Musings of Me

I should really stop watching Lifetime Movies. They are corrupting my sense of reality. You see, I refuse to believe in love that sweeps you off your feet. Love that makes hearts stop and the world shine bright. Love that conquers all. And yet at the end of the day I watch movies that promote the opposite. Modern day fairy tales to say the least. I should really reconsider watching these....fallacies. But then again... a girl can dream.......

Friend Zone

The friend zone
It is synonymous to the front yard
See you’re not permitted to cross the threshold
Claim the prize
And relish in the beauty.
You see that's why
He can't let me in the front door
Cuz he is steady staring out the window looking for someone else.
Seasons pass and I am still knocking
But in his mind time stopped tick tocking away
It’s still yesterday.
where futures were written in minds too beautiful to capture
soft skin met rough hands and i love you absolved all of lifes' demands.
He painted pictures
Swirling their fingerprints together to create a common life
Where he was the husband and she was the wife.
But the picture got stolen and torn to shreds
Has him all kinds of messed up in the head.
Waiting in window panes her picture in hand
While blood seeps through the knuckles on my hand left hand
I’m still knocking.
He’s still waiting
For sufficiency to transform to necessity
For wants to become needs
For his love to finally trigger the desired result
Them.
So how do I tell him?
How do I tell him that sufficiency never equates to necessity
And wants cant morph into needs
And my love too fails to trigger the desired result.
Us, We
So I keep knocking.
Leaving layers of myself on the uneven wood door
So that even in my absence he will know that I could love him more.
So how do I tell him?
So how do I tell him that since home is where the heart is, I can never call this friends zone home
I just don’t feel like I belong
So how do I tell him?
That I have the Jill Scott kind of love
You see my love is deeper tighter sweeter higher flyer
But how could he know this?
Cuz he won’t let me show it
So
I’m still knocking.
One hand turning his front door into a drum
The other rested gently on his arm
Listening to him talk about the girl in the picture.
Consoling his soul,
And playing that friend role
Too afraid to roll
The dice and take my chances
I’m still knocking
Stuck in the friend zone
Praying that he listens
To my heartbeat waning on his front door
Cuz this heart can’t take much more.

Untitled

Swollen eyes stuck to cotton sheets
As she cried herself to sleep
Yet another night.
With the setting of the sun,
Comes another song,
Unsung.
Hoping that on the wings of angels
Her invisible words
Would become visible
To an invisible God.
It was an unwritten letter
To an unseen God
With unforgettable truths
And undeniable regrets.
Her life unreal.
She stands in front of the mirror
Unable to look into her unhappy eyes,
And it's understandable.
She as the woman she never wanted to be.
That girl too comfortable in foreign sheets
That never came close to being able to meet
Her standards.
She choked on regret as she blew her future for their artificial touch
They were her crutch she clutched
In order to ease her limp soul as she journeyed a journey towards a destination she was scared of.
Now, her actions constitute that of a prostitute.
As her body was exchanged for a currency not redeemable for change.
Banks won't give you smaller bills for a counterfeit.
Just like her heart knew that lust would not fit int the parameters of love,
It just doesn't add up.
So she stayed in constant debt.
Feeding into his vicious cycle
Where his neglect was her pimp.
And maybe if she turned enough tricks
She could pay off him
And pretend that he didn't exist.
But her debt was compounded with an interest too big
To dig
Herself out of this predicament.
So she was forced to endure
As empty promises were pushed right through her.
Moaning in agony as her innocence
Was used to pay a debt that was his.
See he had spent his life savings saving face
So he wouldn't have to face the one face that looks just like his
Mirror images
That is super-imposed upon each other
Would reveal DNA so strong that the only genes missed,
Were his height and habitual tendency to flee
Any source of responsibility
And his biggest source was she.
But his flight gene was the one she came to need
Because it just wasn't enough to plead
To be freed
Of a heart that would always bleed
In honor of his name.
Now all these years in to the game
He wants to reap what he had never sown
His seed he had never grown
Into the woman she needed to be.

Swollen eyes stuck to cotton sheets.
As she cried herself to sleep,
Yet another night.
With the setting of the sun came a song ready to be sung.
Written in a letter addressed to the one
She had carried a million ton of burdens for.

Dear Father,
I never really knew you.
But I looked for you.
Tried to fill your void, and even employed the theory of Freud
But those men too destroyed me.
I tried to pick up the pieces to make me whole again.
But then again I kept crashing into men that always left me broken.
Shattered too small to find me all,
And in the midst of searching for me,
I found you.
Lit with a hue so mesmorizing I couldn't look away.
But it didn't take long for your darkness to be brought into the light of day.
I searched so long for a love
You couldn't give,
All because you chose to live selfishly.
And I tried to transform my temples into timpanis
So I could beat it into my own brain,
That you and I are not one in the same.
You are just half of me.
And not the better half you see.
It's thanks to you that people can see right through me
And use me.
But it's the other half of me.
That keeps me firmly rooted in my captivity.
You and I are not one in the same.
See I have a dream.
And a heart so massive heart attacks can't stop it from taking in the world
So permanent residence it can keep.
Because I need it's company.
Sharing a piece of me so that world can make whole.
Sharing a piece of my so my world won't be so cold.
I lived a life in vain
Full of pain
I was so sure you could cure.
But it is funny how wrong a person can be
When they search for truth that wasn't meant to be set free.
I want you to know,
You did this to me.


Swollen eyes stuck to cotton sheets
As she cried herself to sleep
One last night.
After all of these years,
She had given up the fight.

Rise

**I wrote this poem for a poetry slam in which I had to incorporate Maya Angelou--Still I Rise into my own work....

You may write us down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
Devised by the same minds
That said skin too dark to be considered fair,
Was fair to judge.
So you trod us in the very dirt
We toiled to pick your shirt
Of cotton from.
But you see, our tears gave the soil strength to grow the crop
That kept us cropped out of the futures they had in mind.
And our blood was spun in the fibers woven to create the fabric of a country they didn't want us to be a part of.
Yet on the backs of blacks,
Ripped open by whips and broken glass
Is how we got here,
It's how THEY got here.
And they tell us to hang in there,
But we're still hanging from broken branches
Screaming that it isn't fair.
We paid our fares
To ride the bus to the American Dream
We can't seem
To take hold of.
See we still have their guns pressed hard to our temples
So my pen is pressed hard to paper.
They threaten to release a bullet to cease our dreams,
So I press harder to the parchment
So that maybe the ink will bleed through
To the next page of their hearts
Leaving a permanent reminder
That We Still Rise.

See now we have our First Amendment Rights
But just because we have our freedom of speech
Doesn't mean that they are obligated to listen.
And we know this.
So I press harder to the pages.
And they close their eyes.
I speak a little bit louder.
They scream back.
But like I said on the bloody backs of blacks
Ripped open by whips and broken glass
Is how we got here
And how They got here
And we can't stop until we get there.
Till this game is fair.

Because 70 years ago I wouldn't have been here getting my education.
And 70 years ago, I wouldn't have been here giving you education.
And it's 2010, there still shouldn't be a need for this kind of education.
And 70 years from now, I hope we don't need this kind of education.
I don't want my grand babies pens,
Running dry writing a means to an end
That we can write ourselves.
My children's words of passion shouldn't burn on virgin ears
Because this isn't new news to hear.
We have spent too many years
Fight for equality that still isn't here.


See our babies are birthed screaming because they know that they will always wear
Stereotypes that will never fit
And be forced to walk in shoes split
Open by the tragedies of the past.
Where babies swung from exposed wombs
As their mothers swung from age old trees
Where the ropes of their fathers had worn the bark down all too deep.
Where they smelled burning flesh seeping through their screens like the late night screams of the tortured.
Where they read by the light provided by crosses burning bright in their drive ways.

But now we can sit in the front of buses,
And shop in the same stores
And our President is Black
So they tell us we don't have to fight anymore
But they fail to account for why our brothers name's are still 'boy'
And our sisters bodies are still toys
And we still give birth to generations followed in stores
And pulled over for more
Than just routine traffic stops.
And our children sit in school,
Receiving an education substandard to the standards they outlined for us.
I'm sorry Bush,
But our children are still being left behind!

But we will still rise!
O I am sorry, does my sassiness upset you?
Well I didn't come here to be liked,
I came to start a revolution in your beautiful minds.
I cam to remind you that we still rise.
I speak to a room full of leaders with opportunities blazing in their eyes
I speak to battered ears that have refused to believe the same old lies.
I speak to tender hearts that don't take the time to justify their presence in this world,
They just prove it.
Knowing that united we stand, divided we struggle
But out of the huts of history's shame
We Rise.
Up from the past rooted in pain,
We Rise.
We are the black ocean, leaping and wide.
Welling and Swelling we bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
We Rise
Into the daybreak that's wondrously clear
We Rise.
Bringing the gifts that our ancestors gave,
We are the dream and the hope of the slave.
I Rise
YOU Rise
WE... Rise!

Hoarders

I have always been fascinated by hoarders. Their incapability to release old half-treasures into the world boggled my already cluttered mind. How could one relinquish the ability to move freely about their habitat all for the reassurance that every item that they ever lusted over is still in their possession? How could a human being sacrifice freedom for bondage? I asked all these questions and more; eyes glazed over, staring at the tv screen in sheer and utter amazement. Ridiculousness I tell you.

Then it cuts to commercial. A brief pause in broadcasting turns my boobtube into a mirror. A moment of reflection was all I needed. I am a hoarder. WHAT? Mhmmm. Thats right. Though I refrain from collecting useless and space filling items in my small two bedroom flat, I do collect emotions. Twenty-one years old and I am hoarding day old feelings like they are going out of style. As if my already hormonally charged heart and mind had room to spare.

You see I am not your average girl. I embody the stereotypical horoscope reading of a cancer. Yes, I am that bright red crab. Though horoscopes only serve a purpose of entertainment in my life, I can't help but give the cold shoulder to the genius who pinpointed me their description of July babies.

I am that crab. Sure, we all are a little 'crabby' at times, but I am not talking about my ever fluctuating mood. No. This is more of a lifestyle evaluation we are talking about. I bolster up a hard fascade, Rihanna forever echoing in my head 'I, I, I, I'm so hard...yea yea yea so hard.' It sends shivers down my spine. You see you can't break me. Exterior so resilient Teflon should be tempted to use me as a test dummy. But then again, thats the game of the crab. Hard outer shell. All to protect that pillow top mattress soft core that is so easily damaged it has no choice but to enlist armies of thousands to protect it's gates.

I used to believe that my toughened outer coat was enough to block one's vision to my inner marshmallow. Painted that armor with black. Chilled it too. Cold and hard. Shoot, I was stronger than a crab. No shiny steel utensils could break me down. I was invincible. Oh, but how foolish was I. Everyone knows that crabs are harboring that delicious soft meat. Thats the whole reason we order it. And just because we can't see it, doesn't mean we don't know its there, hiding behind cartilage and pinchers, just waiting to be boiled.

Like the meat, my emotions stayed hidden. Sitting with their backs against the door, on cold floors, and in dark rooms. Shivering. Fearing detection, they were forced not to make a sound. Emotions piled so high on top of each other one could easily mistake my overcrowded soul as a slave ship. Carrying 'unwanted' emotions to foreign land where they would be dismissed and mislabeled. Sold and exchanged to maximize profit. You see I thought someone had told me that if I neglected to realize my emotions for what they were, and forced them into work, then I could neglect them for as long as I wanted and still get the job done. And by job I mean life that is. But I guess my high school history teachers forgot to teach me my black history [in reality they refused to] because I wasn't aware that even emotions would be declared emancipation one day. And once free, well, lets just say they took up residence and refused to leave. And more importantly, they refused to be ignored. Holding strikes on my life until I recognized them. Marching through my veins until I gave them the respect that they deserved. Integrating themselves into my speech so I was forced to give them the same opportunities I gave my knowledge. Flowing through my tear ducts, so I had no other option but to pay attention to them. My emotions, sick and tired of being hoarded in dark corners, made an entrance into my world.

So what do I do now? I have fear, anger, sadness, loneliness, happiness, joy, regret, bitterness, hate, and love all living on the same block. How do I move forward knowing that I owe my emotions 21 years of back taxes. Seems to me that I just have to pay up. Sit in front of the blackened tv screen, stare in to the face of emotion, and listen to their story. I have no choice but to pull out the tea and crumpets, take notes, and build a plan to move forward. My only hope is that my No Emotion Left Behind plan works better than Bush's plan for the children. Because I can't afford to have poverty stricken, illiterate, and underdeveloped emotions anymore. I am too invested in me to neglect the emotions that really do matter.

I click off the tv just as Hoarders comes back from commercial break. I get it. Hoarding is a way of surviving. It keeps you just above the line functionality while appeasing your inner turmoil. Hoarding is fueled by fear. It's time to bring in my own professional team and clean this mess up. Roll the credits God, my hoarding days are over!

Dear LSAT

I want to thank you. Thats right, you have successfully altered my life. You see I spend so many of my waking hours thinking about you, one would think you were my new boyfriend. But please don't be mistaken, this is not puppy love. True, my heart skips a beat every time someone says your name, and I do have our next meeting circled in my planner, but there are surely not hearts penciled in next to it. You haunt my dreams and make my stomach ache. I spend more time on you than I do myself. This better not be one of those relationships where I let myself go and three months after the breakup I look in the mirror wondering how I got so darn fat. Regardless, I am about sick and tired of this love hate relationship. You love to ruin my youth and post 21 celebrations with your demands for responsibility and emphasis on my future. The hate part comes on my end. I hate to be defeated and that's precisely what brings me back to you, day after day. I seek your approval and yearn to make you bow down to me. I just wanted to assure you that this relationship is not long term. This is more of a hit it and quit it situation. I don't want any of this repeat offenses bull crap. I just thought we should be on the same page moving forward so you don't think that this is going somewhere. This is a one stop train to law school. No return trip needed. Start packing your bags LSAT, because in just two short months...I will be so over you!

<3 Casaundra

MY JOURNEY-----Day 3---- UNTITLED THUS FAR

Lightly, he brushes his lips against hers
Leaving a slightly sweet yet ashy residual behind.
Yearning for her to lick her lips
Ingesting his taste,
Into her.
He runs his fingertips gently down her cheek,
Tracing her mild frame
Down her neck,
Meeting her collar bone before finding the inside of her elbow
He draws concentric circles before injecting potent nectar into her already swollen veins.
He loves her.
Cant you see,
He needs her.
Open your eyes.
He cant live without her.
His existence relies solely upon her body being able to withstand the daily insertion of poison
Mixing with her blood,
Becoming one with her body.
She- his surrogate mother,
Carrying his toxins full term
Before birthing his venomous child,
Regurgitating his residue.
He has to have her.
Nothing so beautiful as her pale transparent skin
Stretched thin
Over her bones and small lumps of muscle
Pulled taut revealing every artery and vein.
His drug a concoction so strong
Her blood pumps so hard against the walls of her heart
He can see it beat through her chest.
Resting only for seconds before he administers another round of himself into her.
Eyes fling open
Wide with shock.
Don't you see that she needs him?
His desire to meet her needs ran so deep within him
He had no choice.
No other choice but to give her more.
Nobody can love her like him.
Her body convulses against the bed
Ropes digging in
To her paper thin
Skin
Just a little more.
Her deep red blood dripping on sheets.
He could have sworn he had told her before
Not to bleed anymore.
He lights another cigarette
Inhaling the thick smoke deep into his lungs
holding it within just long enough for his nerves to calm
As he crushed himself to a powder form
Spooning himself mixed with sugar water between her tightly drawn lips.
That will teach her.
If only he didn't love her so much.
She gasps for air.
His smile widens.
She writhes in misery.
His heart skips a beat.
Tears stream down her face in agony.
He cries tears of joy.
He cant find the words to express how much he loves her.
She stops.
She stops moving.
Her heart no longer visibly beating through her rib cage.
He is paralyzed.
She is gone.
His tears of joy replaced with tears of anger.
He had once again loved another woman to death.
He tries frantically to revive her.
He needs her.
He cant exist without her.
He has to have her.
She doesn't respond.
So he packs his belongings,
Leaving his drugs scattered across the floor,
Never too worried about needing more.
For he is his own supplier,
his drugs, pieces of him.
An endless supply of his poison called HATE,
In magnitudes so great,
He can spread it with ease.
In his path he leaves tainted needles
In hopes that innocent bystanders will forget to watch their feet,
Falling victim to him,
He is dependent on them.
Only capable of thriving when he is
Infiltrating souls,
Destroying lives.
Desolating countries.
And his favorite is she,
Is the home of the brave
The land of the free.