I really hate eating unhealthy! The feeling of the calories and the heaviness makes me sick to my stomach. Not saying I’m perfect and I don’t divulge here and there, but I’m really good at restricting myself from junk.
Being in a creative spirit, I wrote a quirky poem to describe how it makes me feel.
No Yummy In My Tummy
Loaded discounts galore,
Foods my whore.
Trying to say no,
She won’t let me go.
Smother on the pounds,
Lay me out and call the hounds.
Is it cardiac arrest
Or a messy caress?
My belly begins to shake
From this disastrous taco quake.
More than a body should take.
This is something I wrote last year and I just stumbled upon it while searching through some folders on my computer. It’s neither good nor bad, it’s just my sarcastic thoughts running wild.
Intergalactic void of cliché,
now that’s an oxymoron.
so futuristic, yet so past tense like homecoming jitters.
submissions for america’s next top model.
try your luck at america’s next kim kardashian.
No intellectual originality necessary,
only the superficial need apply.
test your skills at being perfectly flawless,
ditch your personality at the door.
mindless drones are the way of the future,
elevate your body, abandon your thoughts.
hints of originality are punishable by law.
you’ll be exiled light years away,
so keep an eye out for those ghastly black holes.
Just for sheer boredom, yes, I do have an Okcupid account. Do I use it? Yeah. Do I take anyone I meet on their serious? Not really, but that doesn’t mean I’m against using it to mingle and have a range of bad to amazing conversations (you never really know what to expect).
So, in sort of a freestyle type rant. I used to do spoken word, so the delivery of this sounds much better when I’m speaking it. But you get the gist. I decided to write a poem that captured the vibe of online dating and the entire atmosphere surrounding Catfish: The Tv Show.
Browse. Click. Select.
ingredients for faux pas romance.
Riddle lies of curiosity transmorph into daggers to the heart.
initial message packed with the promise of
What if you’re the one I spend my life…an hour…or a night with?
What if you’re existence is abstract,
a living Picasso, distorted truths….
What if you’re a game of shadows waiting to capture me?
Yet I need….
your airbrushed six-pack,
your devilish yet slightly charming grin,
your “i’m different” two chains speech,
your now-show “magic tricks”
I need it….or do I really?
I’ve got a message. Lemme check it.
Oh, he’s an international model from Australia
by way of Idaho.
6’4” with the body of adonis.
Translation: he’s 5’6” with “more to love.”
Enjoys taking bathroom photo shots,
far from international.
LIE. Make it big, make a statement.
Attention is what you want…
we all want.
So let me be your lil’ lie…for now.
Good evening everyone! Ready for some poetry?!
I’d love to share with you a poem by my good friend, sMOkinWOrd. He’s a dope writer and producer, and he’s one of my favorite people to discuss music with. His unique flair for production and the art of sound is evident in his writing. His poetry is one of kind, not your typical rhyme.
His latest spur of creativity is a poem about lips. The sensuality of a kiss, the enigmatic addiction of a woman’s alluring lips. He was inspired by a piece of artwork I did the other day. I’m in a lip phase lately, so I’m doing a lot of artwork with bold lips being the focus.
I uploaded the picture on my FB and he let the creativity run wild and wrote this dope piece. He calls it “Fix.”
she said “boy i think im addicted to your … lips, let me come see you so i can get a ..fix”
i said “miss, all this, aint free. you gotta pay the fee.”
she said” what’s it gonna cost me?”
i said “well just have to see, .. umm , a kiss your hips, the tip, at least”
she said “i can cover that!”
i said ” can you cover… me?”
she did, with ease, call it synergy, she was so into me, wasnt nuthin she wouldnt give to me.
She’d take my lips betweeen her teeth and say ” i cant resist them they look so sweet , sparkling like sugar when you speak, and when i see them i gotta eat. ” she’d knock me off my feet pin me down with no retreat, we start to mix together like concrete, but her fix for my lips will not complete…