Third Date (March 11, 2006)

one hour more or less
to shower and dress
and what I'll wear is anybody's guess
but in the end I must look my best
lest the hour I've used
on dresses and shoes
proves simply that I don't know how
to make the right moves
so the minutes will pass
and the shower will splash
and I'll drive in my car
and I know I won't crash
and then I'll take the train
and I know it won't rain,
in the end I know my journey
won't be in vain
though vanity is surely
a forgivable sin
considering the state I'm in
of slight panic
although it sounds manic
and the magic of three
is causing my anxiety
and high expectations
may cause limitations
of my skill in the art
of conversation
despite years and years
of preparation
and education
on how to handle
this kind of situation
I think I'm having palpitations
and little exhalations
of restrained anticipation
as I battle my idiosyncracies
and make way for the niceties
of simply getting dressed
and being a lady.

Untitled (January 6, 2006)

in those moments
between
chaos and calamity
I stop to wonder
where the time has gone.
no longer a young innocent
gazing at the world
with life-stained glasses
yet
one who has yet to
figure out
where the journey is taking her.
those moments
are found ever
so rarely...
in the silence of the car
while the tires hug the pavement
thinking about how
I can't smell the sea
or
in the midst of a party
in the glow that comes from
two glasses of wine
and
pleasant conversation
or
in the electric hum
of an empty house
as the radiator ticks off
every reminder of
Things To Be Done
eventually.
The moments are full of
second guesses
and
nagging doubts
and
clinging hopes
but
little result.
No time for deep cleansing breaths
or reality checks.
The moment is fleeting
but ever important.
Self indulgent
self reflection takes
precious time -
of which I have little -
in those moments
when I try to figure out
if I'm doing it
right.

Freestyle #1: Just Flow

I'm sittin' here just waitin' to pee
and if I was a doggie I could pee on a tree
but no
I have to go
in this little cup
and I think that it's really messed up
that I
can't go
I need to get this job
I'm tired of livin' my life bein' a slob
I don't wanna be a bum no mo'
tired of all my crap on the floor
so I
sit here, chillin' in my car
I really wish I was a superstar
but no
I'm just a regular girl
tryin' to make it in this everyday world
everybody got money
and I ain't got none
and I just wanna have some fun
but no I'm sittin' here
in the parking lot
hopin' nobody blow up my spot
I drank a lot of coffee
just to go
and I'm sittin here
making a show of it
just chillin'
don't know what I'm gonna do
even though I have to poo
I can't pee, oh mercy me
all my life I just wish I could see
why
I have to go through all this mess
I'm so in distress
just chillin'
in the shade
thinkin' how I'm gonna make the grade
I gotta do all the stuff I gotta do
to make the big bucks and say
'Yo I'm through with
living in my house yo
It's been cool
but
I gotta go now
'cuz I'm done with school'
so I'm
sittin here
just kickin' freestyle
knowin' how I'm gonna take it
that extra mile
just flow
do the show, ya know
just flowin'
doin' the show, ya know

You Are A Disease (November 2003)

You just don't know when to stop
like some nightmarish game of
whac-a-mole
you pop
up at the most inopportune time
It's been 3 years
and you just won't quit
you're like that zit right
between my eyes
that doesn't disappear after
several tries at eradication
don't you understand
I told you to leave me the
hell alone
just fucking go home
to the roach motel you
crawled out of
you keep doing what you do
but I want nothing to do
with you
you've made me so angry
you've driven me to poetry
you are a disease.
You have given me a
syllabic sickness
an ailment of alliteration
a metaphoric mononucleosis
or hyperbolic herpes
you are a disease
I recover from this
melodious malady
only to go into
word withdrawal
I'm infected with invectives
until I vomit vernacular
and get lyrical lockjaw
you are a disease
Now I have poetic palsy
and verbal visions
an epilepsy of epithets
that causes semantic seizures
until I go into
colloquial cardiac arrest
leading
to a
rhythmic
rigor
mortis
you are a disease.

Nice Girls Finish Last (November 2003)

15 years old
bubble gum covering Bacardi on her breath
body spray screening the smoke from her clothes
creeping in past curfew
her parents are clueless to what's going on
time won't give them a chance
to learn that
big girls don't cry
and nice girls finish last

she'll see your inch of cleavage
and raise 2 inches of midriff
red highlights are no match for
a blonde, layered, and frosted job
second ear piercings pale in comparison to
bejeweled tongues, bellies, and noses
16 years old and she can't
remember her natural hair color
but she doesn't need to live
in the past
big girls don't cry
and nice girls finish last

binge and purge for the prom dress
the Homecoming queen just never
seemed hungry
17 years old when she fainted
at the crowning but
everyone just thought she was
happy
as the ambulance pulled away
the fat girls danced in celebration
but no one gave them a second glance
the big girls didn't cry
the nice girls finished last

my friend was one of the
nice girls
18 years old, went to college
found a boy and did everything
the cool kids did years ago
19 years old, had a baby
and became the highlight
of post graduation gossip
I saw her when the dust settled
baby girl in her arms
and I asked
how will you keep her from
growing up too fast
how will you keep her from
repeating the past
in a world where big girls
don't cry
and nice girls finish last?

Untitled (January 21, 2004)

memory replays
history repeats
and I watch myself
stop and go stop and go between
right and wrong
stop and go stop and go
rise and fall like my chest
as I struggle to catch my breath
catch myself as my
heart pumps reality to my mind my
heart pumps guilt through me but
my body can't tell the difference
between guilt and pleasure
guilt and pleasure
rise and fall
stop and go stop and go and
stop as the revelations rise
bring tears to my eyes that
won't fall and I don't know which
name to call as I stop
and go forward into accident stop
and go forward into mistake stop
and go forward into dishonesty but
what you don't know won't hurt me so I
stop and go
rise and fall into sin
that never tasted sweeter
hands that aren't yours
feel better as they stop
and go stop and go
I hear a voice that isn't yours
reply to mine when I say stop
go stop go
and I can't control the outcome
until I finally stop
and when I'm finally alone I can't
remember you
I can't
remember you
while memory replays
and history repeats
I watch myself stop and go stop and go and
stop

Unfinished: Strut Your Slut (October 2003)

Pressure's closing in on me
like riding the Double G
after 4th period class
I'm stuck in a mass of traffic
and I'm having trouble handling shit
like Tillett
it's just passing through
people keep asking me what I'm gonna do
with my life so I tell them
"I'm going to win the lottery
and become a dilettante."
Was that not the response you wanted?
I'm allowed to use big words now
that's why I'm in college
but you think I'm wasting time
waiting in line on Union Street
for the Thursday night
Strut Your Slut
when dingy basements become
pits on smut
where half dressed girls
and fully drunk frat boys
guzzle down Beast
and keep making noise
thrashing about to wack-ass Nelly songs
till the girls get trashed
and the guys come on strong
and remind us why we buy
into that utterly wrong notion
that this is the STD capital
of the world

Scene: Hurtado Health Center
Enter: Me, suffering from a sinus infection, approachign the reception desk, a sniffling sneezing and feverish mess, when I am told to
just fill out this form about your sexual history...
-excuse me, I'm not pregnant
...how many people you've done it with and how often you do it...
-I said I'm not pregnant
...we also need to know if you've done oral or anal and we need to know which way you swing...
-listen to me! The problem is up here, not down there, bitch! I'm not pregnant!
Oh, ok. Well, just sit right there
and we'll be with you momentarily
we'll push the Pill on you anyway
as a precautionary measure
don't worry about it
it's our pleasure to misdiagnose
every girl that walks through our door
(we know you're all whores anyway)

waiting in line on Union Street
for the Thursday night
Strut Your Slut
when dingy basements become
pits of smut
where half dressed girls
and fully drunk frat boys
guzzle down Beast
and keep making noise
thrashing about to wack-ass Nelly songs
till the girls get trashed
and the guys come on strong
and remind us why we buy
into that utterly wrong notion
that drinking beer in basements is cool

American Dream (October 2003)

it's ok to be confused
i can see the wheels turning in your head
the signals are getting mixed
you're having trouble putting together
what i look like with what i just said

you see this
head full of curls
softened by time
centuries of mixing and matching
and the result is this attractive creature before you

brown hair
brown eyes
round butt
big thighs

i feel bootylicious like Beyonce
i am pissed at Kobe Bryant

yet you still question me and my authenticity
this girl who speaks so articulately
you're puzzled by my versatility
as i shamelessy admit that i know
the theme song to Gilligan's Island

i keep transcending lined
and taking in all that i can handle
but you reduce yourself to
insults and slander
because Clueless is one of my favorite movies

i think i've figured it out...
it's not a question of authenticity
but rather one of jealousy

i'm a pop cultured princess
perpetually perceptive
the the plethora of pastimes
available to me
and as i wax poetic
almost prolific
you notice that my speech is steeped
in suburbia yet my soul
stems from something substantially
larger than New Jersey
i'm springloaded with the spirit of
Celtic melodies and Cherokee myths
Highland flings and Hausa rhythms
Chicago blues and Kansas City soul
i'm everywhere
feel everything
you can't control my geographic boundaries
as i race to embrace society
and become a World Traveler
while you stay stuck in these United States of Ignorance

all i am saying
is give the Beatles a chance
it's ok...go on...dance while no one's watching
see the beauty in Shakespeare's poetry
take in Monet and Salvador Dali
and then flip the script
and dive so deep into Toni Morrison's stories
that you dreams become saturated with bluer eyes
and tar babies
and you wake up humming the
Songs of Solomon
and see how everything in the world connects
borders and walls break down
and you might begin to see how i've grown
but even with all that i've shown you
you still want to classify life
like a box of Crayolas.

Fine
call me white
call me yellow
ooh, call me Oreo
that's one of the most beautiful chocolate browns i've ever seen

it doesn't matter that my skin in the color of
coffee and cream
I am where Scottish, Irish, African and Native American
came to convene
take a good look, honey
I don't need your classification
I am
The American Dream

Twelve To Twenty-One (October 2003)

Twelve is writing in her journal for the first time
a journal, not a diary
because diaries are girly
and diaries are cute
and Twelve doesn't want to be cute
she wants to be cool
but it's hard to be cool
when you're Twelve
in glasses and braces
and your face is breaking out
and you mom won't let you
buy your own clothes or
shave your legs
so you're the only girl in the locker room
who doesn't shave
but at least you're not the girl who
still doesn't wear a bra
but you don't want to wear a bra
Twelve is trying to be cool
Twelve is trying to survive 8th grade
Twelve is waiting for Thirteen
so she can be a Real Teenager

Thirteen is still writing
Thirteen is old enough to make babysitting money
but not old enough to
go to the mall with her friends and
spend it
Thirteen is wondering why boys
don't like her and girls
don't either
Thirteen is failing geometry
Thirteen is discovering poetry
Thirteen is waiting for fourteen
because Thirteen's just not fun

Fourteen is still writing
Fourteen is spending days at the mall
scouring JC Penney clearance racks
and trying to be cool
Fourteen means contact lenses
but still earing braces
and her face is still breaking out
and having shouting matches with Mom
cause she's not allowed to wear
stovepipe jeans
Fourteen is Avril Lavigne
trapped in Steve Urkel's body
and hearing Abbey Road for the first time
Fourteen is waiting for Fifteen
because it can only get better from here

Fifteen is furiously writing
Fifteen hates her parents
hates her school
hates her clothes
and her braces
and her face is still
breaking out
and she pouts about
how life is so fucking unfair!
Fifteen is looking at boys
and wondering why they
don't look back
Fifteen is being told to get her life on track
Fifteen is waiting for Sixteen
when there will be
only 3 more years of this
teenager shit left

Sixteen and Seventeen write occasionally...
Sixteen is losing her braces and
gaining a boyfriend...
then dumping him
Seventeen's gaining a driver's license and
losing her virginity
Seventeen is ready for Eighteen
because it means you're finally
growing up

Eighteen and Nineteen are too busy to write
but do so when faced with dramatic circumstances
at least once a month
Eighteen has her life mapped out
and Nineteen realizes she
doesn't know shit
so Nineteen waits for Twenty
before realizing that it's a
pointless age

Twenty sat down and read today
read about
dreams and schemes
and self-indulgent
poetic temper tantrums
she read about life and love
and loss
self deprecation and self respect
she remember her glasses
remember her braces
and her face still breaks
out from time to time
Twenty is holding on to
Twelve through Nineteen
Twenty is waiting for
Twenty-One
even if she's not quite sure why.