Scentsation

That scent that your body makes

Not the one that you spray on

It makes me strong and want to

Grab on to you and hold you close

And make the most of the nights we

Share lying there in our underwear…or less

If that’s what we want, when we want it

Have to have it, long to grab it and lay close

And breathe deep…and fight sleep…and make heat

With one beat of our hearts and one touch of our skin

The one bed we lay in melds to our form; the form that

We form from being one from the rise of the Sun

To the end of the day, into night

We’ll sleep tight and breathe deep

The scent that our love makes

When we make love and are in love

And can feel love and smell love float

From my nose to your nose

Like the scent of a fresh rose

When the wind blows and now

Who knows where this scent will take us...

Beyond you and me into ecstasy

Where we both can be still and in it...our scent.

A Whole Lot of Nothing

The day after an election, nothing happens. And the next day, nothing happens. And a week from now, nothing will have happened. And a month from now, nothing will have happened. And a year from now, nothing will have happened. And in the next election year something will happen...we'll have another election.

Politicians may change; they get elected, they waste time in office, they make promises they cannot or have no intentions to keep; they get old, they get comfy like your favorite Lazy Boy chair; sometimes they get thrown out of office and sometimes they die in it but really...nothing happens.

But in the next election year you'll convince yourself like every abused human does that this time will be different; this time you'll choose wisely and vote smarter and this guy won't be like the last. He'll care about you and won't hurt you the way others before him have hurt you.

And the day after the election, nothing will happen. And the next day nothing will happen. And a week later, nothing will have happened. And a year later, nothing will have happened. But I guess when you're used to being abused, a slap in the face is, well...nothing.

Sweetest Day History and Facts

FYI: This so-called Hallmark holiday is coming up soon. Get the facts here before celebrating or choosing your "Sweetie". Choose wisely my friends.

Sweetest Day History and Facts

Gertrude and Alice

Open your baby blues

And see what lies in front of you

Art far more beautiful

Than in your dreams you view

Greens and blacks

Periods of blue

Deep red of rose

In a crimson hue

If you look close enough

It may be possible to see

A hint of Pablo Picasso

Or of Salvador Dali

Looking closer still

Beyond the paint

And on through time

You'll see that in each picture

There is love in every line

In every line of prose

And each poem that I write

I infer all my love for you

And what my life is like

Now that my days

Are spent with you

And I can see your face

My words can now reach further

Than the bounds of time and space

Sweet and gentle caretaker

Of my body, heart and soul

In you I've found a warmth

That bears the bitter cold

Through all we do together

And the secrets that we share

We show our true compassion

And ability to care

I've found a love

That's more than love

A love that will go on

Long after all remembrances

Of me are surely gone

My lovely rose

My red, red rose

So beautiful in hue

We'll change the world with passion

From us they'll take their cue

The Psychological Answer to What’s Wrong with Me

Erik Erikson's stages of identity formation offer some insight into the problems of identity formation or psychosexual development.[11] In adolescence, a child may be concerned with how he appears to others, compared to how he feels about himself. That is, his social identity and personal or ego identity may seem at odds. In this stage, there is a danger of "role diffusion" or doubt about one's sexual identity, which adolescents may seek to avoid by over-identifying with a person of the same or opposite sex, by having a "crush" or "falling in love." This response is "an attempt to arrive at a definition of one's identity by projecting one's diffuse ego images" onto another and "seeing them thus reflected and gradually clarified" (Childhood 228). In young adulthood, when one is faced with the social expectation of courtship and marriage, such "role diffusion" may become a fear of ego loss through self-abandon (i.e., intimacy), and may lead to a deep sense of isolation and, ultimately, self-absorption. A normal adult eventually learns to "lose himself' in sexuality and friendship without the fear of being "engulfed." Where these attempts at intimacy fail, however, the result, in maturity, may be a regression to "individual stagnation," "interpersonal impoverishment," and an obsessive need for "pseudo-intimacy" (Childhood 231).

The New Girl

Trying something new

new to me and new to you

opening our eyes

and spreading our thighs

and making love only in our minds

Minding our manners

and keeping our feelings in check

but yet, not...but trying

and sighing and dying a little inside

from how hard we've tried

Trying something new

new for me and not for you

watching football games

and acting like total lames

locking lips in parked cars like we're young

Thinking young

and acting young

smiling with our eyes as we dine

and sip wine at a romantic dinner for two...

Two pink lips

Two full hips

Two bright eyes to make my blood rise

One beautiful smile that could light the Mag Mile

One fresh, amazing feeling inside...new

Touch

There's something about the way you...

Whenever I see you I want to...

And when you are near me I have to...

And when you...

And when I...

And when we...

You send these shivers all down me...

And when I'm with you, can't help but...

My hands reach toward you, they have to...

And when you...

And when I...

And when we...

The form of your body makes me want to...

The scent off your skin draws me in to...

Your lips have entreated me to...

And when you...

And when I...

And when we...

That One Mood...You Know the One

Sometimes this wave of emotion takes over me and stops me in my tracks; I can't move. I am breathless and still sometimes for several moments. In this frozen state, I am acutely aware of the fact that I am lonely; not lonely as in alone but lonely in the sense that I am not with you. I'd rather be with you. I want and need to be with you and I don't want to live without you.

Often times, my eyes well up with tears at the thought that I can't be with you and I am doomed to live my life alone because I don't want to be with anyone else. I must learn to live in your absence and breathe through these moments and suffer with the memories of you...and us...and love...but it's hard.

Killing Time

Can't remember if I showered today

but I do recall making love to you in

the shower, going down on you in the tub,

feeling clean and yet so dirty

with every lick and every rub

Can't remember if I ate today

but I do recall eating dinner at

our favorite place, drinking wine and

leaving early and your sweet kisses every place

Can't remember if I slept today

but I do recall sleeping with you

in your bed, on your couch, or any place

you'd lay your head

Can't remember if I lived today

but I recall living every moment

in your shadow, carrying on like you

were mine, thinking I was oh so lucky

guess that you were killing time

Death Wish

Wake me when the pain is gone
when I cannot feel, or breathe, or stand
when life can be lived from the comfort
and solitude of my mind and...
I am alone

Alone with myself in the confines of this worthless body
that, although it may be appealing to others, is a shell
of which I'd gladly rid myself and continue on as a naked soul
among the dead

The dead don't judge, can't judge
have neither voice nor sight with which to judge
and therefore I am safe to be nude, to be careless
to be free

Freedom, true freedom, I am convinced, comes only in death
so that, dear friends is where I'd like to exist
Uninhibited, unabashed, indisputably and
unmistakeably me

Amor Platonico

Recently, a friend text me, "you and __ have been roommates for a long time. have any of your past relationships ever been insecure or question that relationship?" I get this question in various forms all the time so I thought that I would address it.

First of all, I should clarify a few things. Yes, he is a heterosexual male and I am a bisexual female. We've known each other for about eight years. We met while working together, got along right away and have been friends ever since. We've lived together for about three years now and No, nothing has ever happened between us romantically. I sleep in my room and he sleeps in his room except for nights when I fall asleep on the couch or when one of us doesn't come home.

I think that we've been able to live together this long because we have more than a few things in common. We hate being cold so the air conditioner stays off for most of the Summer and we keep it at about 80 degrees during the Winter. We're both a little messy and we're both night owls. We're both very social and like to go out and have fun. I cook and he eats...and he does the dishes which I appreciate because I hate doing them. I'm a little bit of a princess in that I've probably taken out the garbage all of 5 times since I started living here and I'm really only responsible for my room . But, trust me, he eats very well.

We're roommates and as such we give each other fashion tips before heading out for the evening, have late night chats about dating, mating and relating and vent to each other about work and family annoyances.

I answered my friend's question by simply stating that it may have been an issue initially but if that person was around us long enough to see how we are with one another, then they'd realize that we're really nothing more than very good friends.

In truth, I think that it has been more of an issue for him to have me here and have to explain why and how he lives with an attractive, young woman than for me to explain why and how I live with an attractive, young man. On occasion, I've come home to find my bedroom door closed; a dead giveaway that he's had "new" company--a girl that doesn't yet know about me. However, he's never once complained or asked me to leave. In a way, having me here helps him weed out the insecure ones and his presence does the same to help me.

In conclusion, I can't say that platonic relationships work for everyone but ours works for us. He really is the little, older brother that I never really wanted. We have our moments when we disagree but for the most part things work out just fine.

One of the Boys

For as long as I can remember I've just been one of the boys. I was one of those little girls whose family thought she'd be permanently scarred for life because I was always climbing and falling out of trees and hopping fences. I stayed cut up, bruised, scraped and usually bleeding from some injury that resulted from an outdoor activity that I insisted on performing on pavement instead of in the grass where the worst thing I could get was a few green stains and dirt that could easily be washed away.

My great aunt told me once that I'd never be a super model with scars like that on my knees. I didn't much care because I really wanted to be a tennis player or invent my own sport at which only my best friend Mario and I were good. I wanted the tree house in the yard where no girls were allowed--except me of course. And although I spent hours carefully dressing, bathing and braiding the hair of every doll I owned, as soon as I hit the yard, I was a different child. You couldn't tell me that I could do something or go somewhere because I was a girl because there was absolutely nothing that I couldn't do. I didn't care if I got hurt or my hair got messed up as long as I was included in the fun.

Today, things have changed physically but the inside remains the same. I've wiped the dirt from my face, covered my scars with makeup and voluntarily wear dresses on occasion. However, I'm still more comfortable hanging with my guys. I trust them and, in a weird way, I depend on them during times when I feel like I can't depend on anyone else. They make me laugh, they've wiped my tears, they've protected me from less trustworthy men and they've given me the kind of advice that women can't because of how little we understand men.

If you ever have the privilege of walking into a club with me and you notice that I hug and kiss damn near every guy in there, please don't assume the worst. Know for a fact that I'm friends with almost each and every one of them and be as honored as I am just to be in their presence.

To all my boys, I love you and to all my girls who don't know what it's like to be one of the boys, I pity you because you'll never understand.

The EX-it File: The House of Jaded Women

I didn't want to believe that one person in a loving relationship could really love the other person more than the other person loved them. Apparently, I was wrong; I was too blind to see that I was loving more and harder and unconditionally. But, I guess I should have known because that's what I do. I love hard and without restraint or condition because that's the way I want to be loved. I put out what I hope to get back and although it has never actually worked for me--at least not for very long--I have resignations about changing my strategy for fear it will change me.

It's becoming increasingly more difficult to let go and give myself over completely to someone. What's funny is that I was just talking recently about this phenomenon with some friends. See if you can relate:

Ever notice that a woman is most open to being in love when she's in her early twenties? By the age of twenty-five things begin to change and by twenty-seven she is so jaded that it is highly likely that she will either end up single for the rest of her life or married for the wrong reasons.

In Black America, it is difficult to find a twenty-seven year old woman that is single with no children and finding a SBF with no children that isn't completely jaded because of numerous failed relationships is even harder. Women at that age are less trusting, more independent, and carry emotional scar tissue all for good reason. They trust less and expect less because having high expectations sets them up for a let-down; they're more independent because depending on another person puts them in a vulnerable situation and often opens them up to the possibility of having to deal with financial challenges when the relationship ends.; they wear emotional scar tissue like battle armor to protect themselves from getting hurt yet again.

I am quickly approaching this profound Age of Jade and, at this point, wholeheartedly agree that marriage no longer appears to be an option and love is becoming the biggest cosmic joke ever told. I'm contemplating the possibility of being one of those successful, independent women that has the house, car and dog and just needs to add carefully chosen sperm to the old oven and bake for nine months in order to have everything that I want out of life. I still have a little time to believe that maybe--just maybe--I want to share all of that with someone special but once I hit the big "2-7" I may just accept my membership card into the House of Jaded Women.

Sirena

It is my curse that keeps me so sad...

My blessing is that my hair will never gray, my face will never wrinkle, my eyes will never lose their sparkle, my hands will never wither and my body will forever be able to move like that of a young woman. But, I will never be loved the way I love. No one knows or can give love the way I can and do.

Eternal unhappiness and immortal beauty. People will look at me and admire me for my beauty. Men will promise me the world because of my looks but none will ever see beyond the skin covering all the love inside. That is my curse. That is what I must live with for all time. I must watch my friends and lovers die again and again and somehow manage to love again tomorrow.

Displacement

anywhere but here

in a galaxy far, far away

once upon a time

in a kingdom by the sea

deep in the dense wood

in the open air at night

on a ship tossed on the water

under a full moon

in an exotic locale

on the outskirts of the city

in the heat of the night

under extreme duress...

I married my second choice

Love's Jackknife

I didn't know what to think

I didn't know what to say

...but my heart did

I didn't think that you saw me

I didn't feel like you felt me

I didn't say that you'd like me

...but your heart did

We didn't know what to think

We didn't know how to feel

We didn't know what to say

...but our hearts did

We really don't care what they think

They really don't know how we feel

We didn't hear love come our way

...but our hearts did

Moan

Fix your ponytail one more time
Unnecessarily beautiful girl.

Move it up and down
Seductively like you always do.

Is it inappropriate to notice you
The way I do?
I don't care.

Does the boy next to me,
Longing to get my attention,
Realize that I am looking past him
To the gorgeous girl across the room?
I don't care.

Should I be paying more attention
To the lecture instead of wasting
My mind fantasizing about tugging
On her lovely locks in an act of erotic expression?
I don't care.

I'm entranced by her eyes;
I'm bewitched by her body;
I want her in ways that I cannot express in words.

Moans! Moans!
The only way I can vocalize how I want her
Is through moans;

Loud, guttural, unearthly sounding moans
That make the walls quake
Like a sinner experiencing the wrath of God.

They shatter light fixtures and crumble statues
That once held the world's idea of the ideal,
Beautiful body.

Noise that makes male and female
Shrieks of terror sound one in the same;

My moans of expression;
My feelings for her;
My longing and needing and wanting of her.

She rises to exit the room and I realize
Class is over.
I never heard the end of the lecture.

I watch.
I watch her walk;
I watch her talk;

I want.
I want her;
I want her to walk;
I want her to walk toward me;

I watch her and want her to walk
Toward me;
I want to hear her talk;
I watch her and want her to walk
Toward me and talk to me.

I watch her and want her to walk
Toward me and talk to me and
Want me.

I want her to walk toward me
And talk to me
And moan with me

I watch her and want her
To moan with me and
Want me, too.

Muse

Making love to you
Is my inspiration
To continue writing
And to love you more

Pin me up against
The wall again
And hold me there
So I can think

While you’re fulfilling
My dreams of being with you
My mind writes
Your movements into prose

It’s thinking lyrics
Into my motions
And learning brand
New songs to sing

It’s hitting notes
That once it couldn’t
And holding them there
As I am held

I’m coming down now
We’re laying down now
And on the floor
The chorus flows

It pools beneath us
And it surrounds us
A new line’s started
When will it end?

With one more stanza
A climactic ending
You leave me wordless
And that’s okay

The joy of writing
Is in love making
And neither can I
Do all alone
The song has ended
But it’s been written
We can replay it
Or write again.

The Personification of Sweat Part IV: The Final Heat

That last time we made love,

you remember, in the parking

lot of the church that night

creating sin in the most

sacred of spots.

Sinfully sliding one on top

of the other sending steam

rushing this way and that,

fogging up the windows,

creating our own special

sweat-box on a night that

could have frozen us

in our tracks...

That last time we were

together like that, was the

last time I felt true heat,

true passion, true love for

anyone or anything

Now, every time I see a

car passing by that resembles

yours, I think of that night,

of us, of something that sends

shivers from one edge of my

form to the other;

a signal to my senses

to think of the sight of you,

the smell of us,

the sweetness and sourness

of every dewy drop of you...

you...your heat.

The Personification of Sweat Part III: No Sweat

For every pleasure there
is a guilty pleasure even
more pleasurable than any
simple pleasure for in the
guilt, lies pleasure

That sensation that your
senses sense when you
know that you are doing
something wrong or taboo
heightens your senses and
makes the subject more sensual

The subject or object of your
sensorial seduction situates itself
in such a way that sends
both sensations of guilt and
pleasure to your mind

Always keep in mind that minding
your manners may mar you
from moving on your emotions
and minimize the moment of
movement toward your guilty pleasure

Move on it, move toward it,
move with it one motion at a time.
Slowly, seductively play upon your
passions. Fight fear with friction
and find yourself...find yourself...
find yourself in the sweet, sweatless
act of true passion.

The Personification of Sweat Part II: In Media Res

...as I oozed out of the smallest pore and dripped upon her already saturated face, my syrup sweet sap fused with a bead on her own beautiful body and disappeared. I bled and blended and became part of the dew that slipped and slid across her sugar cane side; down into the cavernous crevice that could claim creatures great and small.

But, tonight, I was surprised to see even the nectar from her nipples slide my way; down into depths never touched by man. I confess that I sipped her sap and savored every flavor from the salty to the sweet and sucked it with such fervor that I became part of her fruited flow.

This marriage of drip with drop lasted late into the night but, of course, dried by morning. But as our remnants resided, rested in the rippled sheets, we were roused and rejuvenated by new drips and new drops in a climactic beginning to a brand new day.

Rant--You Do That

You think my life is so grand! I'm this incredible independent woman of the world who can do anything she sets her mind to. I'm infallible. I'm unbreakable. I'm resilient. You say you never want me to lose that. Never return to who I was. The way I was. Was that so bad? Was it so hard to be co-dependent? Do you think I like this? You think I like riding home alone in the middle of the night on the subway? Sure I know that the brown, purple, and red lines all go to the stop where I get off for school. Sure I know how to transfer for free to get to the blue line to get home. Sure I've learned a lot of things about this god awful city and especially how to get around it without even having a car. But if you think for one second that I enjoy it, you're wrong. I don't enjoy any of this. This is shit. It's a shitty way to live. The train smells like shit! The city smells like shit! The people are shitty and I'm turning into one of them. You try living up to everyone's expectations without failing. You try waking up every morning alone. You try walking home every night in the cold. You try realizing that if you died in your apartment no one would notice. You try living every day knowing that the only person you want to be with, the person you want to spend the rest of your life with is miles away. You do it!

FW:

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