The poem that resulted in my drive from Hartford to Hanover last week.

The only emotion easier than anger is sadness, which looks too much like pity to be thrust onto a woman of your strength. For my mother, my fountain of faith, who reminds me to fight for what I believe in the worst way sometimes…by the downpour.

Yet another ride
down a snoring road
crossing New England
In the passengers seat
a bellowing history book of sins
and strict rules bound by strength
is beautiful

It is uncommon for you to be this quiet on a ride
but you still say all that you would want to
the percussion of each breath
a matter of fact sound repeatedly punctuated
by a schizophrenic back and forth paranoid battle,
What is described as “a snorting breath during sleep”

Apparently it is impossible to dream whilst snoring
I imagine, dear mother, that you have long been afraid to
that your nightmares look too much like your memories.
It is still unclear how a woman who has seen so much battle
always manages to come out on top.

Warrior woman you raised an Athena like yourself
and most of the honesty between us
emerges out of feeling combatively corned.
when I feel trapped.
which now is left for days like these
when there is no escaping a battlefield with wheels
and a mother with too many lectures
but not enough good questions.

We have not called the same place home in a year
Our storage is full of burnt out thunderbolts and crushed armor,
our phone conversations the biting taste of iron.
I am told too often about my guard (purity), that my clothes are too tight,
that my shields are not high enough, that I know too many men I trust,
that I don’t know the right time to run away from a fight

We have not learned the same things from war.

Last week you asked me to pray for your friends’ brother
A man in Florida who accidently killed his wife,
in an infidelity fueled rage,
…with a baseball bat.
I can say…like I did last week
that despite all the love in me
I have not learned how to pray for men like that.

Today,
I hear you speaking on the phone
relaying the story
trying to defend a party
Using the phrase:
oloriburiuku obirin
meaning
‘horrible woman’
Forgetting that violence is only ever justified
in the minds of those who commit it.
Forgetting the conversations knives and fists
have had with your throat and body
I wish you did not hold that bat with him today
Umi,
I wish that you would not let the blood and hair
claim your hands and hijab

Somehow you do not see the connection in the faults
of this conversation and the one you have with me
in which you claim that a woman’s body is so holy
men can only read sin into it.
I still do not know how to be trapped into that lack of connections.
I have never felt good hiding behind those cloaks
I will never look good in the lessons learned from your mistakes
In that veiling, and its patriarchal God

He
Who only re-disguises himself
As everyone else’s God
And still finds ways to stand in the mirror cursing
And still trying to catch all my holy with the fire from either side

It should be easier to simply choose one of them
what with my cover too lacking to make me a ‘good Muslim girl’
and juxtaposed modesty too abundant for my sexuality to not be questioned
Choosing would surely be easier than this
But I will not feed from flawed leftovers
Dear mother,
I cannot worship at a temple of backwash


Today
I am stuck in the car with you
All the things that cannot be said over dinner,
or a two day visit
being forced back into my throat by my own hands

I wish I could tell you,
as I have learned,
That the world is not all battles
and how to choose the right ones

That you cannot wear your armor all the time
that even if you end up being partially exposed
you can pray for blooms to sprout from the bruises
and be thankful for your thick skin

I wish
I could tell you about all the handprints
and dented breastplates
How I have found away for them to teach me
Resilience

But today
You are fighting, again,
in a world that you think of
as the highest level of hell,
The world I know
as simply the lowest level of heaven
we have not called the same place home in at least a year
I imagine my words would not translate well as they descend
That they may fall
on deaf ears
and hardened hands

I do in fact know retreat
Taking all of me that is
what the woman you would like to be hopes to be
I will go into hiding (yet again)

The monotonous humming of this road
you will not hear me snoring
Will never know I’ve gone to sleep

"We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered."
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, Tom Stoppard

via (wolffofthesea)

the world actually does not have it figured out.
AT ALL!

I really just did that

DC
New York
New Haven
Hartford
NewYork
DC


...
(four cities) in four days

"Have you ever lost yourself in a kiss? I mean pure psychedelic inebriation. Not just lustful petting but transcendental metamorphosis when you became aware that the greatness of this being was breathing into you. Licking the sides and corners of your mouth, like sealing a thousand fleshy envelopes filled with the essence of your passionate being and then opened by the same mouth and delivered back to you, over and over again - the first kiss of the rest of your life. A kiss that confirms that the universe is aligned, that the world's greatest resource is love, and maybe even that God is a woman. With or without a belief in God, all kisses are metaphors decipherable by allocations of time, circumstance, and understanding"
— Saul Williams (Said the Shotgun to the Head)

(via James Sprang)

"i am like a survivor
of the flood
walking through the streets
drenched with
God
surprised that all of the
drowned victims
are still walking and talking"
— Saul Williams (Said the Shotgun to the Head)

"I cannot tell you the last time I smoked..I got groceries to buy I don't have time to… no, extra munchies?"
-the 'fabulous' homie whose convo I've been eavesdropping on my whole way to new york.


me and him need to be friends
<3

yas =]

"Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror..."
- Khalil Gibran
via. Omar Offendum








Who I was stalking...
because he is worthy of stalking.









he is DUMB sexy.
aiite I said it.
My love Sadia put me on.
His work is matches up to his face.
haha.

HALAL BOOTY.*

He also qualifies as IslamaBAYADNESS.
I have decided.

Apparently he frequents the District(as well as the multiple other places I sporadically do such as Philly and New York)
...welp, I'm not going to SAY anything but.. umm...yea. An encounter needs to happen soon is all.

And ...again.
HE IS DUMMMMMMB SEXY.
shet shet shet triple shet..




I should not be watching this.
SMH..
hormonal angst.
Or is that more than you neededto know?
its not my fault he is so damn pretty.
Actually enough of this, let me go find the artist circles around here he frequents lmao
let the work (or rather procrastination from my own) begin


*Tomfoolery is Ade and Murktarat creating Muslimly contradictions

THANK GOD

for the Pazzaze in my life!
The Universe is speaking to me
and my do I love the things I am hearing.

Ears Open.

It scares me how much I am understanding this poem more and more.
I've been got it deeply, and relating....but today...too much, too much.

Domestic Nomad

let's ego trip real quick shall We.
I give a big wtf in reflection right now..


I have been home, what i call home.. the only place in this country i call home (DC)
For Two weeks
... mind you.. I do not have a house there...

okay...
and in those two weeks
I have spent not one weekend in DC

I am in Philly right now..
for the second time in Two weeks
(more out of necessity than choice)

By the end of the week (according to plans)
I will have visted

DC (going back 'home' in an hour or so)
New York.. to get to New haven so i can get to...
Hartford CT (where my mom lives)[from which i will go to]
Hanover NH to take care of school shit (and drama etc)
New York again for poetry regionals on Sunday... [and maybe a fashion show and play or two.. on Saturday]
all in one week...
actually..??!?

WHAT
THE
FUCK?!

Avoid Tough Questions

I keep skipping the uncomfortable ones subconsciously.. the one's I have already written too many poems about
day 7-10 is all the same person.. Damn, Okay.

Day 11.
uhh. its not complete..its not going to be.. this is what happened when i wrote..interestingly.. raw writing even when its horrible process and stress and this is what happens to many of us somedays.. so fuck it.


It is an anxious afternoon
in the city of brothers we love
I try to pay attention to only the good things
as I miss a bus back home to DC

If the "left us's"
if the dearly departed
are as omnipresent as we say
You already know these things

That our mother is more of a mess now
but that (fortunately, for the present) it has been worse
That I watched a set of twins walk by as I chewed up time
and wondered what it would have been like
to be born with a mirror
That sometimes it would almost be good to forget that i have a sister
along with the lessons it has taught me

I got a means of reflection,
when I was 14 I knew what i would look like at 18
you showed me all the good I would do
and all too often the mistakes I could not handle


1. No matter how many times you are hurt do not become bitter
...on the outside, we both know it makes us feel ugly and that our means for beauty are limited


2.Do Not love men who do not matter
Staying true to this creed is making a harder sound as life breaks me piecemeal, it has only meant that along with him I have let go of something vital

3.Do not lie

It is perfectly clear to me at this point in writing that I am bullshitting so I will not finish this piece, I don't know if anyone is worth of hearing what I actually have to say to my sister it is certainly not worth fucking up in the frame of this or sacrificing or using as a writing warm up so fuck this





Now that I know this morning what bullshitting in my writing feels like (or am rather reminded) I can get to my shit and start my poetic day on my bus back to DC, word.Guhhh.. that was interesting?? see.. Wtf.. yea, whatever.. processing..damn rereading it.. guess who's bitter.. shet

So..

I bought my ROCK the Bells tickets on Friday...

I'm pretty sure this fixes like... everything, technically.

<3

Day 6- A Stranger

To the black man with the scorched skin who at a second gaze burned me to ashes

it is the right time to find you beautiful,

the sun is scantily clad

DC is the city of hot

hot humid nights

and men the color of things that got hot too quickly

I'm still shedding all the ugly i find in me

So it took a second glance

maybe you heard the exclamation

You are a victim

or healing tool,

product of a lie

or pedestal

My throat quivers tsunamis

"I cannot love a man who looks like me"**

Your skin is a slap across an insecure face,

the burning remnants of thinking:

the sun touched too much,

too much.

It is too easy to see the ugly put in me

We like that hard kind of beauty

So, today

you are that purpose-full type of pretty

Wonder if you heard the fright before the exclamations,

the stutter

the pause

the scoff

Maybe

you tell women you meet

that they should love you

for how your skin glistens

for the faint reflections found

in the opaques trapped in your outline

Maybe

they are all lily white

or better still

the right not almost but quite

I wonder if you will ever believe like they do

Like i say, because I would like to

You, beautiful

it was a ripe day to find you

**ade is fucking booooomb

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Deadass in the middle of the 1st one realized I wanted to write about the beautiful African at marshalls.. ye..my cashier, smh

I imagine the shaken sanctuaries

and fallen figures

of your country

are bruised and engraved

over your heart

under your name tag

Dear stranger,

I did not ask your name because

I was afraid it would be beautiful

or that the way you said it would make it so

Did not ask your country because

I am sure it is entirely too close

to my first love's

to bring me any peace

By the proud of your nose

and the faint of your eyes

I'm pegged on certainty of your Somali

And you can surely tell I have a country,

too far from this one

to not be called home,

or mother

--land

I am not proud about anything

around men like you

I am glad you did not ask

The act,

as if all the Africa had been poured out of me,

made it easier to face

something other than yours

I cannot look you in your eyes

I would like my bag

and receipt

and permission

to leave

Thank you.

Damn

Yes.

Shet

Holy God.

Thats that type loving I'm talking about.

Blessings

Today me and the love in my life.

Bought underwear together.

specifically little boys boxer briefs

I'm serious.

I love Taylor Johnson...

yes, its so blog worthy.

Yesterday

I almost forgot your birthday.

like the 10pm type"almost"

Yea. they got me like that...

R.I.P to the only man that I have loved

that has never disappointed me.

Mohammad Yussuff turned 19.

“The heart has reasons that reason does not understand.”

—	Jacques Benigne Bossuel

findlings and tings, random old files.

broken women make bad decisions and

bad decisions break broken women

so broken women keep breaking broken things

Yesterday

I decided that our first daughter's name would have been Imani

meaning faith,

or some variation thereof

I called your bluff

I always knew you would break

under the weight of how hard I love.

Look how you cracked

freewrite

Patriarchy seems to be where are the issues in my problems are leveled.

men, God, Love. (Since God is supposedly male , everytime I am talking bout God is interchangeable with a man/men in my life and vice versa)

freewrite from todays training sess

About the Men

Pre-existence-

They told me that you would make trgedies out of all my hope and rigid perseverance

I do not listen. They told me you were male. I saw me in you. I will always be confused about where I fit on the gender spectrum

Age 12- between now and the last time

You have exposed me to a lot of ugly.

Before I was six I knew about sex

and wont know why until im 15

in the newest old neighborhood

you lifted up my shirt

to expose what was under there

as if to say

I am in fact a woman

I saw you try to cut my mother’s throat

You are leaving now taking everything with you

except the disconcerting assurance that you will be back

Age 18- it was either all you

or you and him between us

but God,

if that’s what they still call you.

You sulked and soaked into the thing that is ‘us’

I wanted to trust you again.

I always get what I want

in the worst way

Age 20- stranded, I wonder if you listen anymore.

the questions I have for you all come out like curses

25- you are no where to be found

30- I start thinking about not looking anymore

35- every laugh is a sacrifice of my heart. I smile to not hurt anymore

it breaks me

40- I stop reading. I do not speak, do not cry. Forgot how to pray

45- my feet are pretty now

from all the walking I refuse to do

there’s a certain beauty that comes when all the hope is drained out of you

50- I wouldn’t recognize you if I saw you,

I am too pretty now

20- I’m still writing silly poems like somehow they can make this less true.

Dear God

Today I hate how ugly you made me.

Sperectomy: the draining-out of hope.

midnight's children

In Response(s)

I do not co-author tragedies.

Dear God,
May I never fall in love again
Amen



I don't ever want to know how to stop waiting

So I talked madd shit.

But he hella redeemed himself. And is still my plan B (maybe A)

I LOVE YOU K'NAAN.

damn why he so beautiful.

oh and check out his huffington post article which made me be like..

dAMNNN

i cant be mad at youuuu

<33

rightchea

gorgeous in fact.

Day 1- Bestfriend

You have my mothers eyes.

my sisters hands

and chest

and smile

and love

you shape shifter you

cradle you rock

you have a million faces

safia-

the summer we met i watched you bloom beautiful

i have never seen anyone work so

hard to tear

broke your shell

woman

height like a sleeping giant

little girl big voice

you worked so hard to tear

for a girl who got all the

'how to cry' washed out of

her

there is bleach in that water

clean slate

you make me feel

like i can begin again.

it started with you.

Taylor

Every broken step

towards

whole

is another

one towards

remembering you

and how

i was not who i am now

before you

love.

you made me know

what type of woman i could be

and how much i would love her

and how

and how

and when

i love you,

my dear.

ade

i brought you

my stories

my burdens

my deaths

a fan-dangled forest of regret

and ugly

you made them beautiful

i cried in on my self

let it steep

poured my delicate all back in

with my hard and stern

i am beautiful

like i was before

but the reflection speaks easier about it

thanks to you.

minilik

i dont remember men before you

they were all brothers

and a father with no puberty in him

i dont know how to love men

i was never looking for a king

i found a prince trying to regain his crown

when you take your thrown

if i cannot sit next to you

i will watch your palace from afar

and smile.

bianca

it was simple with us

there is something

simple

about a beautiful girl

with a lot of heart

and all of it seeping out of her

we were sisters before i met you

my laughter knows you

like my heart knows love

and pain

and when i found you

a part of me came home again

its that simple

with us

piper

i am a whirling dervish

a cracked out queen of

street soothsayer in your life

a crazy girl

with a loud mouth

and a louder

heart

you loved me anyway

you have held my tears

you have held me closer

there is nothing i can say

that can articulate

how much i owe you

a part of my me

omie

you are a queen of queeness

a floating smile

a foolish beauty

a crying growth

I find something

so beautiful

about how true

you are with your tears

with your honesty

with your laughter

your hurt

your bullshitting

your bitching

you are your everything

there is nothing more beautiful

about being a beautiful you

and making no apologies for it

except when its necessary

yarminiah

a beautfiul black man

once wrote about the dimple on the side of your face

there is an equator about you

you make things balanced

i am smalled by you

and always want to grow

bigger

to your heights

so i can reach up to your cheek

and fall into the paradise

of the crater on your face

there is a home about you

a stern mother

a whole sister

a beautiful friend

a careless color and shade

about how confusing it is

to explain how hard

i have

loved you

30 day.. letter...poem? challenge.

this was a post on tumblr:

Inspired by the below post, this is the 30 day letter challenge. I won’t write consecutively and about half of these will be anonymous.

Watch this space.

Day one - your best friend
Day two - your crush
Day three - your parents
Day four - your sibling
Day five - your dreams
Day six - a stranger
Day seven - your ex/love/crush
Day eight - your favorite internet friend
Day nine - someone you wish you could meet
Day ten - someone you dont talk to as much as you’d like
Day eleven - someone deceased you wish you could talk to
Day twelve - someone you hate/caused you alot of pain
Day thirteen - someone you wish would forgive you

Day fourteen - someone you drifted away from
Day fifteen - the person you miss the most
Day sixteen - someone thats not in your state/country
Day seventeen - someone from your childhood
Day eighteen - the person you wish you could be
Day nineteen - someone that pesters your mind, good or bad
Day twenty - the one that broke your heart the most
Day twentyone - someone you judged on first impression
Day twentytwo - someone you want to give a second chance to
Day twentythree - the last person you kissed
Day twentyfour - the person who gave you your favorite memory
Day twentyfive - the person you know going through the hardest time
Day twentysix - the last person you made a pinky promise to
Day twentyyseven - the friendliest person you knew for one day
Day twentyeight - someone that changed your life
Day twentynine - the person you want to tell everything to but are afraid to
Day thirty - your reflection in the mirro

i decided i wanted to try to see wat would happen with this as poems

i may not do all of em

actually im sure i wont

but interesting prompts /reflectionsfor the day

Slim Thug Schooled By Prof. Marc Lamont of Columbia University.

Its about time
people start getting their asses handed to them.
for saying ignorant shit.

Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a recent interview, rapper Slim Thug unleashed a very disturbing attack on Black women, here's an excerpt:

...Most single Black women feel like they don’t want to settle for less. Their standards are too high right now. They have to understand that successful Black men are kind of extinct. We’re important. It’s hard to find us so Black women have to bow down and let it be known that they gotta start working hard; they gotta start cooking and being down for they man more. They can’t just be running around with their head up in the air and passing all of us.

I have a brother that dates a White woman and he always be fucking with me about it saying, 'Y’all gotta go through all that shit [but] my White woman is fine. She don’t give me no problems, she do whatever I say and y’all gotta do all that arguing and fighting and worry about all this other shit.'...

While many people dismissed it as a publicity stunt or the rant of an ignorant rapper, I felt compelled to respond to him in the form of an open letter.

Slim,

A few days ago, you made comments in Vibe magazine that have caused a great deal of controversy. While I appreciate your willingness to offer your opinion in public, you made several statements that were not only unfair and untrue, but deeply damaging to our community. Normally, I would reach out to you privately, but since your comments were made in a very public place, I feel compelled to respond in the same manner.

As an artist who is respected by millions of fans, particularly young ones, I found your comments to be hurtful and irresponsible. For good or for bad, our children follow the lead of you and other artists for everything from fashion and slang to self-esteem, body image and relationships. Imagine how a young black girl feels to hear from you, her role model, that her “standards are too high” and that she should “bow down” and “settle for less.” Consider the pain that our beautiful brown skinned babies feel when Yung Berg says he doesn’t date “dark butts.” Think about the self-esteem of our community when Nelly refers to our mothers, sisters, and daughters as “Tip Drills.”

As celebrities, your public comments are not just your own. Instead they influence the choices, beliefs, and lives of an entire generation of young people who look to you for direction.

Of course, you have every right to say things that you think are true. The problem, however, is that there was very little truth in your comments.

In your interview, you talk about how much better white women treat their partners than black women. If what you’re saying is true, why do Whites have the highest divorce rate of any group? Do white men get tired of being treated like kings? In reality, it seems that you are buying into (and selling) a stale but dangerous ideal that constructs White women as ultra-feminine, loving, queens, and Black women as angry, selfish, and untrustworthy hoes.

Even more disturbing was your comment that “Black women gotta start being down for their man more.” Since slavery, Black women have had to withstand rape, torture, and humiliation (from both white and black men) in order to sustain their families. Now, in 2010, 1 in 3 Black men between 20 and 29 years old are incarcerated or otherwise under criminal supervision. Every day, Black women are raising children without men in the house, working multiple jobs (for less pay!), and supporting brothers as they finish their prison bids.

With Black male unemployment as high as 50 percent in some cities, sisters are often holding down households without child support or other financial assistance. Black female incarceration rates are skyrocketing, partly because Black women are “riding” for their men, hiding guns and drugs, operating as mules, and refusing to snitch to authorities. In addition, Black women are the group most likely to be victims of domestic violence and the least likely to be married. Still, in spite of all this bad news, Black women are less likely to date outside their race than Black men.

How much more “down” do you want Black women to be?

I agree with you that both brothers and sisters have work to do. Over the last year, we’ve seen countless TV shows, movies, and bestselling books telling Black women how broken they are, how ugly they are, why they don’t have a man, and how they need to behave. Instead of adding to this pile of pain and ignorance, I would encourage you to turn the mirror on yourself. How does the image of the pimp/player/baller/dopeboy promoted in your music help to create the “gold diggers” that you badmouth in your interviews? How might your own admitted failures at monogamy undermine the type of loyalty that you find missing in Black women? Criticizing the vulnerable is easy. Working on yourself is the difficult part.

I hope you don’t take this letter as an attack, but as an act of concern and love from one brother to another. Through your fame and wealth, you have tremendous power. You can use it to hurt or to heal, to injure or to inspire.

The world is watching. What will you do?

Your Brother,

Marc Lamont Hill

Link
Mind you there are actually people trying to partially justify some of this as far as the void that exists between black women and men and love in the black community. I will say, any issues that are perpetuated on the side of black females are as a result of the faults and flaws of patriarchy&misogyny and false precepts of what masculinity is..period.
Rocky Rivera schools the homies on this in he tumblr about Kat spanks..

Readhere

To day/night.

I made salat.
On my homegirls rooftop.



Romantic.

Anniversary freewrite

I told myself that there would be no such writing because it smelled too much like wallowing..here it is anyway seeping out of me like drained hope. I had to write it down in two minutes and pretend to get it out.. for my so-called sanity

there is no ceremony

there are no candles

there is no talk of love today

the way there was a year a go

when I unfolded the love letters knotted up in my throat and

gave them to you in a sentence.

I wonder how it became this way

the turn table of my thought telling

a truth with no expected reciprocity

met their gilded joy at the dawn of a morning much like this

when I was scared and full of love for you

busying myself

there is no phone call today

and similarly enough

I am learning to cope somehow, again

with the idea of getting no reciprocity for my divulgences

oh faith,

oh risk,

oh gilded heart

I wonder where and in what I should place thee

I learned love a year ago

and now

I am trying to teach myself how to let it go

On Black Masculinity...

"There is a resistance to rethinking masculinity that is embedded not only within the psyche and lived experience of Black men alone but within women as well. Bell hooks writes: 'Heterosexual women have not unlearned a heterosexist-based 'eroticism' that constructs desire in such a way that many of us can only respond erotically to male behavior that has already been coded as masculine within the sexist framework' (1994a,111). So even a heterosexual man who engages in a sensitive awareness of feminist issues, and in humanistic caring alternative performances of Black masculinity, is demonized for not being a strong, take-charge kind of guy."- bryant keith alexander

OMFG!!

BONG! WTF this is way too relevant to my life and how the world/society has totally fucked the shit out of it..

I WILL definitely be reflecting/ranting on this later.

shet!

but for now..

back to work

The most beautiful love poems are written by people who are not in love at the time.

The real thing has a way of ruining the dream.

Subsistence Struggles Continued

Yea.

Still eating the same shit.

Although yesterday I used like 5$ of what is left of my dining hall money (now 26$) to buy a sandwhich. wack ass salad and apple sauce so actually it was more than 5$. Crappy thing is if you go over its out of pocket and they attach it to your tuition funds (a random $200 charge on my tuition from last year proves I had to learn the hard way). And some how if you go under you lose yo mofucking ca$h and these beetches "throw the money out" FUCK YOU DARTMOUTH . aint that some capitalistic shit right there. oh yea... lets pretend these numbers are real money till yo ass tries to retrieve it or something.. tsk tsk tsk.

anywhooser, im tryna make it through. you see dining dates actually dont work too well when you realize you are royally fucked/ too set in yo procrastinating ass ways and have mad research papers due within the next few days.

Food is a good distraction to make you feel like you are actually doing something when you are not, especially if you are like me and have an oral fixation. Here is what happens. You meet and devour food pals especially if they are new ones or old ones you have missed for a long time.

LoOk:

EVIL BAG OF POPCORN PART 2

Before

After

and this my friends.. i kid you not.. is in a matter of two days or Like 50-60 hours. How does one consume so much popcorn, its actually kettle corn which is very special and hard to come by so that is part of it.. I will say though, I am proud i didnt eat it all in one day cuz i do and have indeed taken on stomach feats such as that.

guhhhhhh.Same 'ol shit.

oh but meet my other friend.

Genetically Modified Giant Ass Apple.

Unlike Popcorn he has secret evils, his ills are in fact hidden.. which may be worse.

You cant tell.. but that is actually a big ass apple. SMH. oh college woes "poor me", i'm a jerk. But I cant wait till I have access to 'ethnic' people and 'ethnic' food it literally changes my brain and my thinking and my spiritual centeredness. DEADASS NO GASS fooo.

May God grant me something pretty in my belly as soon as I get home to DC.

Ashe. Ameen. Amen.

your mouth is an overflowing hearth

from which a million rivers grow

a place of proliferation

that once set many things ablaze

Your name was like a song out my mouth

a prayer of sorts

I miss my God.