don’t tap out, fight until the end.

blow

She had her mother’s t-shirt on and her sister’s jeans. She wasn’t embarrassed nor did she apologize. I watched her walk down the hall, the jeans form fitting her thighs, her hips. Inside of her mother, inside of her sister, she was – herself. She looked at me a lot, laughed and smiled each time the light touched her eyes. There was a long hallway, stairs. Her head remained up the entire time. I wanted to ask so many questions. How does a Goddess live on earth? I wanted to know what she sees, if that makes sense. I asked after I noticed her looking back over her shoulder, it was dark, she was careful. When I walk I hear the wind in my ears as if I’m by the water. I see myself far from here. Smiling, my tongue licks the sweet taste of success and desire. There I am, surrounded by love. A man, a child, art. I see my purse, but the pills have vanished. The doctors paid off. Someone will ask if it’s true. And then I’ll start smiling again. When the sound of the wind ceases, I see right now – me, washing clothes.

you have a little time to

get your moves together for june 17th.

Born in ‘88

It’s not today. But I’ll be reminding you as we get closer, baby. We’re having a party. AB sent a sketch design in for the cake. Performances and such.

New Category, Born in ‘88. All things 6/18 !

45 mercy street

I open my pocketbook,
as women do,
and fish swim back and forth
between the dollars and the lipstick.
I pick them out,
one by one
and throw them at the street signs,
and shoot my pocketbook
into the Charles River.
Next I pull the dream off
and slam into the cement wall
of the clumsy calendar
I live in,
my life,
and its hauled up
notebooks.
-excerpt, Anne Sexton

Allure; seconds

I flew to Miami alone. Met some guys on the plane who dropped me off at the hotel after a walk on the beach. Stripped to my swimsuit and went back out.

Sleeping on the beach alone. The sun each second making me feel like I’m the only one here. Taking my body in a room, adding pressure each second. Sounds like men are standing over me. I still feel chosen, despite the voices. Saying my name. Someone is saying my name.

I fell for you back in New York. After a couple meetings I wanted you to love me. I wanted to know your scent. But each time, as friendly as before. Hugs and hellos and your eyes.

I’m writing this from a place of belief. It would be your eyes. When we look, we’re looking for more. There are always so many around. I want you to love me. I want to tell you how often I think of you. But then, you’ll be like the others. Lost and holding on. I like you where you are. On top of me. In this room. Adding pressure each second.

Soloism and Independence

“Mr. Mitchell never loses a secret ingredient of play; he delivers a dance as if he were discovering it as he goes along, and discovering himself in the process.” – New York Times on dancer Rashaun Mitchell

supernova

Mr. Hudson – Supernova ft Kanye West

“What happened to those ideas?”

there’s a time, or times, where there are all these dreams
and goals, and to do lists, and things to do, aspirations
and you’re doing them, and you’re making your way to do the others
then at some point
you break down
the lowest point
and you think about all these things
and you try to do things, as you did with a clear mind
then you end up
with only one of them
and that one, is the one that keeps you sane, keeps you alive
you’re holding on so tight because you fear if you let that go, you’ve lost everything
everything is a dream, but there’s that one, that one reality you made
that gives you life
so you work with that, until it, one day can give you energy for the other things to do

“I swear yo I’m like Huey mixed with Riley, Thursday I be tryna save the world and then on Friday, I hit the club.”

shoes courtesy of Phillip Lim
quote courtesy of a twitter friend

Nose Bleed

My best friend asked what I look for in a man. I looked to the right at the graffiti-covered door, then left at the back of my ex-boyfriend’s head (he’d just walked by us). I told him I hate this question. My last two relationships, they weren’t my “type.” I closed my eyes and felt my stomach rush. Honestly, it’s Him, I said. My friend knew the man I was talking about. He makes me feel. Inspires me on a warm night when it seems nothing is left. Killing me softly. I said he gives me hope and happiness, mixed with a slight feeling of fear. Fear because the days are changing, but my lessons stay the same. Fear because I can’t feel the hope and the happiness right there. I pointed to Him. But from here. And this feels too far.

99 Problems, video treatment

love deferred

“can i tell you something.
will you listen
this shit hurts
it hurts when i kiss you. and when you grip my thighs and pull me closer.
when you ask me how good it feels
when i’m lying next to you
when you leave and walk out the door.
it hurts cause i know you already forgot me the moment you pulled out
i’ll call you later to say i miss you
you’re not going to answer
but i like the way you keep me guessing.
the way you break my heart.
“i wore this for you”
silence
i’ll still cook you dinner
i’ll still come over late at night, because when i look in your eyes i see what we used to have
when you always called.
when you asked about my day
i remember when you loved me back.
what do i have to do
silence
i’m sitting here, i’m replaying the past.
do you feel this
it hurts
i’ll wait for a call
i’ll wait ’til you realize this is real
my tears, my touch, this love, it’s real.”
-AB, Blackberry Messenger