An Introduction

Whether it be fantasy or reality or something dirty in between~

It is a reflection of me

And you.


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Never Enough to be Pretty is all the change I have in my pocket- TL Banks


Nope, Not Tonight…

Yes, I put this cologne on for you
Yes I got fresh, brushed my teeth, painted my toe nails
Just so you could see and nod… that’s all..
Yes, I let you push up next to me
And graze past my breast
Yes, I let you whisper in my ear when clearly I could have heard you over the music…
This a’int that though.
You only call me at 10:54
Never during the day
You only respond to my texts if I say, come out this way
So yes, my lipstick is glossy and my eyeshadow is set
Yes, I look sexy, my skin is like honey and I have on high heeled shoes
Just so you could be like damn when I walked in the room… thats all…
And lick your lion lips…
Yes, I look like I want something but I am getting it right now,
your admiration.

And that’s all I needed to get to check you.
So no, this aint that though,..
And now that you are drooling , you can take your ass home.
Cause, obviously, I already got off…


Sexy Cake Wedding Topper

Because the plan is already in place my love
You will whisper my name to the flapping wings of a dove
Rising across the sky in front of the church lot
Let’s do October when it’s not so hot
And a band, we need a band who can play our favorite tune
I’ll be the bride and duh,  you be the groom
So make sure you finalize your divorce
Don’t forget to sell that hideous hearse
And get a nice car, something classy
That represents a love long lasting
To all the fans who will come and see
The king finally marry his loyal queen
What you mean, that won’t work?
What you mean, I’ve gone berserk?
Haven’t you slept two nights in my bed?
The wedding topper should have your head…
Or should I tell your old wife instead?!?


But I love you though…

I mean, I didn’t mean what I said.
No seriously my bad. I mean, I’m sorry.
I did a number on you didn’t I? That was not my intention.
The thing is sometimes I get to thinking and then I start talking
and after a few drinks, I’m just saying whatever pops into my imagination.
You know how it goes.
I mean, It wasn’t like I was serious.
If I were serious, would I be here right now, apologizing?
I threw you for a loop there didn’t I? That was not what I was trying to do.
The thing is I get so mad at stuff, you know, and it just seeps out
and after a few hits off the bong, I just craft a soapbox and jump on it.
Can I have some of your sandwich?


In Peace…

You wake up to screaming.
She is shouting at him again. He is drunk. It’s 3 AM. Your first day of first grade is tomorrow. You listen for a smacking sound.
You know that if you hear it, you are supposed to grab your little sister from her crib, run out of the apartment to the street and find a light on. Find a neighbor who will call the police.
The smacking begins and it’s thick and wet.
You can smell the blood. You don’t have time to find clothes. So in your pajamas, with your baby sister in your arms you run around your neighborhood screaming help.
Help Us.
Help me, please, somebody.
This scene reoccurs regularly until you are kicked out of the house at 11. You make your stepfather uncomfortable because you aren’t his child or his responsibility. You’re deficient. You’re dumb.
So what do you do now?
You go to school, get good grades but you are not pretty. You are too tall. You are too fat for your age. You are dirt poor. You don’t have real friends just people that you make laugh, or that laugh at you.
You fight off potential molesters every day after school just trying to get from the bus to your apartment.
You would have killed yourself at 15 if your cousin didn’t catch you on the roof.
Supposedly the only person that loves you is Jesus.
And your uncle in law who likes to pull your panties down around your ankles while you pretend to sleep and rest his body on top of yours at night. There is no one to tell because no one cares.
You’re constantly terrified. So you run into the arms of the first boy who pays you any attention but he sells drugs, and has a million other girl friends and has a horrible cocaine habit.
Your brain isn’t producing enough serotonin.
Help me, please, anybody.
You flinch when you hear loud sounds because you’re scared. You hate being inside your own skin and there is no escape but one.
You leave the room every time you hear someone say bitch or a movie comes on where a woman is being physically abused.Your mother tells you that if she could have, she would have aborted you.

So you try to kill yourself again when the boy you loved becomes a man and is finally honest about the fact that he doesn’t love you as much as he loves the streets. He wants a divorce.
So what do you do now?
You block the door with your sofa, send your child away, crawl in the bathtub, drunk off a fifth of gin, full of aspirins, ready to slit your wrists and drop your radio in the bath. The cord comes out of the wall so you pass out and wake up in the psych ward.
And they keep telling you there are so many things to live for. But everybody cheats.
Everybody lies. Everybody leaves.

Stop thinking about assault and abandonment.
Stop thinking about poverty and rape and racism.
Stop thinking about other little girls who have gone through what you have.
Color instead.
Pray to Jesus instead.
Help me, please.
You’re clinically depressed they tell you so all you need to do is take these drugs and talk to a counselor and you’ll be normal.
So you do everything that they tell you to do and now you feel nothing.
You can’t cry at your aunt’s funeral. You can’t smile at your own graduation.
Nothing that you do, nothing that you accomplish is ever good enough for you to be loved and accepted.
You hear your own voice reciting every horrible thing you have ever been told, or called.
You’re tired. In a crowded room, full of people who say, tell us another story, tell us a joke, entertain us, you are alone.
You’re everyone’s fool. And no cares. If you try to commit suicide again, the doctor tells you, you will be successful.
So stop worrying about everything. Stop being so fragile. Stop being so sensitive. Stop feeling things so deeply.
So what do you do now?
Take the mood pills. But you can’t. So you beat yourself up even more for not being able to let it all slide off of your back.
You’re a failure. You’re pointless. Everyone would be so much better off if you didn’t even exist. They told you so.
Roses are ugly. There is no such thing as love. Money murders.
To top it all off, its your fault that you feel like this. You are selfish they say. You are self absorbed and that’s why you are not happy. Everyone has hard times they say. Get over yourself. This makes the cuts, gashes. Just sing for us. Just let us fuck you.
Everybody is already dead they just don’t know it yet. But you know it. You breathe it.
How can you still be upset about what someone did to you 30 years ago, they say.
You feel like a loser. You can’t cope. So you look for a permanent exit.
Help me, please. You’re still running around in the dark, looking for a light on.
But the whole world is asleep.
So what do you do now?
So you write. SOS.
And you just keep waking up
Keep hanging on
So you scribble out your screams
And just keep on waking up
Hour after hour
Writing it all down
Clutching at hope threads
by tapping keys to the sound of your heart beat….

The Get Away Car

If you took everything that I don’t know and chopped it up and stuffed it into a giant pot and let it boil for hours on end and when it’s molten lava hot poured it out all over the ground it would cover the entire earth. I never said that I was smart.
I never said that I wouldn’t be wrong and scared and slow at times and lost and afraid and weak.
If you turned around at just the right time to watch me walk right out of your life so that my tears caught the gleam off a window and my pain sort of looked like sunshine it would break your heart. I never said that I was immune.
I never said that I couldn’t fall and whine and dream and die and hope and wish and cry all of the time.
You escaped me and you escaped us and you escaped this and you took everything when you turned around
and I’m angry and I’m frustrated and I’m crazy and lonely and there is absolutely no tomorrow.
But there is cocaine ex boyfriend, there is booze… there are cigarettes and pills and I’ll be gone too full of pot full of shit full of hope once again at just the right time waking up poised for the next time. I never said that I loved you.
I have no idea what I am doing in the universe until I let another break me apart.