Close your eyes while I hold you closer
My fingers whisper through your hair
Soft words sing your soul a lullaby to soothe away the past
As it kisses your tomorrow

Take your time
Talk to me
Discover my hiding places
Where creativity resides yet sensuality rules
My heartbeats speak volumes when my lips are closed

She tastes like
Coffee with Strawberry mint
Just a hint
Just a taste of creamy lips
Warm brown with a tinge of deep red
Soft & succulent
Took me back to the days when
We woke up together
Laid together
And held each other just a little bit longer
Feasting on bagels and fruit
Coffee in porcelain cups with love added
Feeling the Khalua would have kept us
In bed all day long
Just like we wanted
But our day was calling us
Mine to me and you to yours
I remember undressing for the shower
Feeling suds and bubbles sliding all over
Surprising me by sharing my wash time
Caressing my back while you held me with one hand
Bracing me with kisses from heaven

Her Beauty Surpasses All Others *Radiates From Within *Making Her Soul Glow With The Strength of The Ages *When She Smiles *Words Escape Me

Your intoxicating scent propels me
Tracing your lips with fingertips questioning their taste
Hard to miss your tenderness
Your heart is mine for the taking

Her lips that silently speak * take my soul by the hand & dance on the winds of joy

Smooth voluptuous lips giving kisses that speak of her joy & past pains ~ eyes that caress my soul. She is perfection

I miss warm summer kisses placed gently on soft breezes. . . I miss her like the other half of my soul… like my heart beat misses her scent left on satin sheets

Spring’s gentle breeze blown kisses – reminiscent of her scent left on silken sheets

My thoughts of you swirl through my veins
Racing my life’s flow to my heart
My eyes sigh when your picture appears
My lips miss your skin
Pure pured chocolate perfection
Your essence lives in me
You inspire me
You affect me
You make me feel alive

http://www.mydniteangel.com

The soft pain in her eyes, the anger in her heart
As is someone had taken something precious
From her hands
Someone of a lighter persuasion

Someone to be loathed
Someone, anyone lighter than she

Living the pain, feeling the anger
Wearing the chains her pain requires
As if someone snatched away her dreams
Destroyed her hopes & aspirations of her ancestors
Her family, herself
Bearing an unbearable existence
A lifetime of dreams out of reach
But close enough for her heart to feel

So she wears her anger like a jewel
For it’s all that’s left
Except
Her deepest powerful pain from lifelong fears
Fears that those cries are true
Cries of savagery and inferior minds
And fear that hope
No longer exists

From the day after thanksgiving (national eat till your fat day) until Christmas eve, you allow your vulnerable children to not only take pictures with this stranger named Santa, but to also sit on his lap and whisper in his ear. However you don’t see a problem. Let me clarify the issue for you . . .

On Feb. 1st, if some fat guy named saint nick with a long beard and red 2 piece velvet suit follows your kids around, bounces them on his lap and gives them treats as the moment is captured by camera – you’d be the 1st to prosecute; if he survived the beat down you and your neighbors would unleash upon him!

See my point?

I recently conducted an undercover investigation

Santa is a convicted felon! He did time in San Quentin 20 years ago for this same mess! He is currently violating child labor laws by running a sweatshop, with immigrant Oompa Loompas because he was low on elves,

All the elves were fired for trying to organize a union, and got arrested while protesting at the aurora borealis.

I have it on good faith that Santa is facing charges, the reindeer were confiscated by the mounted border patrol – no exotic animals can be brought into the states. Santa was also carrying more than 3 oz of liquid and accused of concealing “possible stolen goods”. He explained that they were made by replacement elves, and that’s how the sweatshop was discovered. The I.N.S. was all over the place in minutes. Since Santa didn’t have any store receipts for his merchandise, they too were confiscated. They are in an Interpol evidence room while Santa is being booked on a multitude of felonies. He’s looking at another 20 + years

i told you, but naaaww, you didn’t wanna listen to me did ya!

Society, I have a bone to pick with you

How you gonna tell me how to dress
Who to date
How to act
Who I can marry
What gay traits I must mask
In your presence

Been a dyke since age 12
Been your kin since dust
And I fall “in love” son
I don’t fall in lust
That, would be you

I love whom I choose
And women are my choice
My sexuality is by birth
In it’s choice
I had no voice

A lover of women
It’s who I am
It’s who I’ve been
So when you talk about
My life of sin
Remember son,
Where have you been?

4 kids and still not married
Track marks hidden so your fam
Won’t get worried
Cheating on your taxes
Your spouse, your life
Telling me my displays of affection
Are causing you strife

Looking at y’all ain’t no walk in the park either son

Praying to your god on Sunday
Smoking weed on Monday
Dippin’ and Dealin’ yesterday
But I’m the one who needs to pray?

I’m the one going to hell!

Look in your mirror
Tell me what do you see
Hypocrisy multiplied to the power of 3?

How dare you open your mouth
And bump your gums
To insinuate
You’re the only ones
Who have the right to happiness
In marital bliss
Hanging on the pretense of some
Religious myth
As if the pathway to religious freedom
Some concordance of hetero wisdom
Lies in your only hands
From its reach I am banned

I am now as I will be

A lover of women
So your fear and unfettered hatred of me

Is unwarranted.

©2009

5’4, 158lbs nothing but boobs, thighs and ass
I’m too big to try and fit into
A box
A box of labels designed to tag me
Bag me
Wrap me up neatly
So I fit into your world
A place in your psyche
Where it’s comfortable for you to allow me
To exist

You say:
She’s a femme, a lipstick, a pillow princess
Devoid of soul and goals
To be placed on display
To keep me handy for the next time you say
Jump
Just take me down and place on your arm
When you need to show me off
Or fuck me when you feel the need
To get yourself off
Good for nothing more than that
Eye candy

Bullshit
I’m not a femme

Why can’t you get past my curves?
Past my full lips, the sway of my hips and
The size of my tits
Come on now!

You try to label me:
A girl-boi, young bouy, switch hitting butch
Blue jeans femme, androgynous chick
Cuz I can throw on my Tims
And rock my “fitted”, some fingerless gloves
A jacket and look slick?
Is that it?
Or cuz my locs are straight
And I take no shit

I’m not a butch

Don’t label me
Throw me in a box
Trying to make me fit
Femme features with an AG mindset
Don’t know how to take this one yet

Not sure where she fits in
Not sure where she belongs
Sexy when she wanna be
Not faking or trying to be
Anyone else
Your butcher or baker or candlestick maker
Not sure how to take her
To crunch her down to size
Make her conform
To the way that you see fit
But hard as you try
And try as you might
I won’t fit in it
That box of labels you made for me
So why can’t you just try
To look me in the eye

Accept me for who & what I am
See me in all my wondrous glory
What I am is
A Lesbian
End of story.

Do you remember when your family would lovingly kiss you on your cheek and tell you things they thought sounded cute and would make you relax enough to shut up, sit still and/or go to sleep? Did you ever think about these things when you got older? I have (yup, here we go again). . .

“Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite”
Ok y’all. Follow me here. If we had to spend the extra time in bed fighting off the bed bugs, how would we have the comfort & presence of mind to then “sleep tight”?? Why would my Nana say such a thing to a sweet and impressionable kid like me (hey! there weren’t any videos so my brother can’t prove a thing!).

“The boogie man is in the basement, so you better be good!
Nice one fam, nice! I would sit on that dang couch for hours, afraid that if a toe touched the floor some mongungous creature would spring from the already frightening basement & snatch my tiny a** up, & I’d never be seen again. Maybe that was their plan, after all there were 14 of us & money was scarce in those days. Guess they thought they had to thin out the household population. Either that or they simply got a perverse joy out of watching me maintain a controlled panic & delve deeper into paranoia than they had already taken me. Bastiges!

“Don’t cross your eyes, your face will freeze in that position”.
Hmmm. Wasn’t this originally intended to put a halt to our “silly” & “unacceptable” behaviors? Have we noticed an overall theme? Scare the crap out of them & they’ll behave? Now undoubtedly this never worked in our family of early stage juvenile offenders, undercover dysfunctional evildoers, pre-adolescent narcissistic pyromaniacs & bomb makers with the acclaim of a precision obsessed master craftsman (u had to love us though). We never fell for the “52 fake out” as my grandfather would lovingly call it. THIS from a man who rid our home of rats by feeding them! He was sooo loving. So what if there was quick-dry cement in their food, at least he gave them water to whet their whistle! (He was my favorite adult).
Wait, where was I going with this anyway? I just lost my train of thought, and is that at all possible? If you lost your thought it’s not like it’s coming back especially if it was on Amtrak – they move pretty darned quick there Bucky! I tried to catch one when I was a kid, didn’t work, however I did manage to run over my pain in the ass cousin. He didn’t think moving was a good idea & I couldn’t seem to slow down, maybe I should have taken off the skates b4 I started out on my full speed ahead mission. But that wouldn’t have worked either, considering my mom thought it was funny to hide the skate key (yes, they were the metal skates darn it!) My mom was famous for doing crap she thought was hilarious, but others thought was plain sick. Like when she hid the cookies in the cereal jar thinking we heathen-like kids wouldn’t find them. She didn’t bother to tell anyone that the cookies she hid were so stale they’d break off a tooth. My cousin Gil was the poor soul to discover that fact. Mommy just laughed, she never saw a teenager cry like a 2 year old before. She also thought it was funny to invite the same cousin over to dinner the same day he got out of the hospital after his tonsillectomy. She made steak, salad & corn on the cob. He whimpered & I had to stifle the laughter because my mom’s hands were HUGE and if she swung on me I’d be dead (or at least feel like it).

Ok I can no longer deny it. We are a truly product of those who raised us, regardless of the educational opportunities we had & regardless of the belief system we grew up in.

DANG! I’m tainted.

When we were younger, my parents used to throw dinner parties for all of their colleagues in the education and music fields. It was the type of deal where you parade your kids in front of your guests, exchange the ubiquitous “Oh, look how they’ve grown” comments and then shoo us off to bed; this night was no different.

For a while there, I wanted to get back at my baby brother for being the only one my mother gave birth to (I thought she was pregnant with my brother and also a watermelon – hey, I was 8 and they had lied to me, gimme a break here). I thought it was my obligation as his older sister to torture him at every turn. Well, 6 years after my disappointment we found ourselves yet again in front of family and friends adoring eyes (during one of those bi-monthly dinner parties) when one of my father’s friends asked us all what we wanted to be when we grew up; we all responded with specifics except for my brother. All he could do was squeal, “I don’t know what I want to be yet.” One gentleman in the group said, “Young man, you really should know what you want to be, so that you can start now and work your way toward that goal!” My brother’s lip poked out and he worried as we walked upstairs towards our bedrooms. He was upset because he was a kid. “But I’m only 6, how do I know what to be? I’m a kid.” As to alleviate his fears (as most loving sisters would do), I gave my brother a dictionary lesson laced with some career advice. “Do you know what a homosexual is?” I asked the little dweeb, “It’s a wealthy businessman!” He was so excited that he bolted down the stairs and burst into the middle of the living room and announced loudly “I KNOW WHAT I WANT TO BE WHEN I GROW UP!” The quite loud group of adults brought their merrymaking down to a dull roar so they could hear my brothers decision. . . . “I WANT TO BE A HOMOSEXUAL!” there was. . . .

SILENCE

It only took 15 seconds. . . “SANDI!!!!!!!!!” damn! How did my mom know it was me? Man, I was put on a 2 week punishment after that. No matter where I went, no matter what I did I was to have my annoying baby brother by my side at all times, with the exception of school. I had to sit with him when he took a bath, he had to sleep in my room, he went with me to visit my friends; everywhere I went, he had to be with me 24/7. 2 weeks???? Good laawwd, I was far from happy. Because I am a glutton for punishment, the first thing that came to mind was to teach my brother a lesson for getting me in trouble (skewed thinking at it’s finest). The next day I had to run a bank errand for my mother immediately after school, and yes, I had to have my baby brother in tow. I made sure he was presentable and took great care in dressing him. . . in a dress, ankle socks with frilly lace and one of my mother’s wigs. I thought “Yup, that ought to do it”. Yeah, a glutton for punishment is putting it lightly.

Before I got ½ way home, my mom had received several calls about my outing and by the time I got home the phone was ringing off the hook, it was Mommy. “No Ma’am, I’m not trying to be funny. Yes Ma’am he’s wearing a dress, but it wasn’t from your keepsake box. Yes Ma’am, I put one of your wigs on him, I didn’t think the dress would look right without the right hairdo. No Mommy, yes Mommy. I, I, I. . . I know Mommy, I’ll take it off of him, I’m sorry Mommy, I won’t do it again.” I hung up the phone amazed that I still had my eardrum intact (but it wouldn’t stay that way for long – but that’s a different story for a different time). I took the outfit off of the little heathen and told him how lucky he was that I didn’t take his picture. He heard the word “picture” and took off to hide upstairs. Punk

Fast forward to 2009. I’m driving home with my then girlfriend in the car when I get a call from my loving baby brother. Hey sis, I just thought I’d tell ya what happened to me. “Sure, ok, go ahead”. My baby brother, who is now 6’2” and 300lbs of solid muscle, called to recount the story of how he was hired by his state police troop. You see, after his successful interview with this particular police department, he was scheduled for a polygraph (lie detector) test. After answering many questions, the test examiner asked the question that spiked my brother’s heart rate enough to register his anxiety on the test paper. . . “Have you ever worn women’s clothing?”

Shaking his head and swallowing heard, my brother reluctantly answered, “yes”. He explained what happened at the conclusion of the exam, to his chagrin but to the delight of the examiner. I started yelling, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for it to come back and haunt you! Oh man I’m sorry!!” I kept whimpering but yet I kept giggling. Sadistic huh!

A few days later, he received the news that he landed the job. His new boss, the commanding officer called him in to complete the new hire paperwork and get fitted for his uniform. As the paperwork was being finalized and he got up to get fitted for his vest, the commanding officer asked, “What color was the dress?”
Floored and truly surprised, all my brother could muster was an embarrassed laugh. Thinking since it is his boss, of course he had to know the results of the polygraph. Ok.

I’m still on the phone laughing and yet apologizing, but he wasn’t done torturing me with his payback. He, of course, at the beginning of his first shift, went to the officers briefing. Sitting amongst his new peers, the sergeant giving out the assignments, rifles through his papers and bellows various officers names out, followed by their orders. The sergeant yells “Smith” to which my brother answers. “In order to assign you appropriately, I need to ask this question. . . “What color was the dress?” As I screamed in laughter, he told me that he had laughed in response and murmured about paying me back under his breath. Then an officers voice from the back of the room yells out, “probably pale yellow!”

It was.