It's on Record (Part II)

It’s always the same, first you hide your face and giggle like a little school-girl, and then you throw things at me telling me to “turn it off”. After that, you try to pretend like its not even there, and then I play right along. Suddenly you fall in love with the lens and then you can’t stop staring into it. If the timing is right, you do amazing things for the lens that you’d normally never do without it. What is this phenomenon?

I swear I don’t understand you at all. You’re the most complicated creation on earth, you know that? I really had to learn the hard way that “no” really does mean “yes” sometimes. Trying to figure out when those times are ain’t easy at all. I admit, I kind of feel guilty from time to time ignoring a blatant “no”, but shouldn’t it have turned out bad with a rejection? You played right along anyway, so I guess you meant yes?

I pray the day never comes when you say no and really mean it, if that day comes; I might never recovery from the guilt. I just want to have a good time, and I want you to be a part of it. I hate having to drag you to places all the time, you seem to enjoy yourself once you get there, so what’s the problem? Are you determined to be a boring person? Is your phunometer broken? Why is it you can’t simply be where you say you’ll be? Should I even bother calling you when I wonder where you are, it’s not like you’ll answer.

I have to be honest with you; this is getting quite bothersome my dear. Having to force you into having a good time is becoming very old. It’s only when I watch you on film am I convinced you are more fun then I give you credit for, but these moments are few. I smile when you smile at me, but I have to realize you are smiling at the camera, no me. It’s not so special anymore. It was you I cared about a long time ago, I really did, but you didn’t like to come out and play with me as much as I did you.

So now, all I care about is the girl on film. She is everything I wanted, everything I hoped you would be, but you and she are not the same. Beyonce understands; she even made a song about it. I’ve never been a fan of Beyonce until that very day, but I admit I loved her as “Foxy Cleopatra” in Gold Member. What am I saying? She knows, as much as I don’t truly care for her music, I do appreciate that she truly understands “me”? It was always about you, but you made it about “you”. Still don’t get it huh?

Well, I guess I can never have you back. Maybe you’re gone forever, but at least I have it on record.

-streetpoet007

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Palace of Jade

I always admired a place that had that welcoming feeling; you know, never having to say, “Sorry about the mess” or “I didn’t have time to clean”. I guess I can say I just like tidy people, even though I am not one of them myself. To be honest, I am kind of borderline in a way, when I get tired of seeing a mess and it looks to be getting out of hand, I’ll clean it up. I don’t just clean by picking up the mess though, I get down and dirty, white-glove and everything. What’s the point of all this you ask? Allow me to explain…

You see, not to long ago I had met this young lady at the Alexandria Recreation Center while on business. Though she was awkward, and kind of off-beat, she was super-cute and I wanted to get to know her. She kind of reminded me of how I was in middle school into my freshman high school year; because of that, I knew all the right buttons to push to get her yapping. It was amazing to see all the little sign and signals she gave off, just like I would have when I was younger. I couldn’t play with her for too long though, as business called, and he being like me around my younger years, there was no way to close the deal… or so I thought.

I admit, she was a LOT smarter then “younger me” and found an excuse to give me her contact info by making it about business. “Well thank you darling for taking all the awkwardness out of that part of the game miss-lady” I thought. With a big smile I accept and be sure to bid her farewell before making a sexy exit. With a few games of hit and miss, I finally make contact. She was good though, I have to give her credit, having a party and inviting me to it as yet another excuse to give me her address. I had to think for a moment… “Why wasn’t I this smart at my younger age”, but then again, just because she reminded me of my younger self, doesn’t mean she was as naïve.

I was beginning to like this girl and I hardly knew her. Now keep in mind, I am annoyed by neat-freaks just as much as the next “messy person”, but I had to admire the idea that she cared enough about her things to preserve them in a manner to where they almost looked new, even if she has had them for years. From that moment I decided I wanted to be more like her, and ever since I have been working on becoming more meticulous when it comes to stuff that belongs to me. I assume she could see I was trying hard to respect her “life-style”, and she was humorously smitten enough to grab me by the cheeks and lay a playful lip-smack on me.

Everything just seemed to flow, and her awkward persona and off-beat energy just seemed to match my own. It was like I’ve known her forever. Everything about her was clean and neat; her house, her personality, her swagger, among other things, just squeaky-clean. I guess I can legitimately say that mamii was fresh-to-death, and in the process her once pretty jade eyes reminded me more of “mint freshness” then “clover leaves”. I wish I could have stayed around longer, but I try not to mess around with women who are engaged, sorry, gotta bounce!

-Shaum

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The mating game.

I know she wonders about me often, but there was a time she never gave me a second thought. She did like me, but probably not like that. Things have changed over the past few weeks, words have been said, timing was on my side, circumstances presented themselves as opportunity, and things happened. Maybe it was fate; maybe it was a dice roll, who can say really? The important thing now is to let things flow in the direction best for her and me, I won’t leave it to chance anymore.

It was around a good time when I was busy making things happen for myself (and my circle of associates), when she so happened to fall into my life again. When I say she, I don’t mean “her” specifically, you see, she changes clothes like the weather changes conditions. Of course she was looking her best that day, but then again, so was I. Even though I’m not one for competitions, “let the games begin”. I don’t like to play, but I do like to win, and she forces my hand every time.

“I just want to get along with you” I say over and over, but it’s never that simple, until I show her yet again I cannot be beaten. “The reason I beat you is because I know all your weaknesses” I tell her. When I go to kiss her after watching her eyes quiver, she turns her head away from me. I haven’t forgotten anything about you, didn’t you know that I love your neck and collarbone just as much as your lips? I guess you didn’t remember I found that your birthmark on your shoulder was tender to the touch?

I enjoy each and every part of you to an equal degree, and that is why you look at me that way. The guy who was your second or third choice is looking ever-more-appealing right now, but it was never me to begin with, it was you, it was always you. When I pull the strap off your shoulder, the rubbing of fabric over your skin is like nothing you have felt before. This is the brief moment you get to look into the mirror and see the parts of you that go overlooked. This is why I make you tremble; you are feeling your own radiance.

Now when I tell you how delicious you look in black, you believe me, and not only do you become a better woman, it makes you high. I know you will run off and try to find this stimulating sensation from an easier target, but you won’t find it anywhere else. The reason you won’t find it has nothing to do with me being one-of-a-kind, no, not at all. You won’t find it anywhere else, because the desire lies with-in. I know you’re afraid of me now, but let me into you once more, and I’ll show you just how deep the rabbit hole goes.

…And believe when I say, it gets pretty deep…

-Shaum
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Tough love.

That’s what it’s all about these days. When you’re a good dude like me, everybody want to toss their luggage at you, tryin’ to get you to carry their $#!t, and just as soon as you call em’ on it, they got everything in the world to say but how they are REALLY feelin’, and admitting what they did. It doesn’t just apply to relationships with friends and family either, it’s especially a problem in mutual relationships. Sometimes you just have to remind the other person “you don’t have to be there”, and even thought I don’t like threatening other people, sometimes you just gotta do it.

It seems to be weird for me that way; everything seems to apply to everything else when I finally get “it”. I mean, it’s even like that when the lights go out, or you’re tryin’ to get-it-in till the early morn’; sometimes you just gotta get a little rough to get the results you want. There was a time when I really didn’t want to hurt other people when I was in a fight, but it cost me my self-esteem and permanent scars when I was more concerned for the other person then my own self, but when I realized that my well being was what mattered most, forcing a person to say uncle, and nearly snapping their bone in two wasn’t so hard anymore. I didn’t like it, but it had to be done.

So I admit, there was a time when I thought that purposely making a lover scream your name, or provoking her to tell you “who’s pu**y it is” (when it’s obviously hers); and other such derogatory mannerisms, where just too abrasive, selfish, and just down right “not nice”. The new me/myself/I realizes that sometimes, it simply must be done. Maybe it makes me seem like some territorial dog, or maybe even an egotistical @$$, but at the end of the day, it gets $#!t done; and you simply cannot argue with results. Who would have known that sometimes, a person actually likes having their spirit broken, their walls busted in, or even their power taken away. I guess they need that.

It never really ‘has’ ever applied to me, I am, and will always probably be a gentle creature by nature. However, the more I begin to search for the things that make me happy, the more I find that I have to be a tougher person, a territorial hound, a keen snake and other shady characters that I don’t enjoy taking the role of. I must admit though, at times, on those odd days, it actually becomes quite a fun venture; simply becoming (for a short moment) an entirely different person. I guess it’s almost like a mask in some ways; me never really being fond of them, I guess I am beginning to see the enjoyment.

So if I torture this woman with pleasurable antics, rather then love her slowly as my conscious self would, she will love me much harder, and even leak this admiration into a form of respect? The dynamics of human behavior never cease to amaze me; I’m almost convinced I’m not of this world. The more I delve into the depths of this unique place, the more lost I become in its tangled web. In the meantime, I can only but enjoy the idea that she now wants me more then other things, and the idea that she is practically begging for me at times make me feel like some kind of god.

I know at the root of it all, it’s just an illusion, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying every minute of it. Is this what they mean by “payin’ the cost to be the boss?”

-Shaum

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Cookin’ witcha’ boy.

There was a lot that needed to be done that day, I was on a roll, shakin’ this, bakin’ dat; it was like clockwork. There’s no tellin’ what I might do when I’m in the kitchen, but I hookz it up er’y once in a while, just ask around. On one occasion I was told how good my cooking smells by a cute young thing, a bit taller then me by a couple inches; supreme in stature. I particularly liked her because she was straight forward, honest, and an all-around good girl. I promised er’ I’d let her share the kitchen with me one day, and I did.

Most people might not know this, but cookin’ is a very sensuous act of recreation, if not done properly in both initiation and completion, some things just might seem a little off. You see, me, I put love in ma’ cookin; I take ma’ time, let things marinate, season ever so lightly and allow the food to take a life of its own. The smell that comes from what I’m cookin’ is created by the constant state of one ingredient try’n ta absorb the other, even ‘hough they’re two different things.

That day, the smell was like an aphrodisiac, I could see er’ sweatin from the heat of the stovetop, and rollin’ er’ neck around like she was feelin dizzy. I swear every time she did that, I wanted to just go over to her and rub ma finger over it. I wanted to ask her the universal question “er’thing alright?”, but I was feeling the effects too, and when I rolled ma neck around, I saw er’ look at me in a way that made the kitchen seem warmer then it already was. She bit down on her lip and tuned away from me to grab the colander.

I couldn’t help myself, I felt ma’ body glide’n over to where she was at, and I just scooped her up in ma arms; I could feel her fall into me like she belonged der’. When she showed her neck to me again, I just had to bite it, so I did, but just a little. It was like she was makin’ a special sauce of ‘er own, I could taste it off ‘er throat; it was mild but yummy; a flavor I had never come across before. I could feel er’ tremble with starvation for something more heavy on her stomach and when she push’d her backside into me, I pretty much knew what it was.

Have you ever tried to entertain a lady an’ stir marinara sauce at the same time? If you haven’t, you should.

-Shaum

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Yeah, she’s really, really high.

It‘s like I want to take credit for something that had everything to do with luck and nothing to do with me. I can’t deny that I’ve been on ma’ P’s & Q’s as of late, and ma attention to detail is a lot better then it used to be. Only thing is, I do less thinkin’ then I used to, and more… well doin’. Maybe it’s a good thing, or maybe it’s bad, or maybe it’s a bad thing that only “looks” good for now. I can’t tell anymore, well, I never could tell before either, but now I’m in the mix, so finding this $#!t out soon would be nice.

Everything is a theme now; I even put an old toothbrush to ma kickz and that ain’t like me at all. Could it be I’m doin the whole peacock feather number or am I just luckin’ out suddenly? Maybe I should stop askin’ questions all together and just accept it for what it is, but that’s not like me either. I’m not the same guy anymore… I mean this for real. I don’t even know who I am anymore, but at the same time I’m not really scared by it like I should be. Actually, to be honest, it’s kinda fun bein’ well… me I guess.

So I guess this means if I’m Ziploc fresh, everything else is airtight? How can it be this easy though, it’s never been this easy? It’s tempting to see how far you can go when tha’ platter is just laid out in front of ya and you didn’t even raise a finger to ask for it, but hell… I can’t say I don’t like the gesture. I remember when touching all the right places was the way to get it done, but now just touchin’ on me gets it done? This doesn’t make sense to me anymore. Girls are weird, life is weird, everything is weird.

So you mean to tell me, that all the effort I ever put into the chase was just a waste of time? All I had to do was put a tiny bit of effort into throwin’ up Oh’s and the X’s all fall into place. I feel cheated as $#!t, and you wanna know somethin’ else, even though I’m glad I found a solid cornerstone, I don’t like how it looks. I almost want to rebel at the simplicity of the matter I once thought very complex. Life, “yeah, I’m talkin to you. You suck.” I gotta laugh though, cuz this $#!t is funny to me too.

Is it me? Am I really startin’ to peel this game apart or is life playin games? I get tired of askin’ a question with no answer to it; maybe I should stop asking. I guess it helps knowing that life is high as $#!t the entire time she is pointing and laughing at you, I mean really, REALLY high; but I’m finally starting to realize what my mistake was I actually took her seriously.

-streetPoet007

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I'm in love with a stripper.

No not really, but I must say that these kinds of girls seem to gravitate toward me. I don’t get it; all I ever wanted was a nice classy girl who is as crazy about me as I am about her. All I seem to run into are heartless, shameless women who only want one thing. It’s so common now that I don’t even bother trying to hook up with a classy girl anymore; it always turns out the same way. I mean, I have good conversational skills, I compliment in the best ways, and I’m a good listener. Where the hell did I go wrong?

I really miss middle school and high school, those where some of my most bittersweet years. I admit, school did suck, a lot, but the girls where pretty awesome at that time. I always ended up hooking up with a girl from a different school then me, but it was still a great time for me. Unfortunately I never had the best luck, so something horrible would always happen before I could enjoy the rewards of a good relationship, but the fact that the girls where so much more aggressive back then was great. I mean, I really hate feeling as if I’m making some random girl miserable by trying to get to know her when she just wants to be left alone, but I mean, it’s not like she’d come to me yourself right?

I guess I’m just not selfish enough to be with a classy woman, and maybe I want certain ingredients to mix that just won’t in real life. Strippers are aggressive, they move in ways that make me snake hiss, and they just know what to say, when to say it and how to say it. They tend to be the most gorgeous creatures alive, but their hearts are practically made of stone. You can forget about getting them to open up their hearts to you; that shit just won’t happen.

I can’t really say I’ve been hurt by a stripper girl, but I do tend to get attached and have to remind myself that there is nothing there but a good time for as long as it lasts. I want more then that, and these sexy divas from exotic dancers to runway models are just too coarse. Does this mean that all the girls who have the smallest ounce of interest in me are only the ones who are beyond loving? Do I only attract the heartless harpies of the earth or what?

I just want to feel free to be crazy about a girl and know it’s not a feeling that is misplaced. Any girl who might actually be wife material doesn’t seem to want to have the least amount to do with me. So what do I do? I can’t make someone love me. I guess as a Jersey boy, I take some getting used to, but I don’t want to be an acquired taste. This is bullshit, and my heart is just lying in my chest being unused. It would be cool to have a nice girl who is just crazy about me, and I can be crazy about her and have it grow to something amazing.

Until then, I’m just some guy who certain types of girls want to f**k and we go our separate ways, be someone’s cougar bait, or just be some poor girls rebound. “I want to be the guy”, is that too much to ask for? Until then it’s strippers, models and fast @$$ girls for me, until I somehow get better pheromones workin’ in my favor; such a sad existence for a guy who just wants to love someone, but simply isn't allowed to.

So I guess I’ll just have to settle for something more exotic, and not in a good way either.

-Shaum