all kinds of interests. Did I want to be a fashion designer? I drew all of the time and often played with the idea of style. Did I want to be a gemologist? I loved jewelry and stones. Did I want to be a chef? I love to cook and could totally cater. Did I want to sing? NO. I CAN sing…my ass off, even…but that was never my dream. Too shy for stage displays.

Finally, right before settling into what I KNOW…writing…I had a temporary yen to be an event planner. I wanted to plan weddings and everything fabulous! My sister and I had even recruited a friend to be a partner for a short time in what we called “Pretty Pleased”. We researched, held bi-weekly meetings and did group assignments to acclimate ourselves to the world of planning on a budget. That fell through and left me listless for a bit.

…then I wrote my book. “Twisted Heart”. What began as a way to stay occupied during the day, morphed into a full-on novel of the suspense-drama-thriller kind. I started that book one day back in 2005 and now here I am…8 years later…and still clutching to it like an overprotective mother.

I’ll release her soon…she needs to be set free. Even if only for the sensation of having let go. I have also embraced my art in another way through Fancy Face Kreations…both art and writing have always held core spaces in my soul…it was only a matter of time before they bubbled up and introduced themselves. lol

i art love

i conceived it
formed from hopes
fused with promise
mated in bliss
it grew…quickly
strongly
tumbling inside of me
kicking to be acknowledged
tugging on me to feed
absorbing my inhale
making me feel purposed
i rubbed on it
cosseting my seed
watering it with tears
lending my breast to it’s needs
whispering affirmation of life
conditioning it to spring forth
healthily
wholly…a perfected version
of me
my heart
and love’s sweetness
it burst through a small space
a ray of shine
through a dark place
barren from heart’s burn
yet,
the miracle of artistic life
was divinely born to me
refusing to be denied
casting it’s soul through me
manifesting to be held
i art love…
i birthed it
captured it with a stroke of love
brushing it’s lovely reds and mediocre blues
golden yellows and muted hues
against walls structured
to be home where i nurse it…
cursing at times my ability to rear it
but refusing not to be near it
forever tied
thee that i love
art…

Um, yea…

…not much in the blogging mood so I’m just gonna leave you with a song, a poem and a piece of art.
I love Faith Evans…and this song is one of those songs that if you catch me in a certain mood, I’ll end up crying while singing. *getting choked up* This and “Reasons” just get me…

Until You Came – Faith Evans

I love poetry. I AM poetry and music. On any given day, I awake to one or the other…or both, shining rays of artistic shine on me. I sing in my sleep…oh yes I do…and poetry lives so deeply within, that I honestly believe that my picture should be next to the word in the dictionary. Anywho…I love this poem by Nikki Giovanni…”The Kidnap Poem”

ever been kidnapped
by a poet
if i were a poet
i’d kidnap you
put you in my phrases and meter
you to jones beach
or maybe coney island
or maybe just to my house
lyric you in lilacs
dash you in the rain
blend into the beach
to complement my see
play the lyre for you
ode you with my love song
anything to win you
wrap you in the red Black green
show you off to mama
yeah if i were a poet i’d 
kidnap you

Behind, writing, music, and cooking…I wish I’d painted. I love the concept of a mental picture playing out through loose colors and blurred lines. When looking for a piece of art to post here…I literally gasped and then teared up at the sight of all the impressionist paintings that came up. Wow. How beautiful are the colors? Anyway…here’s something that walked up, introduced itself and came right into my spirit…Something about scenery. I picture me being the eyes viewing this. A blanket underneath me, a breeze and air cascading effortlessly in and out of me. It’s a daydreamer’s thing, I guess. lol

Take the song…the poem…and the art…and breathe in some beauty for me. Happy Thanksgiving/Holidays to you all and be safe and blessed.

*um, did I blog again without knowing it?* LOL