The Wounded Healer

Her words are deep, and perhaps, far too deep, because they do not come from her heart. She writes and speaks with passion only because her words come from the pitch of her stomach. As these words travel up her torso, they avoid her heart like a plague.

Yemoja.png

“Yemoja” [Artist Unknown]

Her heart is severely wounded, so she strives to protect her words from blood stains. She chooses not to release the words that live in her heart because they are filled with pain.

She is hurt
and she is weak
and she is dying slowly,
but it’s not for her listeners who need healing to see…

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Can You?

If you think you can,
you can.
If you think you can’t,
you’re right.

The Society’s Guide to Being a Man, 101.

The only way to be a man
is to not be human.
Don’t cry;
be sad, but don’t say why.
Don’t feel;
hurting someone is the best way to heal.
Don’t express yourself when you do feel,
and if you must,
do it with clenched fists.

The only way to be seen as strong
is to insist that you’re never wrong,
and if a woman isn’t under
your absolute control,
you can’t be a man on your own-
you can’t possibly be whole.

Woman, One Word

No lips are lovely enough for my lips.
No words or verses are good enough
to make me feel like a woman.
No car or house is expensive enough
to fit my ego, and my dreams.
No food and promises are audible or
legible enough for my vagina and squirt.
No man is big enough for my arms;
no man is worthy enough of my love.
No hands are good enough for
my stunning breasts and thighs;
no amount of your money
is large enough for my hands.

I don’t need a man to be happy.
No man in the world.

I don’t need to be chained
by a man to be free.
No man in the world.

To be successful, I don’t need to
suck on smelly man-candy.
No man in the world.

No man is big enough for arms.
No man in the world.
No man in the world.

The Real Star

We
all
know
that
the
real
star
among
the
lot
is
the
moon

Why don’t you be yourself?
Why don’t you be, yourself?

Defective Heart

I was born with a broken heart,
and no one can care for me
or love me enough.
If they don’t care for me
or love me for a day,
I’ll go back to being paranoid and hurt,
and I’ll be much worse than I was
before they came into my life.

No light is bright enough for my darkness;
nobody’s trust can make me totally fearless.
No love is compatible enough with my heart;
no brush is good enough for my art.
No air is fresh enough for my lungs;
no drums are good enough for my songs.

I must learn.
I must learn how to love myself.
No one’ll ever love me more
than myself.
No one’ll ever love my self more
than me.

Letting Go, Letting Grow

Love proves to you,
and quite painfully,
that letting go is not always
a lot easier than holding on.
The former requires all the
strength you can give;
you give everything you’ve got to let go.
You lose the things you once held dear,
you loose yourself,
and you lose your old self.
It’s like death, and death is scary,
but resurrection is beautiful.
Go through the pain
and resurrect beautifully;
it’d be a shame to die and stay dead.

Night and Day

Your day will come.

It’ll surely come,
but if you don’t rest properly in the night,
the day will be no different.

You’ll be done before it’s gone,
and darkness will win
the fight against your light.

So, fight for your night,
then find rest in it
before the big day comes.

You Won Because You Lost

You didn’t win, but you couldn’t see that you didn’t lose either.

We win through what we consider “losses”; success wears yellow one day and deep blue the day after. Don’t forget tomorrow, don’t forget to “morrow”;
ALWAYS look beyond “today”.

Because you lost, you won.

Image result for 5 of cups

Ládékojú

Ládékojú is life; Ládékojú is death.
Before she puts death in your mouth,
she places life in your hands.
She is loving, sensual, sweet, seductive and kind,
but she’s not as meek as they make her seem.
She’s the gentlest but
the most dangerous of goddesses-
the one you don’t want to mess with.

When she is badly offended or hurt,
she laughs uncontrollably.

She walks by the offender
and makes goo-goo eyes;
she shakes her buttocks
and sways her hips.
She walks to the offender
and lets him see her beautiful, perky breasts.

She kisses him and places her head on his chest,
falls on her knees and licks her lips;
she holds his penis.
Then she closes her eyes
and licks the tip, round, like a lollipop,
and when he’s ready,
she bites into the penis as if it were a hot dog,
and cuts it into small parts.
She gets up, laughs again,
adjusts her head gear and strides away, proudly…