Quotes

"I've never desired fame or mere popularity. I'm actually quite content in my mysteriosity..."

-Words I will say when I'm famous

Emotional Combat

I'm growing a lil weary of this emotional combat. I can't figure out if I'm trapped inside my feelings ... or if my feelings are trapped inside of me. I need solice.

BOMPF*

The Urban Times

The roots of the Hip Hop culture are found in African music. Like Rap, R&B, Jazz, & the Blues, Hip Hop "rose from the cracks of a concrete jungle". Tenement buildings blocked the morning sunlight. There were no roosters or alarm clocks, & without the sun’s rise & shine, youngsters missed the school bus, hence their lack of an adequate education. The sun wasn’t shining on the streets of the ghetto. So when gentrification left poor black people out in the cold, Hip Hop brought the heat. It remained in the battery-run, shoulder holstered boom box and on the modern papyrus of a black & white composition book. It was black, white, & red all over; the newspaper of the children of the ghetto.

BOMPF*

Title

I just want you to call me amazing.

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Poi-Son-Us

His poison has made its official entrance into my body. My blood stream. My flesh. Mind. I can’t resist him now. I tried. I said no. He lied. So I succumbed. To the graphics scripted deep into his being. I trace. With one finger. Sometimes two. While he lies asleep, I watch him breathe. Vibrating air, seeping through spaced lips. It’s cold. Bitter cold. Not the temperature. Bitter cold, are my feelings. I refuse to love. I rather to have lost & to not have loved at all.

They watch, with knowing eyes. As I stroll on by. 1, 2, 3 , 4. Two knew. Too known. His past. Past life. Lust. Adoration & time. All laid out for the world to see, yet I still know… Nothing. My punishment waits, near the center of the Massachusetts Queen Bed. I tried to go AWOL, but my reprimand strictly anticipates my arrival.

Scolding, in its finest state. Laid down to rest, beneath a brown sculpture. Whispers reach my left ear speaking of obedience & manner. Un-related lips meet. Both wet, gripping, dripping. The Brown-Quartzite laced river begins its steady rock. Tremors take over, like land larva-awakened. Hot air balloons let loose with quiet, soft, swift wind. A rotating pulverization, the best yet. Minced kitty meat is what we’ll call it. Hands then hold 25.5 inches, comfortably & safely. Knees pressed so hard circles leave their imprint. It’s his turn. Marc Jacobs. He came for the ride. He hangs around my neck, tightly. Both MJ & his lower arms. Hair strands lost ‘tween tan cotton waves. Red, brown. Red.

Legs intertwined as I feel a bulge from behind. Lips to neck. Breast to back. Webbed arms entangled.

I don’t think there was one moment last night, when bodies let us free. Not even the P O I S O N could keep you away from me.

BOMPF*

Balance

As a middle child, I never get too high or too low. I. Stay. Right. Here.

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Tip On The Tightrope...

Phenomenal. My two favorite artist EVER. Together... Just watch...



B.O.B. was there too, he's also a great.

:)

BOMPF*