Title

Sunday, December 12, 2010

I just want you to call me amazing.
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Poi-Son-Us

Thursday, December 9, 2010

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 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 when bodies let us free. Not even the P O I S O N could keep you away from me.

BOMPF*

Balance

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

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

Friday, July 9, 2010

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



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

:)

BOMPF*

We Think Alike...

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

"The lacking desire to follow social norms, fads, or conventional thinking allows creativity and the pursuit of original interest and goals."

-Either Me or Some Other Great Mind
BOMPF*

Sooo...

Monday, June 28, 2010

I'm done with school.

Just completed my MA work.

I will NEVER enter a classroom again.

I think.

Well, at least not a course that I'm paying for.

It was HELL.

End of story.

BOMPF*

A Cross Without A Man

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

I lay quietly. Gasping for air. In the usual exhausted state.

Remembering the rhythms that rocked my body,

The words that demanded my obedience,

When I whispered, “You’re not allowed to come,” in your left ear.

You're smart. The usual rinsing of residue then takes place in the un-made in-house.

Upon your return, you stare, in your silent self-applaud.

I’m just another soul, your physique has put to rest.

Your head touches the lonely pillow, your body facing east.

Acknowledging my need for contact, you pull me close, by my feet.

A cross without a man, at night hushes me to sleep.

BOMPF*

I could really use a wish right now...

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Can we pretend that airplanes, in the night sky, are like shooting stars?

BOMPF*

Brand New Flavor In Your Ear...

Monday, April 19, 2010


BOMPF*

Just West of Palm’s Beach

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Last week I drew a picture in my head, of what I want my man to look like.

Two days ago, he walked through the door.

Southern accent. Slight drawl. Not a country, un-intellectual-sounding one.

Skin like chocolate, in its grandest state.

Beautiful eyes. The brightest smile.

He’s. Just. Ill.

He makes my heart feel warm.

I feel warm.

Warm, when I feel like I’ve been cold for so long.

Thoughts of relocation explore my mind.

I float away in the mist, in the sweet taste of his kiss.

No magic carpets.

Just a supernatural, yet so natural high.

“A good girl” he calls me. It’s too soon to tell?

The sound of butterflies fluttering in their silent flight through ones abdomen.

Not mine though.

His.

It’s odd.

Masculinity.

It is epic.

I feel like I’ve been hit. By that train in that math question we could never get.

Except, this time, it's speeding.

The only breath lost in deep conversation, was to marvel at each other.

In admittance to our indistinguishable lost for words.

The search brings back apartments galore.

This magnetic force between us, draws our eyes together, no matter the distance.

Attentive.

He is.

To every, single, word spoken.

It’s as great as I’ve always imagined it to be.

Though, pissed, is the emotion I feel.

It’s so humid here.

I can’t even breathe.

Conjurations of abandoning my territorial bounds, just to be here.

With you.

Fuck those hundreds of miles of degrees of seperation.

The plausibility of our happiness.

Put simply.

Awaits.

I’m scared.

Mama’s boy. He even goes to church with her.

Resentful of the fact that I’m falling so deep.

I feel like I’m on candid camera.

This dream ends in three days.

Get back to Boston bitch.

Back to life.

Back to reality.

Geesh these apartments look nice.

-The initiation of the internal combatance between my brain & my heart.

***Her words. I just spoke them into existence.

BOMPF*

Equivalence of Mass & Energy

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

I think it’s so hard to find someone who respects themselves and their life’s goals and path, enough to respect YOU and what YOU’RE trying to do with YOURS.

Why can’t two people just live? You be cool like how you be cool, and I’ll do the same.

I’m a devout believer in individualism and I don’t think two people are born as one. I think it’s their relativity that pulls them together, forming one entity.

BOMPF*

Missing College...

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Undergrad at least. Grad school SUCKS!

BOMPF*



New Music, Homework, and a Cup of Green Tea

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

I LOVE discovering new artists. I have a great appreciation for music from all types, but I'm really drawn to the most lyrical beings. Artists who make you feel inclined to listen to their words and its meaning - not just the sound. I found Omen through my adventures with J. Cole. He's pretty insightful. Here's a video, check it out, it's safe and easy on the eyes. (there's no ass shaking)

BOMPF*

In The Know

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Life is all about learning. And when you’re not learning, you’re teaching. Share knowledge. That little piece of information you've received, pass it on, give it to the world. Don’t keep anything to yourself. Only secrets. And common knowledge, ain't no secret.

BOMPF*

Far-Fetched

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

I fought back tears this morning. On this flight to New York. As the stewardess offered me tea. Sitting next to my boss. Eyelids fluttered at his every movement, hoping he wouldn't turn to speak to me. I should’ve known better than to sit there thumbing away at my QWERTY. He's inquisitive. So he asks, if many of my friends were awake this early. "Nah," I said as he proceeded to peer over my shoulder, into the notes of my palm, spying into my thoughts.

My thoughts of you.

And her.

You with her.

Things you say.

Things she says.

Your response.

Your lips, full & slightly twisted. Pressing on those of another.

My throat is itchy.

Your large left hand gripping her calf, as she lays nestled in your back. Reassuring that even though you’re not looking, you know she's there.

My leg muscles contract.

Your outstretched arm placed uncomfortably behind the seat of the coupe, while riding from the airport, just so she can play with it.

Hold it.

Rub it.

Kiss it.

Scratch its palm.

She's sometimes needy. She needs comfort.

I'm cracking my knuckles now.

Strong, branded forearms wrapped around hamstrings as she travels in desert heat, on your back.

The soles of my feet are burning.

The horrible-tasting box of macaroni from Target, fries, grapes, soda, burritos, chips, bacon, and the scrambled eggs you consume every day.

I haven’t eaten in days.

The way you peer into her eyes, upon entrance. Gasping for air as if your senses were in shock.

My stomach is tingling.

Hand around the back of her neck, fingers nestled tightly in a palm full of hair.

My back ache returns.

The way she holds your knuckles apart while you contaminate your blood stream with the needle’s ink, scripting the Loss Of Valuable Energy across it. She wipes, she cleans, she wipes, she sees.

I’m tired now. My body feels weak.

Maybe I should just go to sleep.

As I close my eyes, I see her with you. I crumble at the thought of her doing all the things we do.

Sleep & his cousin will have to see me another day. I’ll be damned if I let these thoughts drift me away.

My tea arrives. The green mint brings it all back.

The memories. All reminiscence. Of us.

There’s a lump in my throat. It’s all so hard to swallow.

But I’m taking one,

last,

gulp.

BOMPF*