"nappy" poems
The darker the berry the sweeter the seeds
plant them because you sow what you reap.
My skin is magical you see...for I am a special kind of breed.
When I'm in the sun my melanin boils, plus heat is good for my ***** coils.
A shade darker I've just became...
From honey brown to a cocoa shade.
Time to untwist my bantu knots and free my natural fro.
The curly crown of victory as my melanin glows. I strut through the grasslands in tune with my inner goddess. My legs are thick and long, so now its time to flaunt this.
shaking my hair from left to right & pump my fist in the air.
Wish I was alive in the civil rights, but then I wouldn't be hear.
People they envy my complexion, they wish they had my perfection. But honestly you can't hate on something God gave.
Melanin queen, you reign in the lands.
Zion queen, lets do a foreign dance.
Melanin runs within my veins and pores.
Melanin I love to be, I'm wading
in the shores.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
Dreadlock Rasta;
No like informa,
No like imposta,
**** smoke; burning da trees
Mango scented leaves,
Burnt grapefruit scented breeze.
Wolly mammoth size locks,
Steal wool, ***** tied in a knot,
Jamaican colors wrap tie; sitting on top.
I and I, believe it or not.
No woman no cry,
No problem;
Him cool as a rock.
Charles Dickens by his side,
Studying stanzas, deciphering plots.
Prayer's meeting;
meditation- never stop.
Water’s blue waves,
Fresh fish after 12’o clock.
Under the bridge, find my spot.
By his sweet Sugarcane from,
Miss Parker Sugarcane shop
Burning a spliff, because the ****
is his only green; pastures plot.
Mary Jane, his only queen be,
Never leaving he; love him or not.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
As Stong as the An African Elephant
Yet were are supple and elegant.
We are persuasive talkers so our words are very Eloquent.
Crafted From man's rib and An earthly element is How God made the first Wombman in the old testiment.
During the worlds development
We somehow begun to be irrelevant
Forgetting that we were designed as a help mate who is heaven sent.
We shed Bloods for days sometimes a months without dying.
Raising our children to Be Ladies and gentlemen whom are edifying.
In our wombs a human life we are able carry.
We are informational like a human dictionary.
We store resoureful pieces of data like a library.
Created with brown sugar, warm honey, cocoa and Gold.
Out spirits are Radiently Bold.
Our bodies are temples that can't be bought or sold.
We have a Story that must be hear and told.
We are the beautiful flowers in the month of May That Springs up and blooms in middle of noons day.
We flourish just as the fluorescent blue jay, Whose mood is Joyful and gay.
Our Skin absorbs the sun's Incandescent. Ray.
Some may say, Our hair is ***** but Actually, Our hair just happens to defy gravity
So we wear it upon our head proudly like a Crown
because Living in socitey's prospective of what you should look like will weigh you down.
You will stay stuck on being lost when you already have been found.
Be about your fathers business and know you are Heaven bound.
We are run life's race with meaning and purpose in our pace
Even our walk is embedded with grace
Nature's beauty smiles upon our face
As We Wear God's love like a Pure Gold necklace that's trimmed with lace.
The Strength we've gain
Turned us into warriors from living the through the most Excruciating pain
Thats the Reason we humbly pray as we sing and dance in the middle of the storm's rain.
Our humility will continue to remain.
We are women of Virtue
I wrote this to encourage you
Never let no one break, hurt or discourage you know who you belong to.
And who deserves a Woman of your statue.
For Being black Is Exhilarating
And being a woman is Breathtaking but Being a Black Woman is an Honorary Identity that is Legendary.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
please dont touch my crown
the black rubies were encrusted by steve biko
madam cj walker made it a sign of royalty
blood was shed for this ***** hair
i am a servant to this crown, and i will show my loyalty.
please dont touch my crown
i can feel the curlism in your fingers
your greedy hands appropriate it for relevance
you have hated volume and colour for centuries
but now you see beauty where you once saw pestilence.
please dont touch my crown
let your eyes feast on the sight of true glory
forget about vanity, and hear our chains
taste our dry blood, smell our lynched bodies
but never touch our hair without remembering our pain.
- t.m
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 10:24 AM UTC
Some say I entertain
But I write to maintain
My own **** down my own lane
You want **** go ask mane
Maybe I ask for fame
Probably go for the money and dames
Go on rari's and cadi's instead of trains
Or atleast go lit over all my mains (If I had some)
Everybody I know now they stains
One thing to another so quick they been prayin
For justice, to be loved, some **** they all be sayin
Maybe y'all expect me to be slayin
But nah I am payin
Taxes and rent I owe
From this person I been fakin
Maybe now I'm on a low
Started off high but **** happens you know
Like riding a car and you get stopped to tow
Maybe I look worse, dusty like I came from the dough
Or ***** as **** like my other boys' fro
But for real tho
No roast no show
Maybe I need this to grow
Harsh when you on your own on the road
I'm seeing **** too early hoppin like a toad
Like seeing a video on youtube and it forgot to load
Probably changed so much I am hard to decode
May be considered weird but I guess that's my mode
So I don't write to entertain
I don't want all that fame
**** the world now I love the train
But I write to explain.
One's mind trying to be sane
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 7:55 PM UTC
Speak African child, speak. for you poses a mouth that heals nations. It is in thine voice in the vibrations of thy mouth that remedies are provided to our ailments.
speak African child, speak. speak against the calamities that befall your land. speak against that hand that he dare raises against your bare skin. speak against the blood of your brothers spilled to please others.
Speak for Africa that is one and united, Africa that does not know of any racial divides. Africa that knows no skin colour. speak African child speak. for you are the voice of liberation. speak for your voice are the echoes of our ancestors.
child labour, human trafficking, child *********** school violence, femicides, suicides. and you say you see this not. African child where is your voice in all of this. doesn't that skin, that accent and ***** hair mark you as of African descent.
Speak African child speak for you bare the answers to our questions, you bare the sole of our history.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
Sticky fingers,
***** toes,
Smelly *****
Beads up their nose,
PRECIOUS
Snot stained blouse,
Sick stained shoulders,
Work gets harder,
As they get older,
WONDERFUL
Midnight screaming,
*** in your bed,
Barbie in your coffe ***
Poor goldfish overfed,
GOOD TIMES
Money problems,
Teenage tantrums,
Nose rings, blue hair,
Football anthems,
PARENTHOOD ROCKS!!!!
Aug 27, 2010
Aug 27, 2010 at 3:15 AM UTC
pray tell my friend
what are other girls like?
stereotypes only go so far
and very early into your
wishful separation of personality within gender
individual women begin to show themselves
strong women, weak ones
light and fair
dark, exotic
hair like waves
some like swirls in the clouds
***** and *****
short, long, bald or full
we have readers and writers
mothers, daughter
achievers and creators
from mechanics to doctors
surfers to fighters
athletes, disabled
every single one
worth their worth
these women don't need
you're irrelevant segregation
don't pit one girl against another
we have a much bigger war to fight
and your comparisons on
how much bigger her *** is
has no room to be heard
not now, not ever
if you can only
praise a woman
by bashing down another
then you do not deserve
to know woman.
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 1:25 AM UTC
Little black boy and black girl wear your natural hair with love
For years we have been told that our natural hair was ***** ***** bad, and ugly
But the truth is our natural hair is strong and beautiful
Little black boy and black girl wear your natural hair with love
Wear your lion's mane and let the world hear you roar
For years we have been told that our natural hair was ***** ***** bad, and ugly
But the truth is our natural hair is strong and beautiful.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
the amount of melanin in my skin often seems to conjure up some controversy so when I sit down to write and I see my hands, my light skinned not quite black but surely not white hands I think about the privileges thrusted upon me and when I begin to write I feel my hair against my back, my curly ***** but not quite ***** hair I wonder how what's on my head could make what's in it so frazzled
I often frustrate myself because I feel like my writing often centers around the fact that I am a woman and I am colored
and the fact that when I say I'm colored some look lost
in fact, in the film, for colored girls
Thandie Newton's character says "being alive and being a woman is all I got, but being colored is a metaphysical dilemma I haven't conquered yet."
and I found it frightening how relatable that was to me, being that I'm not quite almost a woman and not quite almost colored
but when I look at my poems they reflect that I indeed am
even though I'm lightskinned and I'm 16 and according to my white friends I'm, just like them because, as I've discovered our definitions of what a black girl sounds like and acts like and is like are extremely different
and I guess that reflects on who we've been introduced to
I have cousins and aunts and grandmothers and sisters
who represent what I believe emulate what a black woman is
and these white kids see what the media feeds about how black women walk and talk and act and lack
see when I picture a black woman I see beautiful smooth chocolate skin full lips round ******* wide hips and a smile as brilliant as her mind
when these kids picture a black woman they see ***** hair dark undesirable skin soup cooler lips and a mind filled with ignorance
and this is where my struggle begins
But in every ethnic group there is good and bad
and I am sick of black women only being associated with the bad
the fact that when most non blacks think of what a black woman is, they imagine an unintelligible mindless sassy loud mouth is over whelming to me
if you're skin isn't light enough or your behind isn't big enough you're only "pretty for a black girl"
I not only want to raise but destroy all expectations society gives black women
but I cannot do this alone
because we are smart and we are beautiful
we are troubled and we are strong
and we are one
once we stop tearing eachother down we can all be one
and I'm not sure why god blessed black women with so much beauty or why I'm so blessed to be one or why he put this determination in me but I think I will recognize it the day the world recognizes how beautiful are we.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!&#£
if you prefer political
sensitivity and a blanket
and a ***** and a nanny);
unlike germ- -any (+)-
where they love to **** on each
other in the shadow
of the crucifix procreating for films,
while in england they're
into children;
owning a use of a word,
venerating its usage:
where's the Schengen vocabulary?
i want to be there -
free flow of words like spotting
a kestrel in my garden one time,
while the traffic shovels hours
into comparison with sea waves
and a traffic-jam becomes a static tsunami
for the eyes.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
I don't apologize for my blackness and your fear seems like this beautiful melanin enriched skin is a blessing and a curse. police offers using our young men's as target practice ripping our rich black roots from the ground and scathing them them all over the cold blood stained concrete streets that my people paved.they just want us to dance sing and play ball to entertain them. they don't want us to succeed and move on to bigger and better things so sinister grins creep upon their faces as they watch us slaughter eachother in the streets. they watch us struggle to get out of poverty they say we're all on welfare and ain't **** but how can we move up in the world and get out of poverty when this system wasn't built to benefit us? we are more than the stereotypes. we are doctors lawyers entrepreneurs nurses designers filmmakers activist.we are intelligent intellectual beings with knowledge that surpasses all understanding. they don't want us to open our mouths and speak our truth...they want us to shut up and chuck and jive and kiss their pasty white ***** to the bone they want us to ignore the blatant racism and discrimination we face everyday and be content that we aren't enduring as much pain as the ones before us have. but we will not shut up. we do experience racism. we do experience discrimination. and our people are dying everyday from it.how dare you utter the words respect yourself and well respect your from the same mouth that slandered my ppl and taught us to hate ourselves with? we were taught to love everything that was white and hate everything that was black and love blonde long straight hair and blue eyes and hate our chocolate skin and ***** hair but these ***** roots are deep...no matter how much you try and destroy them they are deep and run through us all. so my brothers and sisters... be proud of your roots take care of your roots embrace your roots love everything about yourself from that ***** *** hair that breaks all the teeth of your comb to your chocolate skin that glows in the sunlight and those strong minds and powerful voices because black is beautiful, black is powerful black is brilliant, black matters.
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
a love poem, of new & old,
why I am the summer-man!^
summer is winding down,
sky’s multi blues freezer safe stored in ziplock see thru bags,
marked and named by hue, the where and the when,
so when the eyes finally fail, when the squinting don’t help,
when the good things those good blues aroused,
poems, lush and morning thanks for being alive come-not-at-all,
quite the opposite, these cold blues
may help, to recall why it was worth breathing
summer is winding down,
so am I, the synchrony no accident, time,
the Pharmacy kitchen calendar
claiming another victim, willing or not,
those cars and the blue eyed models,
are now but blurred wishes and hopes, even these words, spoken,
not finger scribed, for the keyboard a
jumbled jungle of alpha-numerical
of confusion hellish and
my sons don’t come to clean up my pathetic messes, sending
their little children, beloved concubines of my heart
the daytime watcher, spanglish her native lingo,
tho single words she’s pretty good at too, but that don’t help much;
the grands, toddlers to pre-teens, the eldest a womanly eight,
tries but soon frustration bored, slips away quiet like
replacing her with her two year old sister, who knows her alphabet
which ain’t an exactly a help, but her five pencils stored^ nearby,
tagged with her name, awaiting her poems, her one true legacy
try to imagine her as a grandmother, farseeing the day when she
occupied this too too hard to-get-out-of-by-myself “easy” chair,
making rhymes with her next-next generational descendants,
faint remembering the silliness sorcery that I secreted in her brain;
zingo, bingo, lingo
tango, ginkgo, jingo,
** ** oh no, oh no!
ashes, gray hairy poppy is a silly,
when he is not a grumpy,
old man all fall down!
which she acts out with giggles galore,
adding a teacup embellishment,
a creme fraiche pearly teeth smile topping,
the day watcher agrees, verrry verrry funny,
but time to me *** and take a needed morning *****
no poppy! no poppy! no poppy!
no nap, no *** no *****
thinking the call out is for her,
stomping her feet in an alternating rhythm and rhymes
I, happy poppy, ecstatics drooling out,
foreseeing the rhyme is strong in her,
get wheeled away crinkled and crackling,
*zingo, bingo, lingo
tango, ginkgo, jingo
** ** oh no, oh no!
ashes gray hairy poppy is a silly,
when he is not a grumpy,
old man all fall down!*
a new genre me of gibberish summertime love poems
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 5:11 PM UTC
The birthday song is not a song it's not even a small ditty
As it is only four lines long it's really rather ******
There isn't a good chorus so isn't that a pity
A catchy tune it has not got and the lyrics are not witty
This song's lyrics are so short and there all the ****** same
Apart from the 3rd line down when you substitute a name
Okay you say "Dear" instead of "To", but its still a basic frame
So this is not a song at all so why has it got the fame
It's no wonder people alter the words with monkeys in the zoo
And looking like these critters and smelling like them too
Or changed to bread and butter in the gutter or squashed tomatoes and stew
Because the song is so boring so what else can you do
Who the hell wrote this song was it someone who's autistic
Come on now lets be frank and a bit more realistic
If I where to write this song producers would go ballistic
I'd get thrown out of the biz and become a lost statistic
Just because it's your birthday I'm not singing about happy
People are compelled to sing when really its just ******
It's not the best song in the world I don't want to sound so snappy
The birthday song is full of crap just like a soiled *****
It's like we are pre programmed even Marilyn Monroe
To sing the ****** birthday song just for ****** show
But honestly this song is crap and it can surely go
And we can stop with the pretence and cease going with the flow
When your birthday does arrive and your expecting a big day
The time will come when you know your ears are going to pay
Cos someone's bound to start it with or without your say
Why does it have to be sung does it have to be this way
Singing the birthday song should not be a life compulsion
Don't succumb to the trend and quash your minds impulsion
Stamp down on the process and enforce a song expulsion
Do away with this song and all of its revulsion
The birthday song is not a song when it's sixteen words long
Half of them are happy birthday that doesn't constitute a song
The wording is so ****** thin as thin as a snapped thong
And the musical arrangement isn't even strong
People should not sing this song not even a small bit
Why is it classed as a song we should stop singing it
Most of the words are the same and there is a lack of wit
So don't sing the birthday song cos it's not a song it's ****
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 8:14 AM UTC
“but if you have to move your best friend’s body…
…you’re on your own.”
Your best friend dies
Before your eyes
Somehow stays alive
Then what?
***** salt-licked hair
Brittle and frayed by medicine
World’s unfathomable weight
Trembling beneath the Wisdom Tree
Her whole being crumples (arrugar)
But her life-force remains intact
Body bone
Running on spirit reserves
Why is that?
She stands and cries
Staring into ether
I sit
Wringing my hands
Her tears strike the ground
In tree-gecko unison
'''
Pacific parasite super-strains
Blood coated throat
The full range of abuse’s color on all fronts
for decades
Attempted assaults, ****
Dengue
Giant Centipede venom to the skull
But worst of all
Rootlessness and fear
the monkey on her back
had a monkey on its back
and was smoking a cigarette
'''
Have you ever seen someone
Completely broken?
Corpsic shell of a woman
Gaunt, wan in the tropics
“Don’t put your trust in walls…
…walls will only crush you when they fall”
Brick-bludgeoned body
The shrapnel lay like
Sun scorched
Novice-woven baskets
At her feet
But now she can see
And breath
Real breath
'''
Genocide’s a ***** yes.
Africans seem fatalistic to Americans
Baby boy body, Grandpa human- shield
“They’re your babies”
Short-lived, yes
But now they have peace
Witnesses still weave the jungle
What do you do with a friend who’s
Seen real atrocity? Evil?
'''
I’m learning.
Prayer is power
Will transcends the concrete (Bunkle, too.)
She serves realness only
Her seeking hands unweave the sacred
Time is of no luxury right now
Serve people through love
and Grace awaits discovery
'''
I’ve never carried a bleeding body.
I needn’t “fear the terror by night,
Nor the arrow by day”
But I saw someone perish
And resurrect
What a gift
What a gift
Gubaadagem, Tinmad.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
I am just like you, except there is something stopping me
Racism; Stunting me from the same opportunities as any other person
Being an outcast, a black sheep in a world of white sheep
Due to the melanin in my skin, a feature everyone has that is skin deep
I come from the natural essences of meticulous hair products in my hair
Used to tame my true being because it looks ***** when in reality my hair is but of African descent, as am I
As I walk past you, you give me nasty looks as the smell of my tamed curls wafts to your nose
I walk like you, talk with the same tongues as you, see like you do, and have a soul within the vessel of my body and hear the same way
Only the things I hear and see are not kind or compliments about things I wear or how I look
Instead, I am met with hateful eyes, pointing fingers and a raised voice
I am judged for anything I do: my native tongue, my natural curls, and the color of my skin
You look at me with belligerent eyes, your hands moving around symbolically to create a point
I am just you, just with many differences between us and a whole different world; yours without segregation
I am just like you, I can express how I feel in different ways just like you can
I can create music with my tongue and I can create a dance with the rhythm my ancestors blessed upon me
I can create a sketch or painting with my hands to express the tragedies segregation has caused
I move my feel methodically to the words of God himself, which uplift my conflicted soul in desperate need of prayer
I am just like you, except my world consists of using “colored” bathrooms and sitting in places only for “colored” people
Is the reason that I am called colored is due to the color of my skin, which is unnatural to your European eyes?
I go to church just like you and believe in the same ten commandments just as you
If there’s one thing you should know, it is that I am just like you; I am human
mbm
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
waste matter discharged from the mother's bowels; feces,
excreta, stools, droppings; waste matter,
ordure, dung; **** poo, dirt, turds, ****
"cleaning up ferret excrement":
mid 16th century: from French excrément
or Latin excrementum, from excernere ‘to sift out’ feces;
act of defecating;
a contemptible or worthless person;
something worthless; garbage; nonsense;
"this book is **** unpleasant experiences
or treatment; "I went through a lot of **** last year"
things or stuff, especially personal belongings;
"he left all his **** in my apartment"
events or circumstances;
_"some crazy **** went down last night"_
any psychoactive drug, especially marijuana [the good ****
good **** verb: **** 3rd person present: *****
past tense: ******* past participle: *******
past tense: **** past participle: **** past tense: shat;
past participle: shat; gerund or present participle: ********
expel feces from the body,
soiling one's clothes as a result;
expelling feces accidentally; very frightened.
tease or try to deceive someone or thing.
"I **** you not" exclamation
exclamation: ****
[exclamation of disgust, anger, or annoyance]
Old English scitte ‘diarrhea,’ of Germanic origin;
related to Dutch schijten, German scheissen [verb];
_The term was originally neutral and used without ****** connotation_;
*********** from Greek κόπρος,
kópros—excrement & φιλία, philía—
liking, fondness, also called scatophilia
or **** [Greek: σκατά, skatá-feces],
is the paraphilia involving
****** arousal & pleasure
from specific feces;
meanly, his mother said, _u can drink my ***
but don't eat my **** then she ****
& *** & the boy drank but when
he put the warm **** to his mouth,
she slapped it out of his hand &
yelled, I told u not to eat my ****
& the boy began to cry & feeling
bad his mother turned to let him lick
the bowl & rim the moist wet hole between
her pudgy cheeks & then gave him more
of her tangy *** to drink like lemonade
& chocolate chips, sometimes it was
more like sweet sherbet; but she never
hit him again & he's been eating her ****
ever since; now, his wife lets him drink
her *** & he eats from the baby's *****
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 12:38 AM UTC
They put us in glass boxes
And empty rooms with glass ceilings
We conform to make our ends, and we learn to muffle our feelings
Their inventions age into Standards, and they sell us their finest wine for a fee
No prison for this Queen
'Cause I like my ******* free...
They applaud our independance at first
Then tell us we are now too proud
Our voices once unheard are now suddenly too loud
Make sure you please the people
No heels too high, and no skirt above the knee
I wear no bra to imprison my womanhood
'Cause I like my ******* free...
Jiggle jiggle with hard ******* let them bounce naturally
I am every bit of my roots- I'm ***** happily
I'm not ashamed of their smallness
Despite their size, they stand as firm and tall as mountain peaks
They're embarassed or jealous of my freedom
'Cause I like my ******* free...
Big or small, short or tall, even if one is size 'A' and the other 'B'
They are our imperfect perfections
They belong to you, they belong to me
Our country has learned to dictate through mandate
While they ********** themselves to higher power
I'm not ashamed of my nakedness and I look in the mirror after my shower
So if you think I need a bra
Then I will tell you you need to be imprisoned
My mind is mine, as is my body and they will never take my vision
They try to smother what they don't understand
I'm just evolving into the best Me
I know who and what I am...
...And I just happen to like my ******* to be free.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 1:28 PM UTC
I often wonder
If your mind ever wanders to me
When it's dark and my side of the bed is empty
I wonder if you ever think
About the way my fingers felt in your
Curly, ***** ***** hair
Or about how the kisses we shared seemed to stop time
Or about the time when our love was gentle and sweet and new
Or about how we broke each other so many times
Before giving up
I often wonder if things could've been different,
If we could've had more time-stopping kisses,
And less earth shattering fights.
If you ever could've truly loved me,
The way you always promised that you would some day
I wonder if you think about me
The way I think about
How your hand felt on my back,
Rubbing all of my problems away.
Even though you were most of my problems.
Or how exhilarating it felt every time we came back to each other,
Like an alcoholic having "just one" drink, swearing we wouldn't get ****** in again.
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 12:31 AM UTC
Janice sat beside you
on the bombsite
off Meadow Row
looking towards
the New Kent Road
watching the people
and traffic pass
you with your catapult
and she with the doll
her gran had bought her
from the market in the Cut
Gran said those are dangerous
Janice said
pointing at the catapult
not if you’re careful
and responsible
you said
but they fire stones
she said
guns fire bullets
you said
they can **** people
David killed Goliath
with a stone
she said
I heard it in church
I only fire at tin cans
or other such targets
you said
she looked at the sky
at pigeons flying overhead
what about birds?
she asked
no I don’t shoot at birds
although I did fire
at a rat once
but missed
and it ran off
I hate rats
she said
there was one
on our balcony once
and it frightened me to death
you laughed
you remember that coalman
who stomped on that one
along the balcony by your flat?
yuk
she said
horrible blood and guts
everywhere
and on his boot
you said
she hugged her doll
close against her
don’t remind me
you studied the doll
in her arms
the way it was close
to her chest
her hands caressing
the painted china head
the yellow flowered dress
and small white socks
and black plastic shoes
you’d make a good mum
you said
watching her rock
the doll in her arms
do you think so?
she asked
yes
you said
maybe one day
I will have a real baby
she said
and rock it to sleep
and feed it with a bottle
and burp it
and change its *****
like I saw a lady do
in the toilets
of Waterloo station
and Gran said
it wasn’t hygienic
not there of all places
Gran said
I’d have to have
a peg on my nose
if I had to change
a baby’s *****
you said
I think men
have weaker stomachs
than women do
she said
I think mothers
are given stronger stomachs
when they have babies
it’s God way of helping them
deal with babies
I’d rather have a catapult
than a baby
you said
or a doll
do you want to hold my doll
and I can hold your catapult?
she asked
no thanks
you replied
if my mates saw me
I’d never live it down
she kissed the doll’s head
and said
likewise
but there was a smile
on her lips
and a sparkle
in her eyes
and a beauty
in the way she sat
in her orange coloured dress
and bright red beret hat.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
Doris bought herself a bike when she were 93.
Thought a trip to John 'O'Groats, would keep her flying free.
Started off at Lands End, from there on she did wobble.
Rode past the tanker.
****** driver,what a ******
He nearly knocked her off.
She noted down his registration number.
Took it to the cop shop.
Wasn't feeling very happy, poor old darling needs a *****
Got back on her bike, to resume her hike.
The raindrops poured and granny snored.
Had a kip while on her bike, maybe Granny needed a trike.
Got as far as the corner shop.
She fancied a little nibble.
Noticed it was getting dark.
She checked out the sky.
Decided cycling was too hard work.
So off she went.
Decided to fly.
Grabbed her broomstick from the hallway.
Off she flew, up, up and away.
Wahey Doris.
Witch granny on an away-day.
(C)LIVVI 2014
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
Seasons change and life goes on,
my scenes switch off, times are gone with words
From CT, to New York, to Colorado, the world’s voice I’ve already heard.
But not everyone can see the world’s treasures in their face,
the beauties, people, lights and sounds across this finite space.
Or felt the stars in their souls, that’ll disperse one day
It’s not the case, so please sit down, and listen to what I say:
We’re all too busy honing in on things that shouldn’t stand out
Like why I speak the way I do, with etiquette and class
why I transcend the lines between specific roles
in what I say and how I act
I say:
Why question and judge the little things I do
in my life, which isn’t yours
to the point where you cut off ties and contact that never had been forged
Because your preformed images of a bisexual, black guy
warps your eyes and makes you blind, way that can’t be right, because
across time the blind eyes symbolizes truth
so these illusions in your way, blocking you in sooth,
serve no purpose, see the light and accept the natural proof.
My hair’s not ***** my behavior varies to where
it fits no norms. I’m beyond your views, don’t you see?
It’s the eye of the storm.
I say:
It doesn’t stop at me, no, no. It spreads beyond these walls
and affects those who are different, who break society’s “laws”
Wars and fights over basic things are all I ever hear,
beliefs, gender, color, orientation,
the common fight is fear
Fear to be seen as an abomination
to break or fall from grace
To stay hidden from their true potential
for their own safety’s sake
I say:
That’s no way to live a life of
chances, hope and purpose
to live in shadows, cold and alone under
a hidden surface
I’m here to say that there’s no shame
in being who you are
to break the norm and stand against those
who dare to change your ways, to those who can’t accept
that life’s about change.
Why do I say such things? Why do I speak?
Why do I stand as one?
Our fate’s o n a string, the strong and meek
we’re all united under one sun.
I say:
We’re all human, how hard is it to understand that we’re the pieces
of one heart, united in a common band.
If we don’t accept this, how far can we go?
Surely we won’t last, but if we rise above this fog,
the human spirit will ever last against whatever
time and space may throw, whatever darkness we may fear.
Open your eyes, your ears, your heart
Because I say this: It all starts here.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 10:08 PM UTC
I cuddled upon it since birth,
It was the friend that kept me
Calm,
Peaceful,
Friend
Of my sleepy times, always there,
But I awoke and Blanky wasn't there
"MUMMY"
"DADDY"
As both ran in,
"What is it our little one"
Tears streaming, words jumbled in emotions
Mummy stroked my hair
Daddy Sshhh....
Sshhh...
Sshhh...
Sshhh...
And all was calm in the world,
B, B, "Blanky"
Has gone away,
Mummy soft spoken voice speaks
"Lets check your bed"
No not there?
***** trained detective looks around"**
Sniffs the air,
Sorry mummy that was me,
Mmm... to the playroom
High, Low
Here, there
Places searched but no where found,
His thoughts of blanky and sweet sleep,
As he searches each room, doggy sniffs
Come on Hairy,
He checks his bed nothing but hair,
His baby mind thinks back to the other day
Blanky and me,
Me and Blanky,
To the garden Woof, little fingers can not reach
Woofs hind legs stretch up,
"Good boy Woof"
As the door opens to
The great outside,
Near the sandpit
"No"
Near the grass
"Neither"
Then he spots it
Then its seen,
"Blanky I have missed you"
Hanging just out of reach,
"Detective work is never as easy as it seems"
A baby has skills, as he takes his *****
Sticky patches take hold and on top
Of a head, smelling fresh,
Not that just thumb ****** sleepy smell
But we can change that,
Blanky wrapped around
***** dragging behind, a new one needed I think,
"Mummy"
"Daddy"
"Its solved"
The missing blanky case is solved
It was washed, ***** it was once,
But so soft and cuddly once more,
It needs that just slept smell,
A detective is off to get snuggles sleep
Till the next case awaits, till I awaken
Its sheep time for me, goodnight or day everyone sweet dreams.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
when i'm drinking i always think
the whiskey bottle
to be in a predicament
of the bus stop;
i mean, waiting, for my
eager slurp (god i wish
i could insert an onomatopoeia
right now) -
i ate that body part and even
nozzled it, i mean
i stuck my nose in it
being ripe... you better have
sunday's news to let me forget;
i swear, performing oral
*** on women's genitalia
makes you into an orator...
or perhaps a gardener -
that skin fold sure as **** speaks!
well, better testimony than
abraham circumcising isaac
against holy ordained orders
not to; but then the cat and dog
doing overt-masturbation licking
the **** thing;
yes darling... pooch pooch ouch ooh
now chow ready for a pampering?
munch a moo choo cha cha wee wee?
yeah, get that slobbering *****
filler out of here;
oi! bring bang the blonde comb-over ferret!
i ain't doing the spider dangle
without it!
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC
I remember once I farted, in a packed lift,
My two cheeks really parted, if you get my drift
I almost had a heart attack, the sound was so clear,
It was indeed a mighty crack, that everyone could hear.
Now everyone turned red, but I was really blessed
as nothing more was said, I presumed no one had guessed.
Some looked at their feet, others at the wall
But no pair of eyes did meet, no one looked at me at all.
But no one could deny there was an awful hum
And I had to wonder why I was cursed with such a ***
Dear God, it was bad, worse than ever before
Was it the curry I had? I will not eat it any more.
On no! this can’t be happening, I felt my two cheeks part
This one much more sickening, what some would call a “shart”
Though I tried to look innocent, as detached as I could be
I knew what those looks meant and they were directed at me
We all held our breath, no one dared to breathe
We all faced certain death if the smell did not recede
We all wanted the top floor which was thirty stories high.
Would someone open the door or would we all be left to die
Thank God for ventilation, it really saved the day
For in case of flatulation it will take the smell away
Well I was so relieved, it was quite a close call
And I would not have believed what happened next at all
The lift it just stopped dead, a million to one chance
I thought I’d lose my head but instead I filled my pants.
I learned one thing that day, well at least it keeps me happy
I won’t get in a lift, No Way! without first putting on a *****
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 3:43 AM UTC