The Journey (+ spoken word video)

*This is a poem that I did as part of a tag I received on youtube. The tag is called "Loc Star Poetry", and it was a lot of fun particpating. I made a video response to the tag today and I hope that you check it out below :-)*


As I travel to the land of my locs
the texture consumes me,
from root to tip is a precious journey, with a foundation
built with courage, strength, liberation and love...
and naysayers watch me,
negativity caught in the back of their throats, ready to spit
but I dare them to cough up their lyes....
to know my locs is to know me,
the natural pryncess that I have become
finally flying, overlooking the stereotypes that use to weigh me down
finally giving birth to a freedom that i never knew could exist in me
finally outside of a box that became too cramped up with synthetics,
finally...being true to myself.
and the journey to loc'dom continues, and I shall remain the one who's driving...

Pryncess Poetiq, 2010.

When A Broken Heart Writes

imagine my eyes
how they sparkle with longing and gratitude
thankful to feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. again.
then they close,
as white hot signals flash across my heart
palpitating lightning in a euphoric storm.
imagine my ears
how sensitive they are to
each and every whisper, moan, and declaration
hanging onto his words like a cliffhanger
on the verge of falling...back in love.
imagine my mouth
how it dives into this perfect kiss
he feeds me words like "i'm sorry, please forgive me"
using his lips to spoon it all in
and I'm left full for many days...
then imagine my surprise
when I find that my eyes...
my ears...and my mouth
betrayed my wishful thinking
letting heartache write a fairy tale...

(c) Pryncess Poetiq, 2010.

straight jacket love

...and the rocking begins
back and forth i fill my head with unnecessary dreams
over-the-top little inquisitions
thinking...wondering...pondering
brain swimming in the pond of the impractical
i struggle through it
giving sugarless smiles
and half-hearted answers and nods
as heartache simmers in the pot of burning insanity
crazy in love
psychotic in lust
disturbed in the withdrawal of everything...
and I discover my own simple diagnosis
not all there...
because you are not here...

(c)Pryncess Poetiq, 2009.

Untitled Quickie

Every night lies poetry on my pillow
so slow and melodic,
expressions and subconcious thinking spills onto every thread count
embedding them with the stories of my life.

(c) Pryncess Poetiq, 2009.

Carnal Conscious

auto-focused on caramel glazed skin
instantly sucked in by the lusciousness...pressing
gliding...smoothly
against the cocoa of me...
too breathless to call out his name,
i rely on the palpitations beating a rhythm
much like the ebb...and...flow of our bodies
releasing emotions through the song of moans
our music becoming a harmonious sinful edge...
the drips of our sweat rain into the sheets
as his thrusts elevate their frequencies to overload
and I no longer control this erotic madness...
and start to
slowly...die...
...resurrected, by reality.

(c) Pryncess Poetiq, 2009.

Captured

his heart thumps against hers
giving her codes detected by her own,
signaling those passionate beating rhythms
as the satisfaction of them being there,
close and with undying passion...
the wind blows,
scattering the dance of leaves around them,
as if even nature notices the magic that they possess
such a glow,
the highlight of an otherwise day of normalcy
their love,
the simple focus of an invisible world.

(c) Pryncess Poetiq, 2009.

The Brew

"When the wind through the window
Blows across your pillow
And tells you sleepin' is wrong
If love goes a thirstin'
'Till you feel like burstin'
Then nothin' but the blues are brewin'..."
--Billie Holiday and Louis Armstrong "The Blues Are Brewin'"


...And the brewage inebriates my soul

waiting for the moon to light the path to what makes me whole

because the answer lies no where else,



I know nothing but the pain

when your departure makes the rain

circling puddles of wonder within myself...



and I crave for you

like the hunger of a thousand taboos

stirring in my stomach, harsher than the butterflies,



no matter about all the wrongs

in my heart, you still hold a sweet little song

of what we have built, even if it's a passionate lie...



my blues are cold like the hue in which they resignate

as your heart hides and hesitates

to marinate beyond the reach of our fire,



fermented memories lost and blind

with covered eyes, and closed off mind

as Billie sympathizes my desire...



Satchmo's trumpet becomes my story

and I'm hoping the morning will bring me glory

because the brew is quickly turning stale,



silly of me, wanting what's no longer mine

still, I long for our sparkled time

knowing he is forever of no avail...

(c) Pryncess Poetiq, 2008.