I found an unselfish one.. and other gibberish...

I had to vent and I didn't mean to throw this at you. I have never met an unselfish man before, so excuse my glee at our meeting. I was taken aback at the fact that you give so much of yourself to the world and ask for so little in return.  I am also glad that you are asking me to vent to you. I haven't done so  in some time and I didn't want to burden you. I know it's good for the soul to let out what ails you, but like you, I wasn't selfish enough to confide in another living soul what really irks me sometimes. It's not a long vent and I won't take up too much time. I suffer from amphibology, and it comes through mostly in my writing, but that's remedied once I start.
I'm a little amazed at the fact that there are still selfish people who give ten percent of themselves and have the audacity to expect one hundred percent of others. I'm not perfect. I suffer from coal black syndrome. As I stand in this mirror I notice I'm thick thighed, cha cha feet stomping, tar eyed and angry like my beige mother; and a ninja witted, manipulative piece of shit in a bluish hue resembling my absent father.  My nose remembers the smells of freer plains and my mouth all but puckers with the head nod only the sound my classic boom box can make.
But sadly the German blood in me wants me to roast the mother fucker who continually insists that I'm not enough. Or that I may be naive to world processes of someone having a preference. I am not everyone's cup of tea but to lie and say I'm yours just to coddle me into a false sense of your insecurity amazes even me.  What also bothers me about how people, actually one person in particular, who constantly speak about their self worth, don't really have any. I get tired of hearing of how they're better than me when they don't value themselves. What twisted mirror are they looking in? I want one dammit! I need to see out of this mythical shit!  How do you tell someone you're better than mediocre, when you live deep in mediocrity. You shun the contrite then you are guilty of being that way yourself, stating artistic license. You can't be serious!
Living like fucking pigs? Procreating like non-neutered pups? And that is life? It can't be! I refuse to accept that evil spreads so eloquently, so evenly like red beans over rice in winter time. The realization that my anger stems from the fact I was left like a bride at the altar. The moment I shed a moment of vulnerability, exposing my bloody heart, it was pierced and that tear hasn't healed properly. I don't think I recognize love anymore. I can't see it bursting from the trees or hear it in a song. I guess since I can't envision sweet love, I attract those with the inability to recognize love when they see it as well.
That was easier than I thought. I get nothing but love and compassion from your Tumblr and your tweets. I thank you for letting me whine like a bitch for the cameras. The fact that others can't see what really goes on in the life of an unselfish soul is sad and disturbing. Maybe people need to be hugged more, or at least slapped into some kind of sense. For real. Love heals those that can be loved or some gibberish like that. I hope I made sense.  Thanks for being you.

Just Today...

If I’m being a horrible person at the moment its just that: I’m exhausted but I’m not actually living in my exhaustion. I’m grossing funds at the moment but I’m not actually spending it unless absolutely necessary or my mother calls and I have to go into my contingency mom avoidance funds. I’m studying dentistry but I’m not actually learning its practical applications at the moment. I’m sleepy all the time but not really getting much sleep. I’m just half-assing my sad existence at the moment and for that I apologize deeply to myself, my family but mostly for the people that have the testicular fortitude to call me out on it.

He Called Me Rose

Have you ever bit an M&M in half and seen the thin white membrane that separates colored portion from the chocolate?  I have.  I realize that's all that's left of my heart.  That is the cleanest and most accurate description I can give.  I thought the ripping and gnashing of teeth on a fresh kill would make me twinge, but as I sit here baking chocolate chip cookies through the last tears I'll ever cry for another human being, I believe the broken M&M, is the best description.  I wrote sonnets to his existence, painted landscapes for his eyes and all he compromised was bitterness and despair.  He called me Rose.  Actually he named me Rose.  It wasn't because of the sweet smell of flowers that emanated from my raven red-flecked hair.  It wasn't for the way I always blushed purple when he spoke my name slowly with lustful eyes.  He called me Rose because, as I withered from his memory,  I cut his hands and heart repeatedly, as he did mine, scarring him forever.

Brief Fall Out Of Love

If someone has fallen out of love with you, it should diminish your soul, because that is loves' course. (And I actually meant course and not curse). Its supposed to hurt at some point. Love is essentially seasonal at its best. In winter the love deepens under the weight of the cold. In spring it peeks out and nibbles on your patience. In summer it burns in your deepest recesses and in fall it distances itself as if in preparation for a greater purpose.

You get upset and forget its good to cry sometimes. Its natural. Fluid. You avoid the pain of love lost, instead of embracing it to feel better. You grow from it. It feeds you. But, you have to understand that when love is physically gone, the memory of it, at its sweetest moment should embrace you, and coat you with a greater strength to move on from it. That is mature love.

This is awkward

Dear you and everyone who pretends to be you:

This is awkward. I didn't expect you to happen along my common sense so soon. I was packing quietly and formulating my escape, while you slept on my breast. I have been reading passages in your mind like my favorite novel for some time now, and it not only disgusts me, it moves me to look upon you as the broken thing you were upon our first meeting so long ago. I never liked serpents. Must have been remembering Eve's mistake a time or two; or the lingering forked tongue with sweet subtle willow-eyed-powers-of-persuasion. I see why Lilith left screaming and Esther ran away. I see you fake smiling, all the while, using me for comfort and pillows and I gain nothing but cum stained cheeks and poundage from inactivity.
It might seem sudden my departure, but this is how you plan your escape. You make it seem like you planted a leaf to turn but it doesn't. It's a show to soothe your passing from my everyday. It's a way to coddle something physically smaller, and in your eyes too meek to feign existence without you. (Wait, I'm trying not to laugh through that last sentence.) Humor, even sardonic in nature, qualifies as a quality release under the circumstance. You needed a rebound more than the Knicks need defense; more than the rubber band holding my Afro in place needs elasticity; more than the quiet brittle branch slapping you; walking under my cherry tree in its last act of defiance before the wood chipper.
You needed comfort during your time of sadness and through your transition between the shedding from that reptilian skin to a shinier new color of deception so the kiddies are none the wiser. The funny thing is when you finish, as with licking the spoon after dessert is done; you toss that plastic cup and me in one fell swoop into the nearest recycling bin. I'm not surprised, just a little, by the length of time it took you. Scraping the last bit of sunshine took a bit more effort than you thought and now the hugs are forced; the snuggles aren't genuine; the world sees you for who you are and bets against you. I pity you more than I'll ever liked you, and that saddens me.
I wish you well and all the happiness you truly deserve.

Sincerely




Me and that lady who used to be me.

500 Days Of Lis ... Day {4}

We have been on the phone talking politics. We debate the basics and if this beige president is doing his job. He's mindful of the fact that most folks are liberals until they get taxed. His laugh is infectious. His mind is fluid and he wants to take me to a bar.  I'm not keen on bars but he said it's not for a date. It's just the stopping point to get a drink before our real date starts. I think he's testing me. Hmmm, I just want him cooking naked in my kitchen. The food yesterday and his sweet smile made pulling teeth seem a hell of a lot easier to do. 

500 Days Of Lis ... Day {3}

I find his cooking skills remarkable as he brings me lunch at work. The old me sees this as a tactic to win my loins faster than my heart. It may work even though this be day three. But I can wait. I'm truly passed the days of letting sweet smiles and bright eyes get me dancing out of my undies. On another note, this chicken is amazing and he's offered to drive me home. I think he's sweet.

happy mourning...

I asked all who know me to mourn my passing with a smile. They asked why would I be happy in losing a friend, a lover a confidante, etc... I explained my point very carefully and tried not to laugh at the horror of our collective impending deaths... I stated plainly, remember me a happy soul... then I explained: My happiness wasn't a happenstance or a recurring case of the runs it was always intentional. It was my reward for being me. If I sat up every night wondering about what could have been, if I... or what would have been if I just...; I would have spent my existence miserable. I lived this life unabashedly without regret. -Lis from #theTaoOfLis

Darkness

"When I couldn't see any future or read any thought, I sat frustrated and somewhat frightened. For the first time I was happy, but when the future sat as clearly visible as the sun on a cloudless day, it hurt to look upon and burned my soul passed my eyes. I miss the silence in the middle of the darkness that made me smile."

500 Days of Lis... Day {2}

Inner thoughts spoken aloud as I waited... "She waits dreamily at the foot of the bed for an answer... dressed in a grey pumpkin ruffled dress and pink house slippers".. he still hasn't returned her text or delivered her product. "Whose balls do I have to lick to get some respect around here" she said aloud as he backed in the door holding her parcels...#awkward

They head downstairs together to head out for a drive to shoot the shit about life, their failed relationships and the fact that she only came up to the hair under his nips.... He's interesting and he called her smart and sweet."

I think he  may don faerie wings yet.

Height Blind Charm

So funny story:

I had a flirty conversation with a young man. He complimented my eyes and my dimples. We shared a great chat and he brought it to my attention that he didn't like short girls. He also stated that he didn't like short women at all. I checked my shoes and scratched my head because I sat across from this man who towered over small children at a breathtaking 5'4". Even though It didn't surprise me as men at this huge height tend to enjoy the company of giant long legged women. What alarmed me is that he was flirting with me. I don't know if he was looking at my enormous head and thinking it was proof that I'm an anatomically correct 6' or maybe the stool I was sitting on made me look a foot taller than I was. I just wanted to know what he was speaking about. Maybe he just wanted someone to speak with. I made my excuses about my ten babies at home (I have no "babies" btw) and thanked him for the talk.

Back to the drawing board.

500 Days of Lis... Day {1}

I bit my nails this morning for the first time in almost ten years. I didn't think the salty sweet taste of keratin would make me risk a $20 manicure, but I was nervous. I had never met anyone who spoke English AND wasn't in my immediate peer group for a very long time, so I was decidedly unsure if I was ready for a conversation that extended past "Yo Ma", and "Are your tits real?" I covered up my tits and didn't don an ounce of makeup. I purposely didn't wear my favorite leg warmers or forget to put on pants. I did, however, wear a sash around my waist as I popped downstairs to meet him. I wasn't going to completely hide my completely overt sparkly bitch attire.
Tall, fluffy, tattooed and no hint of sweetness except for the strawberry scent I smelled when he hugged me. This is new. I spent an entire existence looking for peers that had faerie wings, doe eyes and an ethereal calm, while being the size of giants. He is not. But he is cuddly.

500 Days of Lis.. {Prelude}

There are no words to describe him that haven't been uttered by someone sweeter; someone smarter or someone clearly more beautiful. He's an anomaly in the space of reason and I want to understand the pull of the charm. I don't expect much, in terms of information, since I've heard it all before.. (in my Sunshine Anderson voice). I'll celebrate 500 days of his existence before he goes and rides off into the sunset and that's more than I ever need in this lifetime. I'll keep you posted.

Question

What is a question?

Tell: how is a question formed?

How can we create?

Question? How can we confuse?

Answer! We can boggle you!

Love

Un-giving, unloved.

Un-sharing, uncaring, love.

Hating Displeasing.

Unappreciated Love.

There is a world without love.

Pleasantries..

Never getting them,

Never seeing pleasant ones,

Appreciating.

Never understanding them,

There are no pleasantries, here.

The Room

It looks like a yellow box with a

white top and a green base. You read the

signs, you witness Ewing slamming,

Thurman crying and Simms passing.

On one wall you smell potpourri,

sensing the presence of a girl. The

balloons of past birthdays; the radio

blasting annoying neighbors next door.

You touch over 200 stuffed

toys nows locked in the closet, and cut

yourself n the edge of the life-size

house in the corner or bump into Tony

the Tiger hanging from the ceiling.

You eat spaghetti on the edge of

the bed hoping I don't tell you to

sit at the table.  Then you relax in

your space, your place, your private place

The Room..

11/14/10 amorlesslis

A Poets Cry

A poet's cry is heard through her written words.
Unwillingly, she cries on crumpled papers hoping someone will find them in time and save her.
With tears flowing, she'll deny her cries because she's to proud to ask for a helping hand.
Her tears will show she can love, fight and care for you,
But bewilder your mind and her written words.

She won't cry in public, because it will show she has a weakness.
She will argue if she knows she's right.

A poets cry is loud screeching in the mind, like temples pounding.
It is laughed about in friendly circles and humiliated in non-constructive criticism.
It is looked upon as a stepping stone for happy repercussion,
And dreamed about, wholeheartedly in slumber.

Grasping for some happiness, she is now re-assured that her sadness is over..

11/14/10 amorlesslis

Barbie Is The Imagination Of Man

I find it interesting how men hate on Barbie.   I noticed this the day I cut my afro off and stopped the facade of the natural look while wearing extensions.  Have we forgotten that a man created this doll-like persona.   The exaggerated cleavage, the non-existent waistline.   The Hollywood bobble head and yet some men purport the results of aspiring women to look like this as being fake.   Men kill themselves to find a woman who looks like her.   They claim natural looks and personality are enough, yet those girls are considered unpolished and unfinished, en masse, and most of those naturally beautiful girls walk the streets single,  last I've seen in this little melting pot of New York City...
Disagree if you wish... better yet live it.  I dare you.

Matchstick

The scraping of the matchstick against the box, gives it a raspy voice unlike any other heard.

The uneasy sputtering of the flame shone pale yellowish to the gazing eye.

The flame wavers as it makes a curvy trail up the matchstick.

Death follows with a certain puff As..

A wisp of smoke threads upward, becoming part of the shadows.

And as it rises you know the matchstick is gone.

11/13/10 amorlesslis

Takeoff

Rumbles are heard on the runway

As a sleek, silver skinned jet takes its place.

As she waits for clearance from the tower

She grasps for some assurance that she will be traveling.

Suddenly with a roar the engines

Begin to wind up taking aim for the sky.

She powers down the concrete runway

And like a storybook ending

Lifts against the horizon,

Which is edged with clouds.

11/13/10 amorlesslis

photo by Medi Belortaja

Fucked By Love

Sometimes you just play, wanting to be loved.
Its how you were made, to play shy, to be taken unwittingly.
To have him look at you whispering, "I love you's."
Letting him chase you until you catch him, unexpectedly.

Soft, sweet-smelling, malleable, to be loved by something
Something able to build upon your precious walls and mold you to his own.
Childlike playful happenstance, awkward adolescent silences.
Knowing, the two naked souls, both waiting to be loved, are full-grown.

You yield to his manhood, his heart though you've loved it before.
Sweet virgin thoughts of love behind those innocent almond eyes to deconstruct.
He smiles at you, once he touches you, because he's found love within you.
How does it feel to be the core of someones earth when you longed to be loved?

Other times you hop on and thrust yourself into love.
Unshielded, you flutter and salsa simultaneously on knees and tip toes.
He watches you, waiting for the climb, all of loves blissfully swirled strokes.
Setting his own painted marks, kissing you, peering closer, laying down nose to nose.

Me, I love this time like a Wing-Back first preseason Sunday.
I follow the ball and lead the quarterback to my position
Quick footed, light on my feet, lighter on my hips when I bounce.
Forgiving Adam's consolation in relieving Lilith's courtship to fruition.

Spinning through legendary defenses, clamoring swords to trumpeted victory.
Always giving love to who lies trampled, show deepest love to eyes unsmiling, bulging.
Caressing him to let go enough to hold on to what sweetness awaits upon my completion
Never again breaking hearts, like I broke toes on life's stage in toe shoes, indulging.

But this story is for one more lover, literally, blissful content and oblivious.
Heartache now concluded, you want love, love me truly, and shut the uncertainty door.
Since I'm always respected and lovingly cherished by so many warmed hearts.
I'll always care too much, just love the rhyme, because the love is all I'm here for.






9/29/10 amorlesslis