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Where (spoken)words happen

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Selfish (The Greater Good)

I’ve memorized the trajectory of wind whilst standing on the suspension of bridges.

I’ve already counted the steps it would take to advance


and fall head over heels into an ending that doesn’t so much stop things from being bad, 

but stops them from potentially ever being any good.

Some know this as suicide.

But tell me,

do spirits die if they are already dead?

I’ve bled where tears eventually refused to be.

I’ve known pain relief more intimately than any child over 12.

My best friends had hundreds of proofs as to why my life had lost its living.

The feeling of spinning wheels and going nowhere fast at last had taken its toll.

But now,

another year old,

another year far removed from bridge suspension,

I still find that gusts of wind cause me to lift on the balls of my feet 

ready to spring


and fall head over heels into the beginning of eternity that doesn’t so much stop the pain from hurting

but prevents it from ever being used for any good.

Some know this as selfish.

Filed under poetry spoken word creative writing suicide life for Bianca personal grief self harm candid

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Was walking down the street and then I was like, “Hey wait! I KNOW THAT GIRL!” Best star sighting on the strip.  (at TCL Chinese Theatre)

Was walking down the street and then I was like, “Hey wait! I KNOW THAT GIRL!” Best star sighting on the strip. (at TCL Chinese Theatre)

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I must apologize to the Universe.

I almost allowed situations, and disgusting life happenings as of late, and disappointments, and set backs, and losses completely rule, derail, and silence the voice this world needs so desperately to hear.

Mel Johnson and Nadila Fahreen are doing a great work. A valuable work. A work that has reinforced my purpose not only as an artist, but as a woman. I am humbled and honored and proud and to have been asked and to have been able to speak into the lives of young women tonight. They have inspired me, they have encouraged me, and they have reminded me that I wouldn’t be where I am and who I am in this very moment without some of the darkest days my life has ever known.

Circumstances can not have my voice.
Fear and frustration can not have my voice.
Heartbreak and doubt can not have my voice.

The enemy can not have me.

To that scary frightening situation, I am soon to conquer you. 
To that heartbreaking reality, thank you for increasing my worth. Thank you for positioning me closer to my promise. I’m excited to invest my time elsewhere.
To that disappointing set back, my recompense will be beyond what eyes have seen and what ears have heard, nor will it have entered the hearts of men what has already been Godly prepared for me.

And to all of you, know that there’s something to be said about anyone who’s died 1000 times as have I, and yet finds the same and only way to live.


Filed under poetry artistry life

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The Birthday Piece (Peace)

This is the birthday piece. 

Peace to the former, piece.

Pieced with the kind of peace only birthdays can provide.

So I made it, I survived another year.

I prevailed—

Another clear indication the best is yet to come.

I pray to see another one,

and another some many many pieces from now.

The birthday peace—

The crown and glory of life experiences.

Today I’m not caught up with it hasn’t happened yets 


I wasn’t at my bests 


I sincerely hope it gets betters.

This is my birthday peace

Pieced with at least a couple hundred small victories.

All the things upsetting me

All the things alluding me

All the other supposed to bes of life now matter not.

This is the birthday piece—
The plot now thickens.

Filed under metaphor analogy poetry spoken word creative writing birthday life age old pun word play

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*Listen to “VDay” performed on “Twenty5”(2012), available for download here: http://www.mediafire.com/?444vh5g3xdzn00c 

Its always the same from those unknown and intimate strangers.

I’m hit with a “happy bday” to avoid the very present danger—

being gifted meaningful words.

Though, however absurd it is of me to expect such things,

it never fails that birthdays bring

the most ironic redundancy.

And again, maybe it’s selfish of me to expect such things,

but on birthdays when the phone annoyingly rings

I know the scripted standard,

and it begins a little like “Heeeyyy Verandah”

(I’m usually close to vomiting by then)

Old college pals, people I haven’t seen since we were ten—

they all gather round from the infinite darkest corners away from the sun.

And then there are some who’ll come that have remained in my immediate peripheral.

However difficult it always is to put up with the charade, I stomach it and I always charismatically say,

“Hey man, thank you. It means a lot to me”.

When quite honestly

it moves me to frustrated tears…

I’ll be frank and admit the innumerable years Ive waited to be given real words on a birthday.

Waited for someone to come along and opt to NOT say

the words happy

or day

or birth

in any form of compound with any regards to which comes first—

I’ve yearned for said gift.

But from the lips and over anxious fingertips of those near and virtually present,

I take the happy bdays and I’ll swear then I’ve learned the same damn lesson—

“Next year Verandah, you’re gonna ask for a puppy. Just give up on the words thing.

Just give up on obsessing what people clearly aren’t feeling.


Start superficially dealing with birthdays the way all the other normal humans do—

Crave attention, get beautiful…

be obnoxious with delight from nosebleeding rooftops.

Eat some cake, have a drink, self-gift, shop,

but just stop with that other stuff.”

I’ll swear then that I’ve had enough with my own seemingly unreasonable requests.

And yes

I suppose they are a tad large unreasonable.

An advocate for Lucifer will suggest, “At least I acknowledged you though”…


I know.

Point somewhat proven.

I’m not an advocate for people being guilted into doing something that isn’t generic thinking of their own.

Which is why this poem—

probably should have never seen the light of day.

But it IS my birth’s day, not mine, and there IS no time more appropriate than the present—

casting aside all wanting of gifts of incredibly impressive

absolutely expressive set of feelings

just for me being alive.

Next year Verandah, strive to keep your own word.

But in the meantime, a very happy, happy bday baby girl.

Filed under birthday cynicism life emotions poetry spoken word social networking creative writing old sarcasm