The Return

Writing this out of both duress & necessity, too many beautiful women have relayed their feelings about myself & about these words, they told me that I inspire them, that I have impacted them, that I have taught them, while I only sought to do these things for myself.

While I still continue to seek these things for myself.

One of my blessed followers told me that she's been keeping a watchful cyber eye on me since I was 18 years old, all because of this blog.

I'm 22 years old now.

With a great deal more bedazzled skeletons in my closet & an incurable disease that takes as much life from me as it forces me to create. So much has changed, shit, I have changed, & I can only hope that it's for the better & that it will continue to be for the better. I never stopped writing, I simply started journaling, switching the life game up as things got a little too intense for my liking.

See, I rediscovered emotion, the blissful & intense pain of romantic disappointment, I tripped & fell 100 times to figure out what the fuck I actually want, I'm still tripping & falling, but I'm catching myself, so instead of my face getting scarred the fuck up, the struggle stays on my elbows.

I suppose I'll have to stay steady blogging for any of you to understand what I'm talking about.

Let's catch up though, what's new with me?

Well, April of last year, a young god got diagnosed with lupus.

That's pretty much the reason for almost everything I have done since then, everyone I've left, every place I've abandoned, every disrupted relationship, all because mandem has to survive.

See, negative energy? Puts me in a hospital, because my lupus is tied directly into my emotions, into my energy, the cosmic fucking system, you know? So if shit is off balance, my body is off balance, & I suffer for it.

One hell of way for the Universe to make sure I'm actually about everything I preach, no?

That's how I understand it, mother fucking equivalency. When I get sick? It's my fault, because I allowed negative energy to fester around me, I don't even accept that shit from those who claim to love me, I've been accused of being extremely selfish because I REFUSE to put up with ANYONE's negative fucking energy, the nature of this disease has exposed the perineal truth, the asinine theories of those who know nothing of true love, but claim to.

The nature of this disease has made everything pretty fucking simple in my life, no matter how difficult that simplicity seems, give me positive energy? Get plugged in. The minute you give me negative energy, which then acts as a catalyst for white blood cells who love to run trains on my organs?

Get unplugged.

So with that being said, I'm in Atlanta now.
The most peaceful place for me at this time.
& I'm falling in love with the most painful of truths.

I'm the one whose gonna have to die, when it's time for me to die, so let me live my life, the way I want to.

No long ting.

The possibilities are endless.

“Will you cut my hair?”

She lay in his lap, her arms stretched over head, fingers interlaced with his long locks. He laughed at her statement and gave her an incredulous look.

“I have clippers, I cut my own hair, it's really easy, please cut my hair.”

He sighed out in annoyance, of course she would make this difficult, she'd pout, stick out that luscious bottom lip and bat those thick dark eye lashes of hers at him and all resolve would melt away instantly. There was no point in trying anymore.

“Fine”

He surrendered, she was up and out of the room in a flash, but soon returned, naked as the day she was born with a box of standard clippers in hand. He blanched as the natural lighting reflected off of her sun kissed chocolate skin.

“Where did your clothes go?”

She laughed, walked past him into the bathroom and began to assemble her tools of trade. Taking a few moments to admire herself in the mirror before she plugged in the clippers and turned around towards him expectantly.

“I'm ready”

He hadn't moved from the bed, and just stared up at her with a slack jaw. She was utterly insane, but in such a beautiful way, every day there was something new to catch his attention, would he ever be free? Throwing his head back, he tied his locks to remove them from his visage and stood up ready for the battle ahead. She arched her back as she handed the appliance to him, their fingers overlapping momentarily, spiking the energy levels in the air around them. A coy smile here, a soft touch there, she sat awaiting his touch.

He stood behind her, long fingers caressing her scalp, the clippers vibrated smoothly in his left hand, as his right tickled her senses.

“I could fuck up you know...”

He whispered threateningly, a double meaning in all speech. She smiled, eyes closed, bringing her own hand to his.

“You won't”

He bent over and kissed the tip of her skull, eyes closed in a silent prayer. Then brought the buzzing device to the place he relayed his love. The silent hum and the elevated music buzzing in the background was the only sound heard between the two humans. Tufts of hair fell down around her, lightly touching her shoulders before moving down to her feet. He watched the tips of her breasts rise and fall with each breath, taking a glance every now and then at the adjacent mirror, marveling in the gift that sat before him. Naked of all things, materialism, vanity, ignorance, stupidity, a gift indeed.

He was almost done with her hair, he could feel the difference about her already, she opened her eyes and watched him in the mirror, his light shone so bright to her in everything he did, he gave her freedom but he gave her love, gave her the world if she asked for it, but she didn't need it, because she had him, and he inspired. He inspired everything.

He was done. He turned off the clippers and placed them on the bathroom counter, then stood before her, knees almost touching her own. She opened her legs, eyes never leaving his, and rubbed her scalp as she stretched her neck, arching her back just a little more.

She stood up, closing the distance between them, her small hands splayed gently on his chest, bunching the fabric of his wife beater in her palms, lips reaching higher to touch his own, she stopped a few centimeters from his face. Feeling his warm breathe against her lips, savoring the scent of his cologne, his locks touched her cheeks as he brought his forehead to her own.

“Thank you”

Reflections I

I think my being back here, in a way is a confirmation of what I'm supposed to do with the rest of my life. I'm supposed to write. So here it is. Reflections of moments past.

---

His gait was slow and steady, unsure in it's approach, yet familiar in the same sense. He had been here before, he knew all these people, he had grown up with all these faces, yet this history within the arena didn't enable them to see what he wanted to emulate, it only blinded them in a sense. He was a different person, he drank from a different well. But they all knew him, had always known him, so no matter how brightly his light shone, he was still only a light. One of the many.

She watched him ever so often, curiosity had built up this moment to be greater than it needed to be, he had confirmed her original prognosis of his character, and the satisfaction left a tingling sensation down her back. It might've been the liquor laced with Mary Jane lindy hopping in her cranium creating those physical impressions, but she felt it's power all the same.

And so she continued to watch, remained quiet as her intoxication deepened. Creating peace within her being, the magic moved through her fingers, as she watched and relayed all to her lock box of information about these people and their ways.

Light kisses replaced words, nonchalance won the battle, human beings were hilarious in their predictability, and that was the only true power she had over all. She was in essence unpredictable. But at the same time ever so simple, she did what she did to please only herself, she wore what she wore because it was what she was comfortable in. Her favorite shirt all cut up, her nipple's playing peek a boo with the darkness of the night, noticing this she simply covered it, at the same time wishing she wasn't wearing clothes at all.

What were these people's names?

The tall one, the short one, the spoilt one, the nice one, the liar, the faker, the player, the chooser, the winner, the loser.

She walked outside and sat down on the brick flooring, careful not to expose her underwear to the whole world, completely blasted and yet still conscious of society's views on all that should be modern modesty. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, trying to remember what exactly her purpose for being outside was.

She opened her eyes and looked at the stars, relishing in the idea that she see's these stars every where she goes, sometimes there were more, sometimes there were less, but the same constellations, Ghana, Saudi Arabia, England, all the same. She pictured the earth, and the silent darkness around it, how what she saw when looking up was only a small reflection of what there truly was.

Was this her purpose? Did she unconsciously sneak away from all commotion to have her moments with space and time? A continuous reminder of the ultimate truth?

She felt pride at this idea, her spirit was growing and in turn her power. She looked forward to the future.

She ran a hand over her scalp, soothing her flurried thoughts in one swift action. Her mind traveled back to the boy, she cocked her head to the side to let all her findings flow out on the pavement beside her. She brought them to her lap, and began to sort them out.

Why was she so interested she wondered. What could there possibly be about this specific group of people that intrigued her in a sense, or was it just her penchant of pulling things apart and putting them back together to simply see how it worked? Is that what she wanted to do with these boys? Wanted to understand it all, garner more knowledge, more literary gold, translate the beauty and complexities of all life with her pen and paper. That was her purpose, to understand and to help other's gain that same peace with knowledge.

There was something deeper within the workings of these seemingly dynamic people, and the curiosity tickled her senses, her patience halted any immediate need to know more, she had learned a long time ago that the things she generally projected always came back to her, the Universe was good to it's daughter.

So she took what little information she had now, and steadily built her masterpiece with it, confident in the fact that the Universe would provide the bricks and mortar soon enough, but at least the foundation was complete. She picked up her newest creation and carefully put it back where it belonged, nestled safely in the confines of her labyrinth brain. It glistened brightly amongst the others, fresh and new in it's creation, like a new born baby brought into the world.

Literal magic for the senses.

She wondered how the world worked without a mind such as hers, the idea of waking and living, breathing and dying with nothing in between was painfully abhorrent to her, the inability for a deeper depth in a persons life, in a soul was just shocking to her.

“But tis life”

She murmured, eyes low, peering at her brown skin, remembering kisses running up and down them. A smile accompanied the nostalgia.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She was suddenly ripped from her memories, and looked up angrily at the intruder. Tall, diluted, possibly inconsequential. Her eyes skimmed his welcoming face.

“My thoughts will never be that cheap”

His countenance changed for a moment, from flirtatious to confused.

“Where are you from?”

He sat down next to her, and she tried not to laugh at the audacity of the picture, how tall was this man? And why does he think this perch is appropriate for someone of his stature?

“Born in London. Bred in Ghana”

She replied with a bored sigh, she didn't want to flirt with anyone right now, especially not someone who looked like he'd been spoon fed pussy his entire life.

“Seriously? That's dope”

She began to yearn for solitude once more, or at least for something more interesting than this. But perhaps she was just being difficult she pondered. She weighed her options, time might dissuade her. And so she turned her head back to face him and began to measure his aura as he spoke.

His lips were moving, but she hadn't heard a word he had said, he looked at her expectantly as if awaiting a reply.

“I'm sorry love, I wasn't listening”

He was offended at this.

“Are you fucked up?”

She smiled at his accusatory tone.

“Blissfully so”

Taken aback. He just looked so confused, she would've hugged him if she wasn't sure he wouldn't have taken that as a sign to attempt to stick his penis inside of her.

“But you don't even look like it”

She laughed.

“Awareness of self is a powerful thing. Intoxication opens my mind, never impairs it”

Too many words would encourage him she decided. From this point forward she would be mute.

But he seemed to read her mind, dusted his gangly knees off, stood up and moved away from her. Had he said goodbye? Had she said goodbye? Did she care?

Not particularly.

The lock box of secrets shook slightly amongst the many gems in her skull. A reminder of sorts. She to stood up, pulled her skirt down and covered her nipples.

The anticipation glistened.

“Tomorrow awaits”

(Nothing is solved)

Art by the immaculate Curron.