When I can

I’ll get back on track when I can

Things are wild now, you understand.


I can’t make moves as I did before,

I don’t know that dance anymore.


I’m working towards things settling, that commitments will stick

living in denial is my simple trick.


1:47 A.M.

false idols

with incompetent builders

create statues

with confusing faces

not of their leader, god, or man

built to worship

made to destroy.


I do not have the words or mind to make myself clear most of the time. I spend time rambling wandering for words trying to repeat what I think in shades of green, yellow, and blue.  I cannot speak yet, but still demand I am heard.  The words are not there, but the elements of sound are. I just admire the written language. Words carry meaning back and forth as a carrier pigeon bringing messages at times of war. Writing is an art. Art is not peace but war.

Some missives are easy to follow, codes built especially for me. I welcome it as a direct order at my level of understanding. Some words are silent. Silent like the eyes looking back at me, wanting to say something, but cannot. I see the words in the face but I do not see the message, it is not at my level of understanding. I want my pride to die in a sensual manner that would bring my eyes to words, and make my message whole. I hope they will catch my meaning at my level of understanding, and make it theirs’s. Yet, the dispatches remain unclear. I have enraged feelings met with silence, flowered in shades of red, yellow, and blue.  It is too prideful to be dependent on words that are there for exposure of the insecurity of wanting to be desired by another human being.

No matter what enigma I try to relate, the eye contact that is forever for the taking. I am not fathoming; our codes are at different levels of understanding.
Also, I’m trying so hard to get it, but I am not very perceptive.  Regretfully I speak silently, because I do not have the understanding.

It’s only for some, supposedly.

I have been noticing a trend with my straight girlfriends, (guys too, but I do not care about them so much) whenever a person comes up to me to talk, flirt, dance, whatever the case may be. My friends have a negative analysis of what was of that conversation and why that guy came up to me.

“He’s super wasted, don’t waste your time.”

“He looks like a fuck boy, and he’s ugly.”

“He’s only going to use you as a fetish.”

“Guys will screw anything.”

“Why was he talking to you?”

Sometimes, it is not even a comment; it is a very weird gaze, as if they are seeing a ghost.

This usually comes with some unsought advice with what I SHOULD[1] do with how I look. As if, they are speaking the sentiments of the masses.   Because we are friends, “the masses” designated her to “let me down gently” in regards to something; I did not seek her opinion about.” Should” is the passive aggressive way to shame someone.

“I do make-up, so I can hook you up.”

“You should look up this YouTuber, They do make up for girls like you, and they have skin care tips.”

“What if you started to dress like…?”

“I want to see you with your hair…”

Now, when the shoe is on the other foot, and people are perusing the same girlfriends.  Everyone around treats it like it is the natural way of things. It is a cause for continual celebration.

“Girl, these guys are always on you. You’re so pretty of course that would happen.”

“He’s wants it!  Remember back in college when those two guys were fighting over you?  It’s going to be like that all night tonight.”

“I’d let my boyfriend cheat me with you.”

I think there is much to be said about the narrowing beauty standards we hold ourselves and others to. To me, the concept of “beauty” is nothing more than a cheap contractual obligation to imitate what is considered “beautiful” from a personal marketing stance point.

It seems that you are only beautiful these days if you can slap a tutorial with it, and put it on social media.

Sometimes, I want to give my friend an endearing hug, and say “its okay, guys can be attracted to me without taking away from you, don’t cry, you still have more followers than I.”  Only because some treat it like the ultimate insult to their looks and livelihood if a blue moon rises for a second time that year, and someone hits on me.

It is like how people who are used to a comedian in funny slapstick movies get confused and repulsed when that comedian takes on a dramatic romantic role.  It does not sit well with some folks while they are looking at the movie screen. I see it like that for me when guys approach me around my girlfriends. They get confused, as if I am bound to this certain role and labels, because that is how they have defined me for so long. When I indirectly break away from that “stereotype”, it is weird for them.

It’s not to me though, it’s important to be multifaceted.  I couldn’t imagine following a crowd just to be well liked…see?

Everyone is perfect to someone.  Even You.

Everyone is ugly to someone. Even You.

It takes all kinds.

[1] By the way, I hate the word SHOULD when one is imposing unsolicited advice especially on some looks.  In that case, “should” is the passive-aggressive way of shaming someone to meet your personal ideal.


It’s Just Not For Me.

It is not that there is anything wrong with online dating; it is just not for me.  I tried it and it is exhausting. The way you have to present yourself on the app; the carried expectations of what people are and are not looking for, and finally “closing the deal”. It is just too much for me. I think it is great for people who are able to master the codes and conducts of today’s modern impression of human interaction, I mean, many people are meeting on dating apps these days. I just do not have a handle on meeting people that way.  I am behind on that time.

Setting up the profile is a terror in itself. Presentation is key. It only takes seven seconds to make a first impression–as fast as people “look and swipe” because of the algorithms involved—seven seconds can be a long time. One must use carefully crafted words and pictures in order to set precedent that the publically related, media friendly aspects of their personality align with what the seeker desires. Creativity in these profiles are as bland and mainstream as an advertising push for creativity left to the designation to be approve by a cold marketing committee. It seems that everyone is looking for “an adventure” or a “partner in crime” but the way taken to get to that adventure with your partner in crime is through the comfort of your own distance and palpability– provided you approve for your ingesting.

These days, it seems like the only time we are truly social is when we are using our devices to market ourselves that we are being social. If I was a social as I claimed to be I would go out and seek social situations. Online dating allowed me to cater to my anxiety and shyness when it comes to meeting people. I will say it and it was nice to be at home, chilling while watching my shows and looking at pictures of guys. Having a bevy to pick from while not having to go and get dressed up to strike out is fine and well until the expectations that seem to come with online dating shadow the fun of sorting through guys like people would sort through lamps on Amazon as if they are searching for a casual wash of nothing.

Overall, everyone expects some type of response for putting out their media friendly dating profiles, no matter how over processed and redundant it may seem. Some type of response must come from someone, somewhere. Although I have not met anyone in person from my own online journey, I still expected to get something out of my insipid profile. Of course, the kind of responses I got was garbage from time to time.  For example, the “friends with benefits” request. It is complete rubbish. In order, to be a “friend with benefit”, there would have to be some type of long-standing platonic relationship established mixed in with the torment of feeling and ‘that one time’. That does not come with meeting someone on a dating app with the implicit contract that ‘this is a casual sex relationship’. Expectations can be make more clear if the parameters of what re slated are respected.

Another interesting expectation is the one of pictures. Some will use online dating to satisfy their voyeuristic tendencies to piece their collection together; it is like scrapbooking. It is not about finding the right person, casual relationship, or date. It is about finding the right person to send the right kinds of pictures with the expectation of little or no reprise. This kind of people demand that you keep taking pictures of yourself, but never have a time or place where they can meet you. They couple the insult with a false promise of ‘another time’ with asking you to send more pictures of yourself. For me, these sorts were easy to dodge. Having a broken phone comes in handy when these varieties incessant nature waned on me heavily. To some, an image means more than a memory. I felt that I advertised myself with the expectation of meeting someone to take me somewhere to eat while I was dressed up. Nevertheless, it did not happen.

Like all good marketing campaigns, meeting and exceeding sales projections are a great measure to find out if the masterplan worked overall. With excited rumblings from heax analyst and summer youth seeming it would last forever. I took interest in studying bonds in better—mainstream terms of dating. Online is the craze that everyone around me was dancing to, so I decided to join in the dance Little did I know, I would not find it as exhilarating as it is over and understated by friends and serial daters alike. It was like this one long line of the same thing resulting in this never-ending search for something that may or may not be there. Meeting someone online is difficult for me because it felt too manufactured. It feels like you are going to a yet another kind of “work” The interview was in the response you have revived with your profile acting as a resume.  That is too constricting for me.

Despite my digital bust, there is no denying that online dating is never going to go away and it works. Every day, people are finding what they are looking for on dating applications and websites with little to no issues and complete fun, it’s all in the matter how you present yourself and how you ask for it. It is like an erotic candy land, flirty delights and treasures all at the matter of your fingertips. It is always nice to hear success stories of people who took a chance and went from a website to a loving relationship. I honestly believe it takes a certain kind of person to make swiping for sweeties spicy for them personally.  You have to link up with the right kind of person on the other side of the computer screen, with temperaments matching. It is the same as if you were to look for someone “offline”.  No one way to search for someone is better or worse. I just know I am not the type to online date. I have a better understanding for it now, but it is just not for me. It is nice to try something new. It was interesting to tip my hat into that ring.



Stella: Three


Stella: Two

You’re going to need to follow along.

Have fun reading. I hope you like the fun.

Donna lays out, relaxed on a busted couch in a dirty apartment.


The grand living room is arrested with clutter scattered about like exprssionist paintings.
The worn down carpet is riddled in aged and fresh stains.
The walls are decorated with light and dark hued stains with family pictures.
An expensive table swalllows the room, it too is filled with old papers and razor blads with a decortive mirror crusted with white powder slab dab in the middle.
Donna looks up as she see tiny dust particles dance as highlighted by the sun beam entering the home with no regard.
Donna folds her and in her lap, tits her head back and closes her eyes.
A TALL BLOND woman enters the room.
MICHELLE PIKE(31) a tall, blond, beautyifly slim woman enters the room with a beaming smile.


So glad you made it. Was this place hard to find?

Donna resurrects her head back up, and nods “no” politely.
Michelle plops down on an equally dirty love adjacent to the couch.
Michelle shuffles papers off the crowded table and puts a black bag down on the edge by her.


I’m glad to be here.


So, what is the word with Josie?


Uggh, what isn’t?

Michelle opens the bag and pulls out a LARGE BAG of cocaine.



She can’t control herself.

Michelle begins to divide cocaine lines on the opulent mirror.


(while “making lines”)

Yeah, it’s sad, she’s fucked up everyday. Not like us, we have things under control. Like, I know I can get wild.

She nugges towards the drugs.


But I know how to handle myself and my responsibilities.

Donna looks up and shakes her head in a dignified manner.


It’s sad really, she came into my room a few nights ago, all strung out and stress out. She looks so vacate behind her eyes.

Michelle rolls back up from the mirror. she inhales deeply as she covers one nostril.
She passes a rolled up piece of paper and the mirror to Donna.


She’s been getting worse since Stella, huh?

Donna SNORTS loudly.



Donna exhales deeply.


This is good stuff.


Yeah, I know, I finally found someone reliable.


That’s good, but you know, I have been worried that Stella is actually dead somewhere.



I know! it’s so sad. Oh my goodness. If Father Mason actually–



HE DID! He knows where she is.

Donna takes in another large line of cocaine.
Donna snorts loudly again and coughs violently.
Donna taps her chest delicately and squishes her whole face as she looks at Michelle.


That one was a big one.

The two girls share a break in laughter.


Well, he had something to do with it. that’s for sure. Josie said she use to see them.

Donna imitates Josie’s Voice as she rolls her eyes.


(Mocking Josie)


Michelle stops in her chop tracks and looks up at Donna as if she seen a ghost.


Wait, what does she mean by “together?”

Donna titls her head as if saying, “I’m telling you”.


That’s what I’m saying.

The two look at each other coldly.
Donna passes the mirror. without missing eye contact.
Michelle receives the mirror while staring intently back at Donna.
Michelle looks down at the drugs nicely laid out on the mirror and notices her reflection.


I look nice today.


That’s an everyday thing for you.

Michelle takes up another line with furry.
Michelle blast all the way back in her seat, dust particles explode into the air.



Father Mason.




Didn’t he get you kicked out of school?

Donna shakes her head sternly.


He did, and he lied at meeting.


He lied?


Yeah, he lied. He pinned his little shenanigan on me. He said i was the one who was bringing weapons to school and openly threatening him.


But, I heard that you did bring weapons to school.

Donna HUMS very loudly while she closes her eyes.


Father Mason, was a freak and a pervert. Like, I had to protect myself.


Wait. “Protect myself” what do you mean by that? He was harassing you?

Donna extends her hand out.
Michelle connects the mirror to it.


He was trying to sleep with some girls I knew in my little sister’s grade. I told him if i ever saw him harassing one of those girls, I’d tell everyone who would listen. And he threatened that (mocking father Mason) “That would be the last lie you tell.”

Donna dives down to the mirror and snorts a very large line.
Michelle pinches her nose a little bit while looking at Donna.



After that. I caught him hanging out at Lisa’s pool party, you remember Lisa, right?

Michelle looks up, refocuses her sights back on Donna, and ferociously nods.


Yeah. He fucked her, dude!

Michelle becomes wide on all sides of her face.



Donna raises her eyebrows and shimmies “yes” with her head.


He did. And no one believed her when she told. So I came with Reggie and Howard to his home and asked to see him. He never left his house. The next day, I was getting expelled.

Michelle’s head travels down to her feet as she shakes her head.


Damn, so the rumors about the brothel were true then.


(coldly flat)

You know it was real. How the fuck do you think he and Stella became close?

Michelle looks at Donna with complete sadness and disbelief.



Donna snorts loudly and slams the mirror down.
Michelle looks down on the ground to check if any coke spilled.


He was a horrible person.

Michelle nods her head, and sniffs another line.
Donna lays her head back and breaths in deeply.


Just wait and see, everything will come out about him in due time.

Donna smiles at the ceiling as she shifts her eyes back and forth, secretly.

2:21 a.m.

2:21 a.m.


Falsely flatter my heart

Does he love me like me

Does his heart throb like mine?

Is the resentment in twine?

I remember the spot where we met

The meeting he confessed he regrets.


Harsh ramblings on repeat

“He hates you and you’re weak”

Cold concrete molded in stairs

Defenseless, naked and bear.

His friends criticisms round me lay

Condoned in silent play

Wondering does he love me

Confessed regrets he made.


I think of him by day

Does he love me?

The dreams are hellish and strayed,

Dashed hopes and sun gazed.

I thought of this

Life made of gist.

It is not made of this

Regrets, confessed.


Absence has no pain

Confession was the gain.

No repeats in my name

My rapture was greeted

In vain

He never loved you.

It’s sane.

Friends like Mine

I woke up today thinking that my friends spoil me.

People talk about shows they like with their friends; I talk about the shows my friends are in.

Things are different for everyone, but the phrase “My friend writes/plays/sings/dances/performs” is so normal for me, it’s—privilege.

Text messages that merely shell out information is poetry to me, because a friend wrote it.

I am blessed with an intimate understanding of talent.  I have wonderful friends to thank for the continual example.