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The towers grow; cement-metal trees We street-light the night, and smog up the dawn Pollution, pesticides, poisonous sneeze Tear in her eye, the Wolf watches on Styrofoam-silicon-plastic laced soils Weed-killed, aerosol, bio-engineered lawn Green and brown chemical slop; froths and boils And oh! all the while the Hawk watches on The Raven sighs for the loss of his skies And the Willow weeps while the poison seeps Oak slowly withers, to comfort she tries Earth, bleeding deeply, groans 'When will this cease?' Her hope is but shattered from dusk til dawn And silently, sadly, Wolf watches on

Currently listening: janet. By Janet Jackson Release date: 1993-05-18

6:56 AM 

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Love For A Friend

(For my sister)

The violet is dying

And the rose so close

Bows down its head

The acorn looks on,

Uncomprehending,

Understanding only

Love for a friend

Smile through daytime,

Smile through tears,

Laugh though you're lonely,

Lock up the fears

Come in the night,

Come in the pain,

Come in bitter-sweetness

Of star-salted rain

The music hurts,

But the music heals,

Pain felt for another

Isnt any less real,

You don't wake a soul

With a pillow-buried head

Deep protection,

Deep pain,

And love for a friend

Here's another piece by my suitemate, Sarah Flanagan. She's the shit, i swear!

http://allpoetry.com/poem/2150527

Untitled

Many the times that we've heard someone cry
Life is too much, I but now wish to die
Death seems an escape, an easy excuse
Never having to love or live or lose
Sweet silver silence, the deepest release
Tantalizing trance of dark golden peace
Many the times we've heard casket-lid swish
"To be there with them now;" the fondest wish
Is Venus-flower more mystic than rose
Because it holds Death's hand and keeps him close?
The one with whom death toys, both night and day
Can on tears no longer waste away breath
The cruelest trick that Life ever did play
Was its disguising of grim, grinning death

yeah so the following is a poem I wrote about certain "black" folk that need home training. smh.

The Promotion of Ignorance

Here comes Miss Ghetto Fab Statistic.

With the same old ratty scarf she wore to bed last night, tied snuggly around her fiery red and blue highlighted hair.

The same scarf she used to protect her freshly permed hair…

and you already know she got that nice Wednesday Special--the fresh 15 dollar wash and set with free deep conditioning.

That same ratty old scarf Miss Ghetto Fab Statistic wore when she got in that fight with Shaquatasia last week…No…Boomsheequa…or was it Moniqua Alize…OH! It was Cristal! Nah, that was the week before…Maybe it was Brandy…or Tequila…Bacardi? Vodka?

Anyway, it was in that fight that Miss Ghetto Fab Statistic broke her damn near 3 inch acrylic nail (the ring finger to be exact).

Oh! But she had no worries because her "man" would take care of that in no time.

His wallet stayed thick…compliments of the hustle…

and as his paper kept runnin, his lady kept comin.

And boy was he good…He was so good.

So good that he fathered 8 kids.

5 in which he didn't really know were his…

It really didn't matter because all six of his baby mommas didn't know either.

"By the way! Where's my got damn child support????"

You know ain't no REAL thug out there want to support a dumb broad wit 4 kids.

HUH?

But as for Miss Ghetto Fab Statistic, she had to pick this life in the fast lane so it could satisfy her slow cravings for success…

It's a damn shame

Such a shame…

That although she could've chosen to represent the other Miss Ghetto Fab Statistics…

She unfortunately decided to represent "us".

The following is one of the many poems I wrote and performed. FYI,  I've NEVER been on drugs. I've never even smoked or even took a sip of liquor in my life. i dont do those. AT ALL. So I'm pretty much "clean and sober" in that department. This piece is strictly from research and my imagination (hence the word "Fictional" in the title). I hope you enjoy it.

The Constriction of Fictional Addiction

Quick fix…just…a…quick…..fix…

These two blood shot eyes twitch, switch

Pitch…black pupils go tick…tock…tick…tock

And rock like the pendulum of a Grandfather clock

Trying to scope out this cluttered bathroom cabinet for that next quick fix

Fix…Fix…Fix

Aleve, Mydol, Advil, Tynenol, Tramadol, -- never sealed this cramping pain…

ahhh now my skin itches and crawls as goosebumps…rise…rise now, ripe goosebumps from my pale, dry skin

Thirsty for that satisfying, stinging prick of the syringe

Plummeting its sharp, metallic edge deep within my dermis

And planting it's seed deep within the roots of my veins

Allowing this seed to rub, caress, and fertilize my red blood cells sending my nerves into an orgasmic frenzy

These loose pores expand and form lustrious lips that scream out for that quick…fix…fix…fix

My hero-- …hero…has finally come to the rescue…

He has come to save me from this twisted turmoil I call the "need" for a quick…fix

Some call you smack, junk, skag…while others know you as horse, brain, chaw, or chiva

I call you friend…cause you're MY friend…

You're the gloom in my hollow womb

The worth of my breeched birth

The meth in my breath

And the fruit to my loop

Without me, there is no you…

And without you…there is no me…the me who I am

The me...who I am

The me who I am…now

If I am not the me I was before, then who am I?

Am I the me who I am now...

Or am I the me who I never was?

Or maybe I'm the me I have always been destined to be…...free…

I never gave a shit cause I knew that you ultimately are the "decision maker"

And because I still have you as a friend….

Pretty much the only thing I have left in this…how you say…world.

A pulse that slows as my heart paces faster

And a mouth so dry that my saliva overflows and drips…drips…slowwwwly onto my torn blouse…

My eyes, mocking the disease of miosis, tell me that it is coming into effect…

All hurt has seized

And…my high is here…

below is a cuplet that i was assigned to do in my creative writing class. and i HATE this poem so much but....it's a poem & it's original never the less. so i guess i'll post it...it's actually dedicated to....HIM....he knows who he is...

His sly smile formed as his pupils rocked

Like the pendulum of a grandfather clock

It was the moment that my whole life unfolded

A naïve mind preparing to be molded

It was something I almost thought I could manage

But it made me ill and caused intestinal damage

My soul was tired, alone, and distressed

But unheard love and passion was all I expressed

His lies and his hunger for my pain and tears

Caused scowls and betrayal, and occasional sneers

The very last day he laid eyes on me

Was the very first day I knew we'd never be

I AM GODDESS....

It's the moment when the whole world has its eyes glued on you. The spotlight forces little beads of sweat through your pores and roll slowly down your face. Adrenaline runs a mile, blood rushes through your veins and it feels almost spellbinding. You can feel the audiences' undivided attention boring holes through your body with every move that you make. As the music plays, it leaves a misty trail over the surface of your heart and you make love to the stage as if it was the last time you'd ever move a limb for the rest of your life. As you make a clean finish, the applause is deafening, and the sound of your name rings through every lung, trachea, larynx and tongue. Your body trembles as you take a bow and a tear runs down your face because you accomplished something so great, so huge, so magnificent. You accomplished the ability to inspire.

This is just a small illustration of how I feel every time I perform on stage. The rest is just indescribable. Performance is an accomplishment, a deed, a feat, a public presentation or exhibition, and the fulfillment of representing something. What do I represent? I represent ambition, drive, and above all else passion. My passion is Dance. The art of Dance is in my character, Dance is what I do, and Dance is me. My name is Christina Shields and I am a dancer. Many times I encountered more prolific dancers. Whether it was ballet, jazz, tap, African, modern, hip hop, you name it, I always knew there was someone who had a better extension, a better leap, a better turn, a better pop, or whatever it may have been. But Lord knows, I am great. I am great in so many ways because I say that I am and my training contributed to that. I know that I'm great because I have a seriousness of purpose. I believe that my purpose is to inspire someone.

I was told that in order to get to certain places, I have to be of "diva status". Diva. A word that I've heard many times in my life. According to the media, Patti LaBelle is a diva, Aretha Franklin is a diva, Beyonce is a diva, and even Rihanna is considered to be a diva nowadays. But what is a diva? We use it to describe these great people but what does being a diva require? Lots of money? Nice clothing? Or maybe it's something that stands out, sparkles, and shines much brighter that the rest. Something that packs a punch and sends you flying to your phone, computer, pager, or local magazine company to spread the word about this "thing" this person has…maybe? You think? One thing that I've always known about "divas" was that their destiny was automatically made up by how people saw them and that is glamorous. Wherever their attributes went, people followed because they naturally shine. People love to admire what they want to be. But the question is, what is it that a "diva" has that people just can't get enough of? I believe it's simply the ability to inspire. The definition of a diva is noted to be a Prima Donna or a goddess or some divine figure. I believe everyone has something to show and so do I without question. My energy is one of the things I've obtained which I believe makes me a diva. When I'm dancing, my energy is always high and every movement I make pours out sincere passion and love for what I am doing. A diva's passion for whatever it is she does is rich like Godiva hot chocolate. When you take a little bit of it in, its warmth coats your belly, and you can't get enough until you're full. Full of the same passion the diva may be feeling. This gift that the diva possesses is pushed into someone else's heart and it inspires them. This is what I call an STD, a Sensationally Transmitted Diva. My name is Christina Shields and I am a diva. A diva, I am and a diva I shall forever be. No one can tell me any different because everyday I wake up and look in the mirror and say, "this is it, Chrissy, another opportunity to inspire".

I am blessed to be able to dance and because I have the ability to inspire, I know that the definition of a diva is me. My name is Christina Shields and among other wonderful things, I am a diva, I am a dancer, I am Goddess.