Day 19~I Love To...

19~ What do you love to do the most?


I love writing the most, especially poetry.

It started out as an outlet. I had gotten to the point where I found it pointless to vocally express myself. I wasn’t sure how to express the pain. Suppression seemed a way of life for the immediate in my family. One day (age 11 or so), I just picked up a pen/pencil and a sheet of paper and started writing.

It hasn’t stopped since.

There are periods where it comes and go. Sometimes, I get so involved with Life and forget the original purpose of my writing. I go through blocks. I go through getting caught up in the cosmetics rather than the depth.

You have to be careful who you share your Love with. Not all are as respectful of your Love, will try to taint it, will let unnecessary drama try to shatter it. I did go through that with sharing my Love with the outside world.

There was one moment when I thought I could do without it, but Writing is my Soul Mate. The more I tried to go without it, the more I realized I couldn’t do without it.

I want to share my attempted break up with it just to reinforce:

True Love never dies; no matter how many facets of negativity try to enter, if it is True Love, it will always shine through.

Personal Freestyles

Poetry & How It Relates to the Phoenix
I went from hopping
From place to place
To being somewhere
That gave me life
Where at first, I felt like I was wanted
Felt like my writing was a gift
And not a burden on my life
But soon,
Others tried to change me
Rearrange me,
Made me into something
I was definitely not
And I got confused
Got souls mixed up with scandal
And love mixed up
With computer lust
And it enraged me
Displaced me
Consumed me
Drove me to the point
Where I wish
I had never stopped traveling
Where I wish
I had never shared
The very fabrics of me
Reflected in my poetry
So I ran away,
Humiliated
Burned
Vowing to remain away
And never to return

Wanting to sever the fingers
That picked up a pen
Wanted to drive away the thoughts
That could make me run to a screen
At 3 A.M. or at 11:15

I even tried to end it all
Cause too much shit was going wrong
Driven to the point where I felt I was nothing
Driven to the point
Where I just knew
I didn’t belong

And

Cuts from my soul
Wrote in blood
Capitalized and in bold

POETRY AIN’T SHIT
AND I GIVE UP

MY FUCKING THRONE

And with that,
I was gone.

The Darkness
I never thought I would want to kill
People I had never seen
Disturbances brought up antics from my past
Which caused the rebirth of an angry Queen.

I was able to relate
With the Bride in Kill Bill
A natural born killer
With an even killer will

I even had fantasies
Of taking each of them out
From slitting them clit to nose tip
And putting the remains in their mouths

Or even pissing on their graves
When their time came to pass
And even laughing at their deaths
Telling them all to kiss my ass
And I wouldn’t have even sweated it
Except they pretended to be my friends
And they were the very ones
Who were plotting my end

And I got on my knees
And actually prayed
That their ultimate destruction
Would come someday

And my reaction when it did
Was between utter cynicism
And doing a happy jig
That’s what they get
For fucking with the wrong one

That’s what they deserve
For treating people like shit
That didn’t fit with their clique

That is what happens
When you bite the hand that feeds you,
Folks come to their senses,
And scream, “I don’t need you!”

And when not one,
But two empires, fell down,
Like the Tower of Babel
Confusion spread all around

Where do the poets go?
Where do the people roam?
Where are they going to go
To establish another home?

Most of what they know
Just disappeared and has gone
What’s left is many burned
And many works gone,
Never to return.

And even then,
My anger burned so bright
Still in my little aura
Of that serves them right
That I wasn’t even thinking
About how others were suffering

People asking and wondering, “Where’s Queen?”

But I’m not hearing nothin’.

And even as I’m thinking, “Fuck poetry.”

I write.

And even as I’m saying, “I don’t need it.”

I write.

And even as I claim, “It was never worth all the strife.”

I write.

I write.
And write again.

Revelations 5:2003
It was back in 2003
When a site was given to me
And at first, I admit that I hesitated
That my feelings surrounding it
Were complicated.

Kept telling myself
I can always give it back

My first response was resistance
And a few panic attacks.

But the soul of a true poet
Never dies,
Even in the darkness of times

POETRY does rise
Poetry DOES rise
Poetry does RISE

It is that lover
That you can’t stay away from
Although you told him
That it was done with
And you were through.

But the panties come off
The minute he calls
Or croons in your ear
That you’re his number one boo

And I heard its’ cry
Like the call of the Phoenix
And I got down on my knees
And repented

Poetry, I never meant it.

Forgive me for letting others
Make me forget how much I love you
And that you are truly a gift
Sent from up above,
And forgive me
For putting vengeance
on the forefront
and trying to put your growth
on permanent stunt.
And forgive me for wishing death
On other people I haven’t met
And letting them taint my light
When I should depend on you, alone,
To make it shine so bright
And forgive me for leaving others
Who looked for me when I left
And letting anger cloud my judgment
And not give them a second breath.

I let them beat you
And leave you for dead
But you came back.

I pushed you away
When you begged to stay,
But you remained.

And I will never have another lover
Who ignites me like you do.

So I thank God for the opportunity
To make things better
You and me-Poetry
Together
Forever.

Spaded Truths