204/365 Haha Free-write

What's the worst thing that can happen?
So this is a bit nerve-wracking and exhilarating.
I'm a [lil] excited.
Lalalalalala haha I like writing.
What is the worst thing that can happen.
I know the worst thing that can happen to Alice,
She can HOP OFF MY DICK!

Oh goodness.
I don't know how I can ease them into poetry 10 minutes is a long time haha.
Good it will get them warmed up.
As life, as in poetry, the people meant to be will be.

I don't know,
this is kind of weird.
But I rocked it.
The speech and the poem.
I also completely rocked...

I don't know the end of that sentence.
I could totally end time early
and no one would know.

Eh, it's two minutes away.
I remember the end of that sentence!
I totally rocked convincing them I knew what I was doing.
It hasn't been two minutes yet?
THE HECK!

203/365 Unfinished free-write

They tell us that we deserve it.
It's the way we switch our hips,
wear to tight clothes,
wear make-up or anything that makes us feel beautiful.

We wear beauty like as a curse
Sexuality as a bad warning sign.
Just because we ride the
beat somehow makes you think we wanna ride you dick.

There is no respect for female humans anymore.
Females who wear sexuality like pearls with sophistication
and pencil skirt.
It's called class,
not closet freak.

202/365

You were never the reason I drew hearts,
so what made you think you'd be the reason I stopped.

You weren't what I was looking for,
you're not my dream man.
You were a boy playing dress-up in his dad's underwear,
you may have wore the pants but they were clearly too big for you.

You could not make me stop loving.
You're a prop.
 Consider that a Theatre Major's very kind way of calling you a tool

201/365 Sad Saga 8*/

It's not atypical to look back.
Lot's wife,
Pharaoh's slaves
and I imagine if Sisyphus were to ever be relieved of his duties,
 he would resort to skipping stones up waterfalls with nothing better to do.

We tend to become nostalgic about the things we most resented.
So now, I fling my body over meaningless relationships
hoping I can stay above water long enough to forget the sinking feeling you left me with.

But you made me miserable long before you left.
How could I miss that?
What cause a victim to miss being abused?

*She doesn't solve her problem,
just spends enough time with them to become comfortable.

200/365 The beginning

Bad things happen when hot meets cold:
Hurricanes,
Frostbite,
foggy glasses...

199/365 March 23, 2011

Dear Shlesa,
Ha ha ha ha. I'm sorry, but THAT was funny. Do you really think you're buff, you think you're in control?
Babe, you been nothing but my "roommate" for months now. And do you realize how pathetic you sound right now? You flipped out because I deleted you off Facebook? As if that were the only media of communication.

I deleted you off Facebook because out of the estimated 6 months we've been friends on Facebook, you've interacted with me once. That was to comment on one of my pictures "Forever Alone. lol". Now I realize that to you and your friends in room 310, that's hilarious. To me, it's not so catchy. That was the ONE thing you have ever said to me on Facebook and you commented it like I would not even see it. That offended me, thus I had every right to delete and block someone with whom I want no interaction with. I would have confronted you about it and worked it out if I saw the value of doing so. We have no friendship in person so why would I need to keep you as a friend on Facebook. Plus, it's Facebook! Get off. I deleted you long before our little talk.

 And while we're talking about that chat, when you said I could talk to you about anything, did you notice that I said nothing about wanting to talk to you? When it came to your little reconciliation talk with Caitie and Danielle, noticed how I completely left the room. As if those were not blatant hints that I care nothing about having a friendship with you, I told you during the conversation that if there was ever a reason I did not want to talk to you, it had nothing to do with Jonathan. No, you were too busy worrying that I was tampering with your relationship with your fiancé to worry at all about our relationship. When I said I felt closer in friendship to someone who lives two hours from here, whom I've met one time, that didn't tip you off that maybe our relationship was a bit faulty?

That is the most hilarious part of this entire situation. I sleep literally two feet above your head and it took FACEBOOK to tell you we MIGHT have a problem? Really? I guess that shows how much we actually talk to each other, huh? I am nothing but a PC charger to you so I don't know why would ever address this issue like we have a friendship to defend in the first place. We are now and have, for a very long time, been nothing but roommates. And I am perfectly alright with that.

198/365 Free-write #5 (March 21, 2011)

So,

in order for our work to be successful,

our teachings of self-degradation

most start from birth.

Train a child in the way in should go

so that when it is older,

it will not depart form it.

Broken home=Broken children

Therefore if you are a man working to ensure gender inequality

and keep the men in higher status,

your only job is to leave your woman and children.

This simple act will relieve you of your responsibility,

and reinforce the idea the woman should do things fro you.

If you leave a son,

you will leave a child who will immediately feel defenseless and weak.

To hide this face from the world,

he will need to take steps to make himself appear dominant

and will soon follow you in you woman raping footsteps.

When you leave the mother of your children,

you will rape her of her strength and self-worth

If you leave a daughter,

you will have done the most work towards helping this cause because you have now made perfect prey for the next amateur rapist.

Do not think of this girl as your own flesh and blood,

for then you may feel some odd desire to protect her.

After all, every girl is someone's daughter.

No, no, we musn't think like this.

Instead, think of her as just another causality.

This is war.

and men do not cry over bodies in war.

197/365 Free-write #4 (March 21, 2011)

If you need a more concrete example  of what you are attempting to accomplish,

feel free to reference any well known genocide or holocaust in the history of the world.

Of course,

we are not attempting to kill women on a mass scale.

after all, 

who would bear our children or cook our meal?

However,

we are looking to keep them subservient to our rule

The lower they view themselves,

the easier it is to separate them from their power and self-worth.

This means an easier conquest.

Now, as a guide,

reference any successful genocide movement.

Par example, In Rwanda,

Hutus were referred to around the country as cockroaches

to prove they were less than Tutsis.

This made it easier to justify extermination.

In Nazi Germany,

Hitler made sure to spread propaganda against Jewish people before

recruiting thousands of German soldiers to exterminate them.

Thus, to simplify the conquest

call them female dogs,

this will ensure they feel less than men.

If this name becomes too redundant,

you may also substitute,

slut, ho or mama.

The first two will make them feel the need to fulfill your every sexual desire,

while the latter will lead them to cook you breakfast after

and perhaps let you suck their breasts

I mean tatas.

196/365 Free-write #3 (March 21, 2011)

This is to say,
unless they have taken the time to empower themselves,
Every woman is ripe for the picking.

They have been convinced that if their breast won't overpower a billboard,
they are to small in proportion


And while we're here,
go for the models.
I know the deep rooted fear that only extremely attractive men can bag a model.
This is a myth.

Models generally are very insecure.
What they see in the mirror does not match what they have been worshiped for.

(Carole loved this one. I'd say apply to all women, not just models)
If you play your cards correctly,
they will mistake your hand for a photo-shop airbrush
and will need your touch to make them feel beautiful.
In this,
you will have them hooked.


Keep this knowledge to yourself,
for later,
you will be able to brag to your friends about you catch
(Remember; sporting references make you a man)


They will be impressed that you banged a model,
and you will pretend to impressed by their recent conquests.
But only if you never speak of what it took to get you there.
only if you never talk about "shawty's" as humans.

195/365 Free-write #2 (March 21, 2011)

A woman has the ming of a nation,
she is strong.
The walls of her body are made to combat war.
She can bleed for seven days 
and not complain or perish.


She is made to and has birthed nations.
She will birth the head of army
or she will take the position herself.


She can nurse any wound to health
or inflict one with a look.

She is intelligent,
compassionate.
She can think with her mind
instead of her pelvis.

Cast lights with a smile
divulge breeze with a walk.
She is irresistible (hit this point)
Disillusioned.

She is complicated and intricate
so simplify her.
Break her down to her minimum so she thinks that's all she is worth.


Exploit her good natured and to reach heart.
Break it,
Break her down,
Wound her spirit.

Acknowledge nothing but her body
until she forgets the power of her mind.

194/365 Free-write #1 (March 21, 2011)

Pussy.
Compare her vagina to a fishing expedition.
Make it something you do in your spare time.
Something you can pick up and drop off anytime you feel the need.
Disconnect her from her body and
make it something that belongs to you.
This way she will throw it at you on your beck and call.

Take the treasure out of it.
Degrade the rarity of a good woman.

Under no circumstances should you show her any sign of respect.
If you do,
you may as well castrate yourself for the emasculation will have already taken place.


When speakin to a woman,
do not speak to them directly for this will give them the impression that they are human
which may lead them to demand the rights of a human being.


Instead,
divert your eyes to there tits
and address your sentences to their ass.

193/365 Erotic Piece Redone (cheating)

On our first date,
when I showed him my chastity necklace,
you asked me,
“Why would anyone ever choose to be chaste.”
My answer is as follows,

In the months leading up to my wedding,
there will be much debate about honey moons in Fiji,
or the Virgin Islands.
but we will settle for the fortress of our own home.

And while most couples need one night to consummate their love,
I ask that you do not try and contact me for at least
seven days.
Here’s why…

On my wedding night,
If he does not sink into my quick sand lips,
or Hawaiian sunsmile.
It will be my desert hips
and Amazon thighs to do him.
Because there is no island on this planet that you can get more lost than than my body,
I give three days to realize this fact.

Three days to treat our bed like an episode of Lost,
fully-aware
that at every turn there is a sexual beast waiting to devour him.

I will watch him morph into an explorer before my eyes
with the hands of an archeologist,
he will treat my body like an ancient temple
because he know at the site of it,
that nothing was more carefully constructed.

His mere breath on my ear will curve my neck,
arch my back,
curls my toes
and when I beg his name
He will tell me to be patient.
run his hands down my torso
and remind me
every artist knows their canvass long before they wet their instrument.
Consequently,
he will have worshiped the doors of my temple years before he opens them

For his patience
My praying legs will reward his saintly fingertips open prayers
He will be the first to ever tell me that my natural juices smell like wine
meaning he
is God ordained to get drunk off my essence.
I will beg him not to drink responsibly on this night
where I’m the designated driver and I vow to make him my stick shift until his engine stutters
and explodes.

By day 4,
He will have entered me.
Less like a frantic moth to a flame,
more like a thread to a needle
because when I wet the tip
I find nothing but deliberance in his hard on.

He cums slowly.
Makes a moan like a breeze slipping through heaven’s orchids.

No one can convince me they’d know how to please my body better than my soul mate,
Until I proclaim that the average climax is far too low for my taste,
until he’s bangin’ my body up against the pearly gates because
sometimes you just want it rough
Poetry aside

Until our sweat drips Salvador Dali into clouds and it’s raining clocks,
7day can easily melt into seven months.

In short,
I am saving myself,
because I am well worth the wait.

192/365 [Unfinished]

Some people have the ability to catch your eye without even noticing,
to sweep you off your feet without even the remnants of a broom.

I never seem to pour love into anythings tangible,
it's always things too big for me to grasp.

Like poetry,
the entire continent of Africa
and you.

You hit my world like a tornado when I was just opening up the window for a breeze.
You flung into my face things I never thought I wanted but suddenly became so necessary,

When you held me,
I often felt like a kid on a water slide; innocent without a sense of control
but the last time I was young and lost control,
I ended up in the hands of a man who tore from me the only innocence I had left.

I'm sorry,
that what could have been a blissful experience with you
turned into a reenactment of the traumatizing experience with him.

Thank you for refusing to play his part.

I never wrote us a proper break-up poem.
Probably another one of those things that I swept under the rug.
Another one of those things I say in a cheery voice so people don't have to know I'm hurting.

191/365 "Never again will a story be told like it was the only one." (Slam poetry potential)

I've been raped.
I can only remember fractions.

I can't remember the smell
or the struggle,
just like I can't remember be stoned to death afterwards.

I can't remember what it was like to be excommunicated,
I can't remember it being illegal for my mother to comfort me,
or touch me,
or even look at me.

I don't remember dragging my broken and bruised body across desert sand
knowing I just committed a crime in my country.

I do not remember these things happening to me.
but I know that they did.
I know that the many is in one,
that one is in many
and that they all are in me.

I know I am human,
that i am a woman.

190/365 Letters 71

 Dear Carole,
*Sigh* You silly girl. No it’s cool. We’ve made progress. This was helpful for me to get inside your head because you ramble sometimes and completely side-step your fears. This let’s me know exactly what they are so we can eradicate them.
So here’s the thing, you have the wrong perception of what success is. Success is ANYTHING but perfection. If you were to reach perfection, right now; write the perfect essay, perform the perfect poem and design the perfect outfit, what then? Where do you go from there. There is nothing above perfect so what would be your purpose to continue living? You could never top what you’ve created and then you would always curse yourself for not being able to reach that again.
Life is about learning and relearning. Making mistakes is the key to learning. If you learn the re-doing process, you’ll see, you learn a lot more from your mistakes than your success. Embrace failure. Dive in. The only thing this need for perfection is doing is stopping you from moving entirely. Yep, I’m gonna stop talking now.

188/365 Letters 69

Grrr. That wasn’t very nice. I want to be mean right now because you’ve hurt my feelings. Snatch those braids out yo head, realize that you ain’t the shit and come ack down to earth. Your boyfriend is pissed at you because you are so preoccupied with having your “fun” life, that you are not doing anything create revenue or income for this great life you want. So you are leaving him out to dry because you are irresponsible and thick headed. You are oblivious to what he is going through just like you’re oblivious to my feelings.
I get it. You have you’re little clique and you guys have your inside jokes and they don’t mean a whole lot (just like many things in your tiny little brain do not). But when you post on somebody’s picture who is not apart of it it, it’s hurtful. I have done nothing to disrespect you like that so watch what you frivolously throw my way. Bitch.

189/365 Letters 70

Tell me Aretha,

how can a rose be a rose once it's been deflowered?

petal by petal

plucked out,

dried out,

left to crumble as dust.

I am nothing but dust.

(19/365)

I wonder if you feel me.

Sifting through your photos,

re-reading old poetry.

I wonder you feel my eyes on you.

I imagine I feel what a stalker feels while watching their latest victim,

And I wonder when I became your stalker.

The moment I was kicked out of your life.

Forced to be an outsider, 

a part of me wants back in.

 but I'll mess it up again.

Tripped on my way in,

got kicked outside,

everybody saw.

And I know, that it's a wonderful world

but I can't feel it right now.

I know that I was doing well 

but I just want to cry now.

(20/365) The reason why

Because I'm a queen and a queen gets to do whatever she wants.

Because you want to be a real man

and a real man respects the request of a real woman,

Respects them, even if he doesn't understand them.

Because you're respectful.

That's why we can't be friends.

Because I said so :)

(21/365)

You are not you,

You are someone else.

Your are not Dominique.

Dominique is defined.

You are everchanging.

Dominique is a god,

you are human.

Which is better to take your place?

(22/365) Could be a slam poem...

I used to sing to you, 

unabashed.

Sing to you,

by you, 

beside you.

Used to sing anything

and everything.

But Kyle,

these days...

I only know one song.

See, I'm tumbling

for you.

Stumbling through the work that I have to do.

Don't mean to harm you!

By leaving your town....

I sing it on repeat.

My mind is st-st-stuck on the last thing you said to me.

(23/365) The never meant to be "we" (free-write)

I wanna answer your question.

Because when I told you that this,

what we shared, wasn’t a friendship.

You asked me what we were.

We are nothing,

and everything,

we are broken lovers.

But I can’t call you “friend” with your tongue down my throat,

It gets a little hard to articulate.

Deep throating phallic tongue thrusts,

Attempting to breathe through hormones and the necklace around my neck

restricting our movement to pelvic dives the sunlight has never seen before.

Cave like creatures are we.

No, you and I frolic during day.

It’s something about the "we" that is afraid of the sun,

shies from true love,

and never makes a phone call twice in a row.

There is something about that “we” that translates into nothing.

Neither friend nor lover.

Could you even call it a relationship?

We are nothing.

Because “we” was never meant to be composite Kyle and Dominique.

(24/365) The antihero at the request of Panama Soweto

Amazing how true they both were at the time they were written

Now

I feel smart…

But then not at the same time.

I feel unjustified.

Abnormal,

…something like a goddess.

Now there’s an ambivalent position.

So I got the wake-up call today.

I am a grown woman lacking everything that goes with that title. Wonderful.

I will not ask for forgiveness when I say that is not what I want.

You needn’t excuse my desire to be more prepared.

It will be,

with or without your consent.

But the minute disappointment of the day,

Is that I’m not.

I feel extraordinary.

Supernatural.

Spontaneous.

I feel fascinating.

Worthy.

I feel all the things I once  wished I could feel.

I am a beautiful mess.

No one has lived this life.

Similar, sure.

And I respect the fact that everything has already been lived by my ancestors.

That they have set that path.

But now it’s mine.

And I will never be a mere face in the crowd

Or another name on a list.

I claim my place in heaven today,

Even with my feet on the ground.

It’s kind of spectacular to mean the world to even one person.

Uplifting even for that moment.

But every moment lasts forever.

You cannot watch a mountain decay.

A mountain lasts for millions of years.

A year is but a moment,

But every moment shapes it.

Every second becomes a part of it.

Just know to how much each bit amounts J.

I feel divine.

Happy,

Warm,

Genuine,

Successful.

I feel appropriate,

Even when they tell me I’m not.

Falling blind sighted into my purpose.

What can I say?

I feel like a goddess.

v.s.

Then

I feel stupid…

but then not at the same time.

I feel justified.

I feel normal.

I feel…human.

That’s a positive and negative all at once.

So I had a news flash today.

I’m a teenage girl, attributed with everything that goes along with that title. Joyful.

Please, please forgive me if that’s not what I want.

Pardon my desire to be above it,

to be special,

to be “mature beyond my years” as they put it.

The grand disappointment of the day;

I’m not.

I feel ordinary.

I feel mundane.

I feel routine.

I feel uninteresting.

I feel unworthy.

I feel all the things I’ve strived to be the very opposite of.

Sure, it happens to everyone.

Everyone goes through it.

“I know the feeling”.

It’s all comforting for awhile,

until you realize you’re just another face in the crowd,

another name on a list.

It’s kind of funny how everyone stands out to the same amount of people. It’s quite spectacular how bland it is.

Just to know to exactly how much it doesn’t amount.

I feel mediocre.

I feel content.

I feel lukewarm.

I feel like a failure.

But at what?

Being supernatural?

Can you blame me?

Probably not but somehow…I can.

I feel indecent.

I feel invaluable.

I feel purposeless.

What can I say?

I just feel stupid.



(25/365) Work in Progress

Wrote it after watching the slam crowd give a far lower score to a poem about lesbianism than it should have received out of a prejudice. Now I love Slam Nuba, and it's audience but that crossed the line. P.s. never piss off a poet.

Storm just freshly passed,

Raindrops dripped off leaves like Angels whipping tears from heaven.

She died beneath a rainbow.

the biblical sign of hope,

but the same people who quote it's verses denote this sign as unacceptable.

The word "faggot",

hit her ears too many times and it's phantom ringing curved the knife to her wrist,

arm,

and throat.

They day it takes strength to wreck that organ.

Either that or a vast amount of self determination

but don't you dare think she felt strong.

If she were alive,

she'd tell you it was the weakest things she'd ever done,

that she was at the end of her rope and instead of struggling to get back up

she just let go.

You can't imagine what it takes,

have no idea what it's like!

...or maybe you do.

When you were six years old with pony-tails

and all the boys pulled them and called you names,

maybe you felt a fraction of it then.

Or when you couldn't do cartwheels or hand stands and they teased you...

What about being denied access because you're Latino or a job because you're black.

the laws constructed against your existence,

establishments erected for the very genocide of your culture and people,

maybe then you understood the ignorance of a society,

worse a government denying rights to it's own people.

Remember your history Nuba!!

[not finished]

(26/365) yep....

I often wonder why the passionate are viewed with construed faces and cocked heads.

Your misunderstanding will be my undoing.

But when my voice gets soft and my eyes grow weak and I whisper the only words I have left to speak,

I pray you hear my plead.

My clothes mislead and my words confuse,

but you see to me that's not what they do.

To me, they are my only source of release.

Tool to decrease the stress that has reached capacity.

Maybe more

but no less.

And while I confess that I am strong.

My heart is weak.

And heavy.

Pulling me deeper into constant firs of emotion confinement.

Finding symbolism in the simplistic and meaning in the un-purposed.

and I never claimed to be unashamed.

But if it's all the same my art shall remain unnamed and unrestrained

because restrictions never birthed genius.