?

Log in

Previous 10

Sep. 20th, 2007

relaxation

(no subject)

Sooo ridiculous, I am in love, in hate, in anger and peace
all at the same time

Everyone wants me to talk but no one wants to listen.

Interpreting my anger as personal incites of their inadeqecies.

Look leave me the Fuck alone I'm strugglin in love in life in decisions and I'm not concerned with how I make you feel right now.

Aug. 13th, 2007

relaxation

welcome back

Life is a downward spiral,
where people falsely smile parading themselves happy
while small pieces of them die inside.

I am not happy,
I am tormented with my iniquity
I am tormented by my lack of iniquity
Finding no solace in false smiles
and pretend person inquiries

My stomach turns with every false emotion
I think I have social rot-gut
suffering from lack of interest.
fighting with the urge to tell you to leave me the fuck alone
and your everyday run of the mill hey how are you.

Bankrupt of any emotional jargon, that might give you the idea that I care
I don't care
You don't care
So let's stop pretending.

I'm enduring too much to care how you see me
fighting too much to wonder if I'm liked
struggling too much to be concerned whether we're friends

So step off or accept my apology if I offended,

Oh and take your heart from your sleeve,

May. 1st, 2007

relaxation

~~~ A Note~~~

Es oficial. ¡Mi madre jode loco!

Apr. 29th, 2007

screaming

a 25dollar argument

Mother's

They are the wonderful women who ultimately decided to bear us. The wonderful people that form our identities. The wonderful women that are destined to drive us fucking crazy our entire lives until we finally die!!! They call us selfish because we don't call every waking moment of our lives, they call us selfish if we don't divulge our lives, they call us selfish for having a life other than t5he one they have for us and then ONLY WHEN WE OBEY THEM!!! Are we considered good children

Yeah thanks for screwing up my night and Father forgive me for such thoughts.

Apr. 13th, 2007

relaxation

(no subject)

I drink backwards they'd said,
unkempt hair with unkempt smile gleaming beautiful
that's right I'm beautiful because of my attempt to be more
than what the word expects.
So I decided from that moment on
to stop lying in poems,
stop fabricating stories of self worth illuminated by the twinkles in their eyes.
I decided to adopt my voice in poetry never being ashamed to be honest again,
Whether drinking from the cup of life backwards or revealing the truth in lies
I decided to be afraid of only oblivion regarding my views,
giving even that bitch a guaranteed run for her money.
Dead set in releasing my load upon the world, without inhibition or regard for judgment, nor down trodden looks
because let's be honest, she'd give 'em to me anyways
So I've decided that hiding my voice, my words, my burlesque song
from pretnding virginal ears only binds my bowels causing the vomitious bullshit to spew from my lips,
And my tongue hasn't yet accustomed to the taste of bullshit residue,
so
I'll leave that to the love talkers.
Since as far as I'm concerned love = bullshit anyways
Ultimately concluding that I will never box my lips nor censor my words through down ward glances again.
because really who can judge?,
and why the fuck do I care?
Since the man-lamb has not yet come secondly
wearing run-down Adidas and caring his cardboard house.
Hair riddled with mange and memories of happier days in paradise, before a father decided that he would no longer speak to him unless he sacrificed all he was being instructed to.
Aimlessly walking the streets to find examples of love that extend past the physical, destined to burn us all for such selfish natures.
So judge on judge all, smirk, frown, cuss, when I speak since we're all gonna burn anyway your judgment doesn't mean shit

Apr. 12th, 2007

relaxation

(no subject)



SELF PRESERVATION
Blushed cheeks on black woman scream embarrassment,
And I scream, inner confidence shattered by my own thoughts.
Thoughts of self, questioning self, wondering if self preservation really offers life’s security.
I’ve held on to my essence, keeping true hurts hidden to ensure he would never manipulate my pain.
Quietly amusing him, his muse for life’s work, keeping my true inhibitions inhibited, hoping he didn’t notice my coy smile.
And now seeing his jubilance with another scars me more than his coarse words ever did, as rouge plays with my cheeks and neck so thick, making even the best make-up artist envious of the true nature of God.
Self preservation serving its purpose of incurring distance between us, But still I keep wondering if security can be gained.
As his life becomes my life more through admirable pain than love
And his thoughts my thoughts, visions to try and regain his trust
Never offering an explanation for my own reservations until he turns away. Then I wonder if the truth of my fears should’ve been offered as I realize solace is obtained best in another’s arms.
Another’s arms
Another’s hands where I still perpetuate the same things.
The same questions of trust
The same methods of manipulation the same
Thoughts of hurt and pain being revealed to only my reflection, hoping a different outcome will ensue, though knowing that this is the true definition of insanity.
So I, insanely embarrassed by my own shattered confidence, smile swallowing my pain and bitter questions with retorts and accolades of changed relationships. Assuring this heart foe, that my words speak true of my emotions. Though already destining him to become a phrase in a poem that I’ll never forget. Since senility can never fully rob of us of our entire lives.
I contemplate his eyes once more before turning away, wondering if self preservation is really all it’s cracked up to be, since by hiding me yes I protected me but have ended up losing.

Apr. 11th, 2007

relaxation

For the thieving one I let steal



SELF PRESERVATION
Blushed cheeks on black woman scream embarrassment,
And I scream, inner confidence shattered by my own thoughts.
Thoughts of self, questioning self, wondering if self preservation really offers life’s security.
I’ve held on to my essence, keeping true hurts hidden to ensure he would never manipulate my pain.
Quietly amusing him, his muse for life’s work, keeping my true inhibitions inhibited, hoping he didn’t notice my coy smile.
And now seeing his jubilance with another scars me more than his coarse words ever did, as rouge plays with my cheeks and neck so thick, making even the best make-up artist envious of the true nature of God.
Self preservation serving its purpose of incurring distance between us, But still I keep wondering if security can be gained.
As his life becomes my life more through admirable pain than love
And his thoughts my thoughts, visions to try and regain his trust
Never offering an explanation for my own reservations until he turns away. Then I wonder if the truth of my fears should’ve been offered as I realize solace is obtained best in another’s arms.
Another’s arms
Another’s hands where I still perpetuate the same things.
The same questions of trust
The same methods of manipulation the same
Thoughts of hurt and pain being revealed to only my reflection, hoping a different outcome will ensue, though knowing that this is the true definition of insanity.
So I, insanely embarrassed by my own shattered confidence, smile swallowing my pain and bitter questions with retorts and accolades of changed relationships. Assuring this heart foe, that my words speak true of my emotions. Though already destining him to become a phrase in a poem that I’ll never forget. Since senility can never fully rob of us of our entire lives.
I contemplate his eyes once more before turning away, wondering if self preservation is really all it’s cracked up to be, since by hiding me yes I protected me but have ended up losing.

Apr. 9th, 2007

relaxation

Youwork!!Ithoughttherewasnopayforsomeoneofyourexpertise

Since God, to you is found in the pockets of men, I now understand your condescension and your many.......... cock descriptions

Since religion is practiced by you through the eyes of others, Billy Graham and Benny Hinn include I can now understand your impotence........ mental??? or no.......

whether from fear of rejection resulting life's evident disfigurement, or from pain regarding the last male castration. Since they cut too. I understand

Self-loathing accompanies wet dreams and wet monitor screens where you have profected the art of one handed typing. Not with my pieces, where you remember the thrill of debate

But yet and still you interfere with others, becoming hungrily voyaristic of more exuberantnt lives left for your tentative manipulation, questioning why your existence must be so foricibly chaste

I understand,
don't admonish,
and pray


So Don't Fuck with my rainbow, my view is still uncorrupt.

Blessings
relaxation

For the Resurrection

The Message (MSG)Interpretation


Isaiah 53
1 Who believes what we've heard and seen? Who would have thought God's saving power would look like this?
2-6The servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling,
a scrubby plant in a parched field.
There was nothing attractive about him,
nothing to cause us to take a second look.
He was looked down on and passed over,
a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand.
One look at him and people turned away.
We looked down on him, thought he was scum.
But the fact is, it was our pains he carried—
our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on himself,
that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him,
that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole.
Through his bruises we get healed.
We're all like sheep who've wandered off and gotten lost.
We've all done our own thing, gone our own way.
And God has piled all our sins, everything we've done wrong,
on him, on him.

7-9He was beaten, he was tortured,
but he didn't say a word.
Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered
and like a sheep being sheared,
he took it all in silence.
Justice miscarried, and he was led off—
and did anyone really know what was happening?
He died without a thought for his own welfare,
beaten bloody for the sins of my people.
They buried him with the wicked,
threw him in a grave with a rich man,
Even though he'd never hurt a soul
or said one word that wasn't true.

10Still, it's what God had in mind all along,
to crush him with pain.
The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin
so that he'd see life come from it—life, life, and more life.
And God's plan will deeply prosper through him.

11-12Out of that terrible travail of soul,
he'll see that it's worth it and be glad he did it.
Through what he experienced, my righteous one, my servant,
will make many "righteous ones,"
as he himself carries the burden of their sins.
Therefore I'll reward him extravagantly—
the best of everything, the highest honors—
Because he looked death in the face and didn't flinch,
because he embraced the company of the lowest.
He took on his own shoulders the sin of the many,
he took up the cause of all the black sheep.

Apr. 8th, 2007

relaxation

"Staceyann Chin" I don't want to slam




I've decided
I don't want to be a poet who writes for the slam anymore

I want to stop writing poor excuses for poems,
that do nothing but, stroke my ego
and fool the crowds into thinking my bucking and screaming was actually their orgasm

I don't want to be a poet that writes to slam anymore

I don't want to join the staged revolution
don't want to be a part of some spot light slamming solutions
don't want to go to Austin or Chicago simply because I believe I have the
rapidly moving metaphors smashing off the Nuyorican walls, or
similies like a silver bullet bee-lining for the finals on a balloon filled with nothing but hot air, making the room smell like a fart that somebody should have said excuse me for..

I don't want to just slam anymore

I don't want to sit, in smoke-filled rooms
listening to women who rhyme, creating lyrics that rock
making sure they fit within the confines of some judges ticking clock
smiling with faces I've only ever seen
on the corner of old Slam Nation flyers,
trying to get them to tell me,
how to record that first CD
how to really work that crowd
how to fuck those hard to please judges, so that I can give birth to a bastard 10

I'm tired of igniting blazes on the mic
pimping poems about my private life
sipping ice teas over superlatives
eating spring rolls over hyperbole's
juxtapositioning myself in vegetarian cafes in between guys with funny sounding names
Like Guy(Gee) Procole and Dot
hoping some of what makes them real poets, will rub off on a pretender like me

Cause see
I want to be like them when
I finally grow up
because I've watched them
rewrite stolen histories in breath-taking three minute pieces
doing only honest performances
so that everytime they go on,
they kick a poem with heart
fighting the fan-fare of this slamming pseudo-revolution
changing the world one poem at a time
So Now
since I've actually been a poet
been romantic
and been poor
I don't want to be just a slam poet anymore

No Today I want to write from a place where I can change lives and changes peoples and change places
cross over boundaries between cultures, and sexes, and races
paint the sky deep red instead of boring blue
write down the true histories between me and you
crawl so deep within the lines of every poem I write
I want to talk about the stars as if I was the night, Tonight I want to be so intimate with my muse Hell I want to bed the woman
I want to have her so close she gets up in side me
so that when I am asleep she can rouse me
NO!!!
I want her to arouse me
to have her way with me, to have her play with me
so that when I wake up
I will be inspired to write only honest poems
Poems about grandmothers and babies and truth
poems that don't care about the meter or the rhyme
poems that couldn't really give a flying fuck about the time
poems that can not sit in any squares of any chart
poems that are written in blood flowing straight from the heart

I want to write
I left my lover and now I want her back poems
I miss Jamaica, but I'm never going back poems
I know it's not a 10 but it sends shivers down my back poems
Poems that talk about life and love and laughter
poems that reveal the flaws that make up strikingly real people
REAL POEMS
Poems so honest...
They slam


I have to memorize this poem for a performance later on this month and I must say that I wrote this from memory, I only pray I do miss Chin's work justice.
The funniest thing is though when you memorize a poem you never loose it. The world can never take it form you. Certain phrases or images strike in your mind immediately and just like that the words flow. I think that's beautiful. And it got me to thinking.... how come I can memorize other bodies of work (ie. the bible) as easily.
Anyways I'm going to rock this piece out this week. And all who know me are invited to come hear the sounds accompanying such a marvelous piece of writing.
Another funny thing the poet that chose the piece as well as the one reciting felt that my works mirrored hers. and I have written and performed a body of work called "The Great Slam Poet" after memorizing hers, I wanted nothing more than to perform the two pieces side by side one day. Hopefully it will be in the audience of one Ms. Staceyann Chin

Blessings

Previous 10