Going Too Fast

So many turns that I can't see,

Like I'm a stranger on this road

But don't say victim...

Don't say anything.

Forever The Name On My Lips

I'm not in love.

I know I'm not.

But here I am - waiting. I am always waiting for you. I'm waiting for you to take notice to see what I always saw in you.

I'm waiting for you to see a picture of me and wish you were in it too.

I'm waiting for you to wait for a text, a phone call, an anything from me.

I'm waiting...

But I'm not in love.


So what am I waiting for?

I'm waiting for a love as intense as what we used to have.

I'm waiting for the sparks I got when we used to make love.

I am waiting for a love like I had with you.


I haven't found it yet.

So until then, I wait and waste my time with you and our memories - hoping, hoping someone will come and give me new ones.

Until then, I wait for you to want me as much as I've wanted you. I don't want the love. I want the validation.

I want you to feel the want I've felt for years.


Maybe then, I'll be able to turn my back and walk away.


Maybe then, we'll be even.

Darkened

It happens the same way every time...

You know the signs.

You walk into the darkness.

You follow his laugh.

It's so familiar, like a guiding light bringing you home.

It melts your heart.

And after all this time, raises goosebumps on your skin.

You're blinded by the darkness but you'll tackle it if it's the only pathway to him.

You get there.

He speaks.

The words you always longed to hear.

But the words that actions never cared to back up.

It's painful every time.

You doubt yourself every time.

But like every time, you'll follow his voice again into the darkness. 

Uploaded videos (playlist)

Pronouns

I am not "you" and though you may not understand - "you" is not a makeshift character.

"You" is "her" and "she" I will never be.

The flow of hurt that ebbs from your words,

the pain,

the stretch,

the outreach of hands that close on emptiness.

"You"

 "She" I will never be. 

You say there is "nothing"

But "nothing" seems to last forever.

How I long to change who I am,

No,

what I am.

To alter my pronoun

to become

"You"

Your words now lack pictures

Your pictures lack inspiration

Inspiration was "she"

"You"

The "you" I will never be.

So I paint this debacle the best way I know how.

In a picasso of sorts

But instead of shapes

I use pronouns.

I,

Her,

He,

She,

It,

Them

"You"

Composition Notebook

We are never so vulnerable than when we trust someone - but paradoxically, if we cannot trust, neither can we find love or joy. - Walter Anderson 

Blank pages spew out of this torn notebook

Like trust, broken 

the pages continue to spill out, unstoppable.

They're words written on these lost pages

Words of love and happiness

but

the pages continue to spill out, unstoppable.

All my words

My precious memories

Now running wild across the floor

I have no choice but to close the book

Slam it shut

The front cover glares back at me

All the pages have been torn out

Nothing left to do but throw away the empty shell.

It's useless now.

All this "trust."

"I Do"

When did marriage become such a burden?

An entrapment?

Filled with lies and hurt,

worry and curt.

Sarcastic remarks,

then love's been lost.

We share the bills and a bed.

And haven't touched each other

Since the honeymoon,

No kisses goodbye.

It's like a job,

Our montonous lives.

The pendulum swings,

the clock ticks down. 

Eventually, I don't want you around.

"You need to go!

You don't do anything here!

You think I don't know

who you've been bringing here?"

This home is my prison,

you, my prison warden.

I'm here for the children,

You're just an added "bonus."

This is how it is?

What God intended?

When did those two words become so fateful?

Marking an ending.

But this is what I want..

I want to try.

To prove that marriage won't be my demise.

Yes, we are able to love forever.

It's all about just keeping this shit together. 

And if by chance it ends,

I know I haven't made the same mistakes

My parent's did.

WorldStar HipHop Rethought

411

I call for information.

Can you tell me the reason

behind this generation?

Why our youth can't comprehend

a simple command.

Why our young girls,

give so much to a man.

All this sucking and fucking

excuse my language baby Jesus.

I thought sex was something to initimate.

Now they belittle us.

Us women, 

our bodies.

Do men even empathsize?

Our bodies birth,

our nipples nurture,

our skin soothes

our hands touch.

A touch so generous,

to the children who fuss.

I want to be loved by a man,

not loved by those worldstar fans.

This is my worldstar UNCUT.

Can you handle it?

No? You'd rather see me strip?

Naked?

Down to my soul?

The heart you're breaking?

I will change the world.

I will achieve my goals.

My first accomplishment,

get to these hoes.

Break through their videos,

to the Michelle Obama's within.

You don't need to suck dick on worldstar

to win anything. 

Covert

I've never let people see my writing.

Maybe it's because I didn't think I had a good enough audience.

Filled with fake empathizers and fake people

Who'd pretend to understand words they could never even begin to fathom.

I will not be mocked.

Made ashamed of my feelings.

But I refused to be seen,

as guarded for no reason.

Now you will know,

why no ones hand seems to fit in mine.

Why miracles are something only seen

Through God's eyes.

"Only the meek shall inherit the Earth." (Matthew 5:6)

Well, haven't I been humble enough?

I will never be Matthew, Mark, Luke or John

But I'm afraid what I am just isn't enough.

Untitled

I've never really written one of my poems on Facebook before. I guess it's so I wouldn't be judged? Well, here goes nothing.

This isn't really poetic style writing. It's just writing. Putting my thoughts onto paper in the form of metaphors and similes. If I write them down, it's one less thing to think about.

Blank walls and blank faces match my blank piece of paper

and my blank expression. 

But soon these words start to flow

like the tears that rain from the sky on this stormy night.

I see so much around me 

but lack the morals to empathize.

I hurt so I hurt you.

Turn my back before you do.

I write until calluses form on my hands

like battle wounds,

I fight to write the words I hold inside.

Hate

Love

Fear

Sighs

Ignite this fire in my eyes.

I want to love but do not know how.

No one has taken the time to show me,

sit me down,

show me around.

I'm guarded.

If you look long enough you'll see the bars.

My prison ward?

Her name is LOVE.

With her gun and nightstick 

ready to beat me back should I ever get too close.

My skies aren't always cloudy,

in fact, sometimes they're clear.

But when the sun comes out they darken.

No light lives here.

My calluses continue to roughen 

but I continue to write.

I look around.

No one but me in sight.

Well, of course, no one has ever taken the time to stay.

I've only ever really wanted one,

But it didn't take him long to turn away.

I strengthened my mind.

Built it up high to the sky

like a sky scraper, a mountain....

No....

A pedestal...

I put myself up on it.

No hurt comes here.

& though my past is my past,

it still lives here, 

dwells silently like a sleeping bear

until provoked by the hand that attempts to care.

They only care for a while

then the hand pulls away.

As suddenly as it comes,

it goes away.

They never stay.

Never teach me how to love.

Only give me a false sense of it.

And before long, 

Gone.

All I have left is to write.

The paper never pulls away.

It listens silently 

and catches all my tears.

But it always reminds me,

no love lives here.

Be Open Minded (But, Not So Much That Your Brain'll Fall Out)

I've been following this page on Facebook for a while now:

https://www.facebook.com/theproblemismen?ref=ts&fref=ts

It's written by a man but that's why I like it. It's a man's point of view on women, relationships and life in general and, regardless of the name, it does not blame all of women's problems on men. It's actually a pretty good blog. The writer's name is Charles J. Orlando and he recently posted an open letter to Taylor Swift. Here's the link:

http://theproblemismen.com/rants/2013/1/8/an-open-letter-to-taylor-swift

Now, anyone who knows me knows that Taylor Swift is one of my favorite artists. Ever feeling like men suck and that gravity should just eject them off the planet? She's your girl! Swift has a reputation for being the red carpet's good girl. I mean look at her. She has no unnecessary piercings or tattoos. Her hair is the natural color she's been born with and apart from many of her other female counterparts, she has no sex tape, wears underwear ALL THE TIME, and has yet to be on the cover of MAXIM. Good 'ol Taylor *country hick voice*. 

Orlando's letter to Taylor however addressed an issue that's been following me for a while. Taylor has been with everyone. When I say everyone, I mean EVERYONE. It's been noted that Swift has been with 16 men in the last five years, ascending the red carpet list as she goes. I wanna believe the best in Taylor, she is a great artist after all, but Orlando makes some pretty good points and some pretty bitchy ones as well. Wait, lemme not say that. We all know how men get when you call them "bitches."

From a reader on my Facebook page: "[Taylor's] terrible at relationships but has a knack for writing stupid, catchy songs about failed love interests. She's an entrepreneur of failing at life, but succeeding because of it. C'est la vie."
Uh huh. I wonder if that would be the public's opinion if you were a 23-year-old MALE singer—banging chicks today, putting them up for public humiliation through song lyrics and frustrated commentary on daytime/nighttime talk shows tomorrow. What's that? You don't remember what you said about your conquests, Miss Swift?

Ironically enough, this comment made me think. Yes Taylor is going about her conquests in an extraordinary way. She is, dare I say it, acting like a man. But when a woman begins to act like a man, this is where letter's like Orlando's begin to surface. Lemme be clear, I'm not saying he's wrong, I'm saying that John Mayer (who Swift has dated but who is the biggest jerkhole in the industry) has yet to receive his own late letter. Welcome to the world of double standards!

Whether Swift is dating because she is looking for love (in all the wrong places) or because she needs a good new song quest is beyond me, but she isn't fooling anybody. Nice way to combat the double standard Taylor but in the world we live in, there is no combating it. You just have to go with the flow because if you don't Charles Orlando will write a very scathing letter to you and blast it all over Facebook about your manish ways.

Dynamic Views - Part 1

I never seem to understand. I'm always the one person in the world

that has so much to learn but with so little time.

Because a lot is at stake...

But I don't want to look back on life and wonder what if or whether or not there is something else out there that I missed because I played it safe. Now, please understand, that the words on my blog are not for anyone else to take advice or to make haste with their own lives. These words are a look into my thoughts on certain subjects because, most of the time, I never get a chance to say them. Apparently, I'm the loudest but never have anything to say. I have many friends but but only feel most comfortable with myself and my pain can only be felt by me, myself and I. Right now, there 6,973,738,433 people on Earth and because of this it's definitely easy to feel small and not heard. So maybe, I need to stop passing judgement on the people who keep blogs and write everything they feel down and ultimately use it as a mean's of reference or "textbook look up" and rip a page from their book. As much as I feel like I'm never being heard, maybe this blog is a good idea because now, regardless of whether or not I ever share the URL, because it's on the internet, who knows who will stumble upon it? Maybe it's not about who's hearing you but rather just being heard. 

So here's to the loudest voice I've got! The internet. Maybe my empty pit will be filled now that I've got someone... well, something... that I can vent to and maybe, just maybe, not my intelligence and my own dynamic views can be appreciated now that I, Tameka Bazile, have just created my own "textbook look up." 

Here goes nothing...

"Shut up & listen - this is a voice I guarantee you've never heard."