There's no expiration date on our dreams. People will try to convince us that there are. Those people are called haters. It may take a while for us to realize they're stale, but once we do, throw them out. That's a perfect example of something with an expiration date.
Ms.K"L"
Friday, January 8, 2010
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Headache Blues
So this headache is trying to keep me down. It started last night and crept it's way into today. At this point it has me right where it wants me; in a horizontal fetal position staring into the firey honeycomb grill of the space heater... And now noticing the chair railing on the wall is a lot lower then I thought. Interesting. Random thoughts gather at the meeting point that is my temple. They scream over my central thoughts causing me to fight back. "I have to do this, this, this, and this and wow look at the snowing cover the peaks on the fence." The last 2 hours of my life have wasted away to a daggum headache that doesn't care about anything but harvesting itself in the confinement of my mental. Of course how selfishly brillant of you. Having your cake and eating it too. The next hour is crucial to making this thing go away. Mr. Headache meet Mr. Eviction notice...
Thought Of The Day
There's one thing we can't deny. Unlike a friend, or a bike that we had when we were 10, who can diminish after yrs of disappearance, family will always be family. Good relationships, bad relationships; sometime at the end of the day they're all we got.
Ms. K"L"
Ms. K"L"
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Thought Of The Day
There is no way to properly love what it is that you believe, a craft, or another person, when you don't love yourself. An attempt is false advertisement. When you have love for self, then you will have an abundance of genuine love to give.
Ms. K"L"
Ms. K"L"
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
SLAM BACK TUESDAY
Heroine: A flawless mistake
Heroine saved my life
Before I knew heroine, I was a drug fiend,
Addicted to charcoal and graphite.
I would sniff through nasal passages which enhanced my deteriorating sight.
My eyes, in turn, guided my uncoordinated hands\
which held the instrument used to administer my fixation.
The narcotic was as addictive as the acceptance of violence in society.
No one likes to admit it but there’s no admission cost for negativity;
Negatives coincide with positives – It cannot be ignored. It cannot be denied
So women find this attractive.
Opposites attract – this is a common fact.
Their positives magnets the negatives in the hearts of men.
Must the nice guy always lose, for their angels become lost in demonic voids.
I have lost in the battle of love, so I turn to my narcotic - My first love.
The setting is dark and blank. My only wish is to compose my imagination.
The violent image of this instrument suppressing my tree of knowledge constantly causes me to vomit my reality.
Blood entertains the once blank environment.
I was nothing but a young soul with everything to lose and nothing to gain…
until I met her.
She was a canvas full of abstract art; simply unsolved!
Her complexity fascinated me.
Her skin was complimented w/ every signature except mine.
I was told if I sign the canvas she will be with me forever.
And so I spent dark hours absorbing graphite,
Inhaling her elegance, and transferring my affection,
all into a signature.
Our passion resulted in the birth of an error.
A fact her mother could never comprehend, for she was a canvas whom would leave to search for more imprints, as if my signature wasn’t shit.
And so, I am left with a mistake and broken promises.
In result, I sought for my narcotics.
For 3 years I constantly used the instrument to paint and destroy the foundation once known as a home.
As I pulled out the instrument, the mistake appears, and cries aloud “stop Dad”, and confines my neck with loving arms.
With that, the habit is broken. I gained understanding. What a fool I have been!
I realized the lord blessed me with a medication labeled misbegotten.
This gave me new life. It gave me inspiration. Through her I was reincarnated.
My instrument was converted into a tool for positivity.
I was saved through her angel tears. I was saved through a love I never held.
It was as if an Amazon goddess was reborn.
Her battle cry demolished and converted all evil.
She was a hero. A potent substitute for my previous narcotic.
Ironically, she is my daughter, and I labeled her a heroine.
She was my heroine, a flawless mistake.
-Twan Love
KL's SLAM BACK!!!
See years ago I gave birth,
I never told a soul...
It wasn't until my mind became too full to store the cries I've been shedding, and internal bleeding,
So full of shit that the bowels were ready to explode, that my secret has been put on public display.
My babies were 3.
And little did everyone know they had seen just as much as me.
Absorbed as much evil shit as me.
A nightmare on a corner of a street in the ghetto,
A 24 hour liquor store,
Or what people say is the only thing open after midnight, even though she said "NO Dad stop".
My mother found a puddle of tears when I was eleven and shipped them off as a message in a bottle to the baby's father.
The good for nothing son of a...
If these four could talk...
If any four walls could walk they would leave a lot of homes;
Or rather houses, like I wish me and my babies could have.
Instead we sat in the back of a 2 1/2 by 8 foot closet and listened.
And cried.
This time on the outside.
There were many Monday-Fridays like this.
Where my veins hung from my wrist and fell onto a blank page.
Life in its rawest form flowed freely,
And in this 2 1/2 by 8 foot closet I sat with my babies.
It was a place where I could just be.
I could expose everything.
Life has changed over the years but the memories come easy like Sunday morning
And my babies?
They're fine;
My pen, my pad, my heart and my mind have collectively made me the person that I am today.
A flawless mistake that I would never regret.
-KL
FOLLOW Twan's journey on twitter @tigga_love. For more of his poetry go to http://twanlove.blogspot.com/
Heroine saved my life
Before I knew heroine, I was a drug fiend,
Addicted to charcoal and graphite.
I would sniff through nasal passages which enhanced my deteriorating sight.
My eyes, in turn, guided my uncoordinated hands\
which held the instrument used to administer my fixation.
The narcotic was as addictive as the acceptance of violence in society.
No one likes to admit it but there’s no admission cost for negativity;
Negatives coincide with positives – It cannot be ignored. It cannot be denied
So women find this attractive.
Opposites attract – this is a common fact.
Their positives magnets the negatives in the hearts of men.
Must the nice guy always lose, for their angels become lost in demonic voids.
I have lost in the battle of love, so I turn to my narcotic - My first love.
The setting is dark and blank. My only wish is to compose my imagination.
The violent image of this instrument suppressing my tree of knowledge constantly causes me to vomit my reality.
Blood entertains the once blank environment.
I was nothing but a young soul with everything to lose and nothing to gain…
until I met her.
She was a canvas full of abstract art; simply unsolved!
Her complexity fascinated me.
Her skin was complimented w/ every signature except mine.
I was told if I sign the canvas she will be with me forever.
And so I spent dark hours absorbing graphite,
Inhaling her elegance, and transferring my affection,
all into a signature.
Our passion resulted in the birth of an error.
A fact her mother could never comprehend, for she was a canvas whom would leave to search for more imprints, as if my signature wasn’t shit.
And so, I am left with a mistake and broken promises.
In result, I sought for my narcotics.
For 3 years I constantly used the instrument to paint and destroy the foundation once known as a home.
As I pulled out the instrument, the mistake appears, and cries aloud “stop Dad”, and confines my neck with loving arms.
With that, the habit is broken. I gained understanding. What a fool I have been!
I realized the lord blessed me with a medication labeled misbegotten.
This gave me new life. It gave me inspiration. Through her I was reincarnated.
My instrument was converted into a tool for positivity.
I was saved through her angel tears. I was saved through a love I never held.
It was as if an Amazon goddess was reborn.
Her battle cry demolished and converted all evil.
She was a hero. A potent substitute for my previous narcotic.
Ironically, she is my daughter, and I labeled her a heroine.
She was my heroine, a flawless mistake.
-Twan Love
KL's SLAM BACK!!!
See years ago I gave birth,
I never told a soul...
It wasn't until my mind became too full to store the cries I've been shedding, and internal bleeding,
So full of shit that the bowels were ready to explode, that my secret has been put on public display.
My babies were 3.
And little did everyone know they had seen just as much as me.
Absorbed as much evil shit as me.
A nightmare on a corner of a street in the ghetto,
A 24 hour liquor store,
Or what people say is the only thing open after midnight, even though she said "NO Dad stop".
My mother found a puddle of tears when I was eleven and shipped them off as a message in a bottle to the baby's father.
The good for nothing son of a...
If these four could talk...
If any four walls could walk they would leave a lot of homes;
Or rather houses, like I wish me and my babies could have.
Instead we sat in the back of a 2 1/2 by 8 foot closet and listened.
And cried.
This time on the outside.
There were many Monday-Fridays like this.
Where my veins hung from my wrist and fell onto a blank page.
Life in its rawest form flowed freely,
And in this 2 1/2 by 8 foot closet I sat with my babies.
It was a place where I could just be.
I could expose everything.
Life has changed over the years but the memories come easy like Sunday morning
And my babies?
They're fine;
My pen, my pad, my heart and my mind have collectively made me the person that I am today.
A flawless mistake that I would never regret.
-KL
FOLLOW Twan's journey on twitter @tigga_love. For more of his poetry go to http://twanlove.blogspot.com/
Thought Of The Day
Fill your days with productivity and the day's end with rest, for rest and sleep are perpendicular. We sleep because its routine, but rest is that much needed reward that we rarely grant ourselves for all our hard work.
Ms. K"L"
Ms. K"L"
Monday, January 4, 2010
Thought Of The Day
Everyone isn't going to see your vision, but that doesn't mean you'll stop seeing it. Someone was meant to be the designated driver. Keep your eyes on the road.
Ms. K"L"
Ms. K"L"
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Right Angle Thinking
Tonight I've been productive sitting up in the bed; back vertical, legs horizontal one crossed over the other, meeting in the middle to pull some thoughts together... It always seems to be daylight. There's this guilt upon me like I shouldn't be sleeping. It feels as though my gifts lie in staying awake to see things so that I might express that in my writing... My eyes are heavy from carrying the vision of success. But I don't see it as being weighed down. Let the journey continue.
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