Oh look! A blog! Sweet!

Where (spoken)words happen

1 note

So, a girl I know officially has her first professional video credit courtesy of ACROS Fashion. Good for her! She’s destined for great things, that one. The world need look out! Who knows what she’ll do next.

2 notes

Dude. Friend. Whatever. (Reprise)

Dude,

we were friends,

or whatever.

Until someone “better” came along.

Now, 

we are sans ambiguity just friendly 

though I wonder if ever you’d genuinely wanted this friendship or,

whatever.

I can’t say whether or not I want another relationship,

or some other situationship—

The back and forth knowing of not knowing,

I really hate this shit.

I’ve had enough of it or,

whatever.

Dude,

we were never friends the way we’d settled to be.

You, dude friend were dating me,

and I

was dating you.

We were playing the parts all the way up until 

you casted the official role elsewhere.

Is all still fair in friendship and war?

Dude,

whatever are we pretending for—

I can’t ever be just your friend.

Filed under poetry spoken word creative writing friendship dating life situationships relationships love heartbreak

3 notes

Amusing, Maybe

Behind closed doors

or,

positioned on all fours he’d tell me I was his muse.

That I was the one whose inner most being was the source of his creativity.

It never occurred to me it’d be temporary.

I thought muses were exemplary beings with everlasting promise and unwavering interests.

It never occurred to me disinterest would soon become him.

Even though I’d grown to love him there was no guarantee he’d return his love back unto me,

see,

I was infatuation.

Something far from a muse.

So now with chagrin amused, I know he wants for someone whose inner most being will attract him for real.

Filed under poetry spoken word creative writing

3 notes

Seeking A [/Love] For The End Of The World

"Penny: I wish I’d met you a long time ago. When we were kids.

Dodge: It couldn’t have happened any other way. It had to happen now.

Penny: But it isn’t enough time.

Dodge: It never would have been.” —From “Seeking A Friend For The End Of The World” (2012)



Laying on your chest I wonder internally why I couldn’t have met you sooner.

Because now that your heart has moved along it just follows that maybe I could have spent more time loving you.

Maybe I could have spent more time wanting you,

flaunting you in my heart to my mind knowing time was on my side and not against me.

Having kissed your lips I wonder painfully why I couldn’t have met you sooner.

Because lunar visions compare nothing to the sunlit manifestations of time well spent together.

I never imagined someone like you could give someone like me the time of day.

It never dawned on me that my heart would yearn for you but my mind would say start preparing for the inevitable fall.

Having felt your spirit commune with mine I wonder defeated why I couldn’t have met you sooner.

Because no sooner than learning your name would I have desired to make it my own.

Your name is sweeter than the smiles you once smiled and the contact with my flesh I remember best.

But,

now I’m seeking a love for the end of the world, or the end of my world as I know it,

or,

the end of your love in my life.

That is a better description of life ending for me.

Filed under movie Seeking A Friend For The End Of The World poetry spoken word creative writing life love death dying friendship relationships heartbreak

2 notes

And thus begins the journey to complete “Raw” at The Brewery with some talented folks who have done work for Cudi, Common, Odd Future, Pusha T, and the list impressively continues. Can’t wait to get into the studio and just put it all out there. Years of edited silences and protecting reputations. All me all candid all raw.

And thus begins the journey to complete “Raw” at The Brewery with some talented folks who have done work for Cudi, Common, Odd Future, Pusha T, and the list impressively continues. Can’t wait to get into the studio and just put it all out there. Years of edited silences and protecting reputations. All me all candid all raw.

2 notes

Verandah - Maureen Shepard | Poet • Educator • Brooklyn Bombshell  (at Three of Cups)

Verandah - Maureen Shepard | Poet • Educator • Brooklyn Bombshell (at Three of Cups)

6 notes

Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six Hundred

We were fools in April.

Straight up dumbfounded with feeling.

Scratching

clawing

kneeling at the surface of shallow masquerading as deep.

MAYDAY!
MAYDAY!

We ignored the warnings.

The mornings I’d wake up reaching out to you I should have fancied a life vest.

June just… reaffirmed my worst suspicions.

Mentally, emotionally, you were missing and Ju-lied (July) right to me.

August (a gust) of wind right though me—

cold and unwelcome.

Cep’ timber (September) and embers warmed this heart no better than ice and igloos.

October we did lose touch.

November, December and such came and went

and went with it, January.

By February you’d far marched out of my heart

out of my life.

So that in April you had me like…

a fool.

Filed under poetry word play spoken word creative writing months year love progression heartbreak plot twist

4 notes

On All Fours

He asked me what my favorite position was.

And because I’d only known the one between a rock and a hard place,

I told him, “standing”.

See I’d already spent so much time free handing—

praying,

"God please.

Please play Picasso to these broken heart pieces.

Put it back together so it resembles something at least is…

Basement Bargain worthy”.

He asked me what my favorite position was.

And because I’d spent so much time beaten on my back,

I’d forgotten that 

I was tall.

That I wasn’t some small one night stand and make her happy at her shows…

that I was no

minor score and pass,

someone to shoot the breeze with, 

laugh,

a nonchalant time had with someone other than whom you claim to love.

He asked me what my favorite position was

and I wondered is it because Love screws me at every opportunity and the wear and tear was beginning to show?

No.

That can’t be it.

…Right?

Filed under poetry spoken word creative writing word play metaphor

3 notes

Roy G. Biv

I know I shouldn’t have looked at you that day—

the way curators appraise precious works of art.

Tidal waves with pearls,

mocha swirls in your skin and the light of the sun in your mouth.

Rembrandt can’t touch you.

Dali can’t salvage those your gaze lays to waste.

Falling in love with your face, mind’s interior, embrace…

should have been forbidden.

I should have been given strict warnings against it.

Your voice, love, attention…

should have been denied me.

But you were the perfect work of art.

I enjoyed every stroke,

every chill one look provoked in the privacy of my mind’s museum.

Coveted.

Belonging not to me.

Claimed.

Not necessarily… taken.

Photographs in hopes of making my own gallery someday.

Quite possibly one day I’ll be the curator.

Though,

probably not.

Filed under art poetry spoken word painting color love heartbreak rainbow artistry men women attraction regret

2 notes

Oral Fixation

There’s just something about the way that you do it…
the way that your lips hit every syllabic
necessity.

The way that you look at me
in the midst of.

The way your tongue rubs against certain places,
what your eyes transmit with certain faces
and how the sound of it just makes it…
it just makes my fixation grow.

I love it when you talk,
throw words around with your voice.
I’ve got an oral fixation and by choice I’m choosing to let it rule me.

Filed under oral fixation inuendo poetry spoken word creative writing talking plot twist

26 notes

Moving Day

I wish I could change the locks on my memory so you no longer trespass freely there.

I wish I cared enough to even advertise for new renters.

I wish I could board up the windows of my soul and deny you voyeuristic access. 

The mattress you’ve made of my heart, turning flips and tricks on it the way a child would—

I wish I could set it out on a street corner. My need of it has long gone.

I wish I could pack up my good sense and burn the place clean of impurities—

the only way to be rid of memories crudely scribbled onto the walls,

sloppily spilled on all the floors,

and clutters corners of every room.

But in the event of a moving day, I’d have nowhere else to move to.

 

"I hope you notice I was never over you" — Jason Mraz "Hidden Track" from Love Is A Four Letter Word

Filed under moving analogy metaphor memory heartbreak poetry spoken word creative writing