A Girl in the World & the World in a Girl…











{December 22, 2012}   Love and War.


Check the memo:
11158709-text-all-is-fair-in-love-and-war-written-by-hand-font-on-bunch-of-colored-sticky-notes (1)
All is fair in Love and War when:
Love is really Love
and when
War is really War.

We declare Love.
We declare War. love

When it comes to people you love, and who you know loves you
when angered about an action; roll up on with whom you are
concerned with the the strength of 1000 men.
Go through hell and high water to get your clarity
and answers rather than coming down on them like a ton of bricks
then asking questions later. That’s declaring war…

And that kind of combat should be reserved for our enemies, not for
people who truly care + have declared: LOVE for us.
love-and-war-cover

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MEET ANGELA SHERICE

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{December 17, 2012}   #DescribeYourLifeInAPicture.

th

58908_1384406814345_752727_n

481494_468592939848501_467763123_n

fashionandyou-doze-of-love

rear-view-mirror-reflection

©Dec2012AngelaSherice

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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{December 16, 2012}   Love, Lack & Stacks.


jarofheartsI know love, so yes, I love him back
He loves me for what he’s been missing and lacks (since his stacks)
But it’s like…
He wants to screw his head on (then wear it)
Thinks because his heart beats, it’s “love” (like how I know love to be)
He don’t know it like I know it (and need it for “me”)

I wouldn’t want him to think I played with his heart and stomped on the chance
But “dancing with the devil” would be the name of this dance (if I just wanted
to dance with somebody who thinks that he really loves me)…

You see…
The problem is…
He can’t even keep his heart in a straight line
Every little thing I do [now or then] I say is a crime
So now…how can we really dance in a solid straight line?

His heart goes ‘a flippin’ and a floppin’ (and crying)
Ricochetin’ off into mine and all goes: BUST (then I’m dying)

Little did he know, I had his back (and just like THAT! he’s back to lack)
handsheartI never sold it to him, so if I asked him to let go and give me mine back

safekeepingsThe good thing about it (I guess)
Is…
He’ll still be left with his stacks…

©Dec2012AngelaSherice

Sunshine
MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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{December 14, 2012}   At Least You Know Love.


You stuck your neck out (you dared)
When I had no interest (or even cared)
Shared things with me (I could tell you were scared)
I took notice (and just wanted to be there)
For you…

Yes, others have tried too
Stuck their necks out even further than you

They wanna play understudy (from reading the lines)
Having no idea, gotta read in between’em (to shine)
…For me to even see you

You did that (now I’m blind)…blinding_light_this_one

I love having moments to slow you down
Make you think and feel for a minute
Regardless whatever else may, or may never be in it

At least now, you know: Pure…pure…love…
love

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MEET ANGELA SHERICE



{November 6, 2011}   love, Love.


I often think about “love.”

It’s almost undefinable, because it can go on and on,
and mean so many things to so many different people.

But one thing I DO know about love is this:

You can’t just “love” someone because you “love”
so many things about them.

To truly love someone is to not only love their attributes,
virtues and light. You have to be introduced to, accept them,
and love them when their vices and darkness overshadows their light.

So what DO I know about love?

I know that if you ever called yourself loving someone,
and their vices stood in front of their lightness,
and you hated them-then what you did was lust them, like them,
or you were simply infatuated by them-what you felt wasn’t
really “love” for them.

Because you can’t love someone until you’ve loved and stuck
with them-even when you [felt like you] “hated” them…

No matter what kind of love, Love.

What is love?
Show me your hazy.
Show me your crazy.
I’ll show you: “yes,” “no,” “might be,” or “maybe.”

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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{September 24, 2011}   The 80-10 Rule.



Most often, we have a tendency to think that it’s a kind of “spiritual spell”
that we send out into the universe to place upon another person that we “feel”
has harmed or hurt us. We tend to think that is Karma’s main role.

Rarely do we contemplate the notion that her purpose and mission is also
something that is a result of choices that we make, or a message or a lesson
that she wants to give us-just as much as the blessings we are so used to
attributing her in thanks for.

I had what I considered to be a “life altering” experience that plagued me for years.
And during those years, I think I “carried a big knife” of Karma wishes for the person
that I felt was the reason behind all that I had gone through
(as a result of my response to the trauma that originally started off on a level playing field).

I have a motto: “if you don’t want to slip or get caught slipping, stay away from slippery places.”
Sometimes however, you won’t know that you are in a slippery situation until slippery happens.

Well, slippery happened. And the unfortunate part about it is that I was the one
without the “power” in the situation. In dealing with people (especially in non-business)
having the “power” in a situation should never be an issue unless someone has ill-tent
or if ill occurs.

Well, ill occurred. And the one with the power in the situation took everything to
a whole new level that was way over my head and in no way could defend and no one
else (uninvolved) could even entertain the thought of (much less-understand).
The more I put the person as out of control as I could, they turned it up each
step of the way until I was backed into a corner. They thought it was cute, clever
and so covert that they handled it all as if I was locked in some underground
basement that was miles away from life and civility and should just deal
with it-because there was no where to run, hide or yell out to.

That angered me. That is when I had to think of a master-plan: fight back
with the only resource and ability that I had to fight back with, which
involved “beating ‘em in their own neighborhood” (so to speak).

Well, I got results (somewhat) in that it lessoned their “power” (somewhat).
They knew it was not in their best interest to be so brazen with me in ways
that they were in the beginning. Because although I did not have the “power”
or resources to (literally) beat ‘em in their own neighborhood, the steps that
I did take, put me on their soil (in ways they never entertained the thought I had in me to do).

Though I got results (somewhat), eventually it plagued my life in ways that
I not only didn’t anticipate, but didn’t carefully “map out.” Because I only wanted
freedom from the situation and to get it eradicated, I didn’t feel that I had to
“map out,” premeditate or lie about anything in order for the truth to set
me free from them. But it didn’t work that way. What I sought out to be free
from turned more into a sensational happening to the eyes of others,
whereas my mind and reasoning behind getting it dealt with were
far from “sensational.”

It was a nightmare.

Seeing as though I could tell that no one was going to have any
interest in seeing the situation as serious as it was (from my mind’s eye),
I began to present it to anyone what I felt could free me from it, in a way
that would be “sensational” to them. I was desperate by this time.
Because every passing day, it seemed like this person’s mess was all
cleaned up-yet, the both of us knew that they hadn’t and weren’t going to walk away.

I could not believe it.

Every day, I nearly woke up and went to sleep “praying” to be in the know
when Karma’s shoe was going to drop in that person’s life. I refused to live
with the fact that this person blew into and through my life like a storm
(uninvited) and got was getting away with it (unscathed).

All that was left after the storm was: the sensation, the skepticism and me.
My life was ruined as a result. Because the truth that I defended and fought
with in comparison to their “power” over the situation-made everything look
like it was probably my imagination or an over-exaggeration of what really
occurred.

No matter how far I had gotten with my results, deep down inside of me,
I could not live with the fact that the person was not punished. I needed to know,
to see and to witness Karma in action in order for me to be satisfied.

(Many of us) think that once we call upon Karma to get at people that we feel have
caused us harm, we must also oversee her work[ings].

No slaying dragon fantasy of how it should be done in our heads is further from her
spiritual realm of reality (that she is in control of).

What I learned about Karma is that though she is not blind, she is deaf
(to our cries and calls to her). Almost like “talking too [her] hand.” How do I know this?

I met her.

She’s this little white-haired, wise old-lady who sits in a wooden rocking chair
behind a one-way, sound-proof window with her legs crossed-flipping through the
pages of her itinerary as if she is flipping through the pages of a magazine;
finding out who’s naughty, and who’s nice. Because she knows that she is coming to town…

She’s not a friend any more than she is a foe to you, or to me.

She has no attachment to either one of us. No “favorites.” No “least favorites.”

She’s less interested in us-individually, and more interested in us in relation to
the world, the universe, and other people and things co-existing with us.

She’s merely an unbiased universal gate-keeper who rewards, reminds and runs the
reaping of what we’ve sewn (positive or negative, bad or good).

Whatever is relativity true, false or so (from person to person), is concretely:
true, false, or so (to her and her only). That’s her role. She is the universal
go-between and the referee of all that we debate and have tug of wars about.
She is the final decision maker who rings the bell (to begin), or throws in the
towel (to make an end).

Man down.

After awaking from a haze of what I assumed was the gist of Karma’s ways, clarity
came into view and this I learned was true: Karma’s spirit is kind of like that
saying that goes: “life is 10% of what happens to you and 80% of how you respond to it.”
That 80% is the sum of the pain you’ll collect, the lesson, the blessing, the demise,
the rise, the fall-all that. Because that 10% is: none of our business, out of our
control and the [good or bad] workings of Karma.

So all the while, I was standing behind that window, beating on it-trying to tell
her how I wanted her to come down on that person, what I learned is that you do not
call shots for Karma-she calls her own. She does things her own way and by her own
time-as she is related to Father Time. Her secret about how and when she is going to
do whatever it is she is going to do is between herself and “To Whom it Concerns.”
Karma is and never will be any of our business. I learned that they hard way.

In order for you to keep your sanity, and live a life with any semblance of normalcy,
you have to adopt the 80-10 rule and respect that fact that She runs that 10% and You
have a whole 80% to deal with and live with. Take from that-lessons or blessings and make
lemonade out of lemons with a life of your choosing: bitter, sweet or both.

I chose to make it sweet. So pour some sugar on me.

The only way I could make peace with the situation was to see make the “sweet” of it.

Had I not had that episode in my life, I never would have known who my real and true friends
were, from who really wasn’t. Everybody is a friend when things are well and smooth sailing.
But it is the traumatic times in our lives when you are able to see true colors shine through
or fall back. I was grateful to the episode for giving me that lesson. As a result, I changed
my life around and re-arranged my definition of what a “friend” is and became more careful
about who I gave that title to. Luckily “BFF” became a substitute for “friend,” because if
it weren’t for that, I would’ve been down to 3 “friends.”

Pour some sugar on me.

The “sweet” of it made me stronger. Although I can admit that it altered my personality
somewhat, it did so in areas that I really needed and otherwise, would never know.
And from it, I learned the lesson that you get it how you live it. That’s with everything.
From getting the results of something from the level you live it, down to getting the life
you want to the level of how you live it (as well).
That put fire under my but and took me from a mundane level of comfort and complacency,
and forced me to BE about what I TALKED and as well: DREAMED about.

The only freedom in this life that you really have is the access and options that you have in it.

Pour that sugar all on me.

In order for me to stay sane, I had to make my bitter turn sweet by letting go-and letting
Karma work her hand-if and whenever she saw fit.

So what do I know about Karma?

I know that Karma’s spirit is like a field of seeds, gardens or weeds: lessons,
messages or blessings, but not ours to “pick” from.

So the floral of the story is this:

I spent years of my life, fighting a battle that wasn’t mine in the first place.
And while I was so busy on a crusade to join forces with Karma in getting the person
back for what I felt they put me through, years had passed and that person had sealed
their own fate and demise-without my help, after all. The curtains they brought down
onto themselves had nothing to do with me (after all), but rather, what they had done
to me was a debt they owed to Karma-who finally paid ‘em a visit
(after all and on her own time). I didn’t even realize that person had their meeting
with Karma already because I was too busy trying to make Karma my ally and slay the
dragon the way I saw fit (in my head). Years had passed and she had already come to
town and did what she came to do and was now behind that sound-proof one-way window;
sitting in her rocking chair, reviewing her itinerary and done with the both of us
(my nemesis and me).

It took a long time and my quality of life and personality to be shifted somewhat,
for me to finally realize that I still had a whole 80% to work with (after all).
And although Karma didn’t slay the dragons the way I wanted to (from scene in my head),
she still handled her functions in my nemesis’ life in ways that I never could have
imagined-nonetheless (after all).

So all was not lost, and I’m working on and with that, as I write-right.

Right now? Score: 80-10.

Stay tuned…

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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{September 20, 2011}   Day and Night.


Every morning, I am thankful for the gift of the day-for
allowing me to open it and chose my present-present.

Every night, I pray to have held on to; my heart and head.
And keep them in sync while I dream to make manifest dreams
that don’t have to be chased, but rather, within my reach
from out of my sleep.

What are you thankful for, and dream of when you’re awake
from your sleep?

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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{September 10, 2011}   The Friend Commandments.


1) Keep my secrets as if you are paid to keep them.

2) Naturally treat me like I won the lottery and my check is in the mail.

3) Know that encouragement supercedes congratulations (not the other way around).

4) Guard my heart like your chest plate shields your own.

5) Stab me with a spoon in the front, rather than with a knife in the back.

6) Good or bad, tell me (not someone else) what’s on your mind-especially if I’m the one who put it there.

7) Be “me.” Represent and be able to present: “me,” like I would-me-when I am unable to be there to present and represent myself.

8 ) Feel “me” when I am not feeling myself.

9) See “me” when I do not see myself.

10) Hear “me” when I am not hearing myself.

This reciprocates. Then it oscillates.


Air between.
All ten equals sun in.
Never dissipates.
All-terrain.
All-weather.
No if’s, and’s or but’s.
No fair-weather…
Minus one command:
Bends.
Ends.
Thunder.
Blunder.
Rain.
Nothing to claim. Nothing to venture. Nothing to gain.
Just: fair.
My friend.

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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{June 22, 2011}   Stick Shift.


No matter what I write or publish, I write not only about what I “know,”
I write about what makes me thrive-and what I thrive best at:
doing conversing, or communicating-not because it’s “popular.”

As long as I stick to what makes me thrive, I know I’ll always be in-and
continue to create my own lane.

One of the things I love about writing is that if I knew how to garden well,
as a writer-I would write about gardening rather than seeking to be a pro-gardner.

No matter who you are and what you wish to do; if you stick to what makes you
thrive and drive-you can’t lose.

Go win.

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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{June 17, 2011}   Singing Lil’ Bird.


“Don’t trust them: this one, that one this one. Trust NO one,” she said (and always says).

Some moles slip through holes and’ll be in your ear or on your phone:
Textin.’
Vexin.’
Clingin.’
Singin.’

Yawn.
Sigh.
Moan.

When I knocks it out the ballpark she brings it-right on home.

Though she gets on my effin’ nerves, she refuse to lose or strike out
’cause she knows what you had when it’s gone…

I don’t trust her either-but she does, and does know about what she says.
So I trust that-than the other-eithers, ’cause let her tell it
(or tell me) they’ve all-already been read.

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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{June 17, 2011}   Potassium.


When you trust and know you, it’s easier to blossom and just-be.

All else beats on its chest, roars & climbs your tree.

He say.
They say.
We say.
But she say:
“Hmm. Let me see. How-a-bitch gon’ call you a monkey, when steadily climbing your tree?
From my end-I could visibly see you, from yours-I can’t even see me. I stand front and center.
You watch-but wish that you could be me. Be with me-no-so you diss me.
You clown, wishing you could jump up down on, pound on, then flee me.”

Monkey see. Monkey do.

Since I’m doing me, wouldn’t the monkey be you?

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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{June 14, 2011}   She.



Worry is paralyzing, but still-she walks tall.
Smile on her face with tears about to fall.
She’s seen it all.
Never crawled.
Turns invisible.
Walks through walls.
Like nothing at all.
Stands tall-in ways that others fold and fall.
She: Not-at-all.

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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{June 9, 2011}   Trite the Cliche.’


Don’t look at some things as a ‘bridge” if it is obvious that its troubled waters burn.

Do forget “where you came from” if it held you down, rather than up.

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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The feeling is like this.

Have you ever seen the movie “Juice?”

Remember Q, Steele, Bishop and Raheem were friends.

Bishop killed Raheem.

Q and Steele was right there when Bishop killed Raheem and couldn’t
do a damned thing about it right now.

As a result of that, Bishop was like a total eye sore,
booger and sore thumb in their lives-they just couldn’t get away from him.

Every turn they made-he was a stressor and annoyance and NUISANCE in their lives.

To add insult to injury, after Raheem’s funeral-they all gathered at Raheem’s house.

Bishop had the nerve to give Raheem’s mom and sister his “condolences” and
stood there, looking in their faces like he was a pillar of empathy.

Remember that look that Q had on his face while watching Bishop talk like that to
Raheem’s family-when he stood there knowing the truth, but by God couldn’t do
anything about it right now?

Now, image that whole scene, accept the person that was shot, was you (figuratively).
You’re living, but there’s is nothing you can do about it (right now). Not because of blackmail
or fear or anything like that-but the shooter knows that it isn’t in your best interest right
now-and doesn’t serve you do anything about it (right now).

Your only way to keep your calm and keep your head (for far too long now) is to play the
game-to maintain your peace. But some days, you’re not in the mood to and regardless-either
way-it (or they) just won’t go away
(and weren’t even invited in the first place)…and all you got right now is to ride
and rely on karma.

But that bitch is taking too damned long…

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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Hello Blog Reader.

First, I want to say that I apologize for keeping you on hold regarding this link in the blog.

If you follow this blog, you know for the most part (unless I have an opinion that suits my
agenda/platform/mantra) I pretty much keep it “un” celebrity news (because there are blogs running
rampant with that kind of stuff and I have no interest in running my blog that way).
And also because here-on my blog-I write from my head and my heart about whatEVER I’m thinking,
feeling, observe or experience.

My objective here is to merely be the writer behind the writer.

If you followed this particular link that I started on 5.14.11, you know that I put the brakes
on finishing it “until I felt like” delving into it to finish it.

That is because this particular blog was VERY personal to me, and it hit home in my head and
heart after I read the blog [about Chopper]. It made me pour out a lot that had been on my head and heart.
And because I totally understood the flip-side of how that story was reported from a
point of view you could probably never understand (unless you are experiencing it);
I went in and blogged about it.

Sometimes though, as a writer (who blogs about stuff from the heart), because I am
a published writer who blogs, I’ve found (and observed) that sometimes you have to be careful,
because everybody does not have love for you. And I’m cool with that-because when I write,
post and speak; I do so with MY audience in mind-the rest is null and void and not even in the
back of my mind. I’m as iron-clad, slash tough as nails, slash razorbacked as it gets, in that regard.

With that being said, sometimes when you blog about true feelings and thoughts from the heart
and mind; you have to keep in mind that everybody reading it (or any of your work for that matter)
does not have your best interest at heart. Everybody does not have genuine love for
you and are merely more “curious” than they actually “care” or [or care to] understand anything
you think, feel, observe or experience.

OPPOSITE that though; there are lots of people who do-lots of people who do
have love for me as a person as well as a writer. And for THIS particular blog-this conversation
is one that I would prefer to speak to only THEM; because they would seek to (care) to understand
what I’m getting at and saying, even if they have a slant opposite mine. All else would merely use
it as ammunition and fuel to pick apart, judge, assume and have something to feel important to
gossip and slay about.

Since this particular blog is so personal for me, and since I have no control over which
type of persons’ eyes reaches this blog; one thing I do have control over is continuing to finish
it (or not to).

This blog is free-reading that I chose to share from my heart, mind, observation and experience.
It is not apart of my published work that you pay for, so I’m in control of what I wish to do
[or not do] with it.

That being said, unless my mind changes and I’m ready to finish this particular blog story
(that I still have saved); I am going to put it back on pause and put it to you like this:

If you got love for me, and your reason for visiting this particular link was because you
were interested in knowing and seeking to understand what I was getting at; then you’ll fall
back and respect my decision and be content with the fact that if you ever want to know:
• what I’m thinking
• what I’m feeling
• how I respond
• how I would have
• or how I should have
…handled a situation; keep abreast of my work. I control my characters just as much as they control me…

Me, my imagination, my opposed, my reality and my supposed is what creates the writer in me in every
piece of everything that I write (and publish).

So I like a rap beef (where this type of “personal” is concerned) I am going to have keep my thoughts
and feelings on wax (paper). And if you got love for me, you support me, you feel and love what I do,
and how I do it; then you will respect and rock with this. And I will continue to appreciate having you
read this blog and seeing you anywhere here with me:

But on the flip side of that emotion (that I hope you second), if you do not respect that, then that
means you were merely “curious” and don’t have love for me anyway. In that case, I do not write TO or FOR you -anyway, anywhere.

I cater to those who love and respect what I do and any decision that I feel is best for me.
And if that is you-then let’s keep rocking and rolling, ‘cause I got love for you, too.

I have my own personal reasons for doing everything that I do (and everything that I don’t do)…

To know anything about me as a person OR the writer behind the writer is to first know that fact.

With love and appreciation for yous with love, appreciation and respect for me.

-Angela (9.19.2011).

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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Go up on the hill to pick up my meats for me. It’s already ready.
Give ‘em my name and he gon’give you my order,”
she said to me.

I went.

On my way out of the parking lot, I saw her.


She was pushing a stroller with a little baby in it, staring aimlessly
into the thin air looking as if she had nothing to do and no place to go,
but was on her way to it anyway.

I didn’t know who she was at first, but when she aggressively yelled:
“Hey, girl!”, I knew that I knew her voice from a fond place in my heart and my past.

“Oh, hi!!!!” I said, too embarrassed to admit that I hardly recognized her.

We shot the breeze about nothing much-actually we didn’t have too much
to say to each other-just like the last time I saw her, but we tried.

She didn’t care anyways.
She was up on the hill staking out the strip, looking for her baby’s daddy,
but claimed that she needed to get out and get some fresh air
[from the polluted neighborhood where we stood outside of the meat market].

I’m looking at her, knowing that she had walked a literal ten miles from the
substandard housing project where she told me she lived the last time I saw her.
She must have been on a mission.

On the corner across from where we stood were boys, men, hustlers, some bustas,
wannabes, hard times and broken promises.

I turned my attention back to her and continued our “kinda conversation.”
She wasn’t even looking at me, through me, over me, or around me.
She was only focused on looking around the neighborhood with her eyes
bucking back and forth-talking to me with only her body language.

We only said “words” to one another; a little less than small-talk all wrapped
up in the gift of familiarity of one another but with love and a kind of kinship
nonetheless.

Winded from looking around at the depressing scene, I turned my attention to the
baby and the stroller she was pushing-that had onion for wheels. Many miles had been put on that stroller.
The tread was missing and gone away with the countless babies who sat in that very same
stroller before her pretty baby did. The stitching looked like it was about to give way
from many-a baby that kicked their little fat legs while jerking their bodies back and
forth-while their mothers, too, were on that same stroll, stakeout and mission that
Kintahmee was on as well.

The child was smiling, no care in the world-enjoying the ride.

If Baskin Robbins really had thirty-three flavors of ice cream; between Kintahmee
and the baby, they had on the last ten.

The neighborhood had her attention.
I only had her body standing next to me-ready to leave to finish her mission.

Between words we spoke, hers-I could not really hear, because I was mostly talking
to the side of her neck as if her mind was telling her that I was talking out of the
side of mine.

She wouldn’t let me in.

As I talked to the back-side of her head, I noticed her pigtail was pulled so tight
that every strand of her hair and scalp fold had to have been beneath that tan rubber
band that secured it. Her eyes were tightly pulled back toward the direction of that
tight pigtail-pulled such that you could tell she brushed with it a vengeance from
thinking about so many things that made her temperature rise while planning her mission.

She would glance over at me, while looking down to the ground as if that was where I
lay-looking up at her for conversation. Each time I could get a glimpse of her
eyes-I wanted to keep staring. Because still-like I always remembered-they had a kind of
innocence like that of a kid.

Still, her eyelashes were long, still silky and new. They stood straight out and erect,
and shined like the hair that sat on the mannequin in the window of the wig store across
the street from where we stood. I could tell that in her lifetime since I had last seen
and been acquainted with her, her lashes had gotten so much moisture that they had no
choice but to lay flat and shine.

Her lips reminded me of a place where countless boys through men placed theirs and told
her all the things she wanted to hear while picking from the unripe fruit of her emotional
numbness-telling her things that she no longer believes-from anyone, for that matter.

She continued to moisten her lips with a small jar of something that looked like petroleum
jelly as she puckered out and rolled them from side-to-side with a permanent twist of
“mm hmm” [mixed with mistrust, numbness and apathy] as a result of the hand in life she was
dealing with: the antithesis from how she was raised.

She was so numb, but the child was smiling though.
The creases of the right side of black satin jacket that Kintahmee wore had a fast-food
restaurant chain’s name: some joint so small that you can barely cuss a cat in, much less
eat a meal in-but she worked there. She was also the anti-thesis of lazy. Always kept a job on deck.

I smiled.

A phone rang.
I reached for my duffle sac while she reached into the pocket of her satin jacket.

“HELLO?” she yelled with anticipation and completely turned her back to me as she
spoke into the phone while checking the clock on it for the minutes would be using.

Finally she turned her body and face to me, which looked a little different this time:
He must be in’na neighba’hood tal’mout:‘Whatchoo ova’dere doin?’ ”

Mission accomplished.

“Here come Mista,” I said in my head, while the guy with the trendy clothes approached.

No introduction.

No hellos.

No-nothing.

Just a slight smile came across her face while she chewed on her barely there nails whose
tips nearly met the cuticles.

Child: still smiling-not a care in the world.

Mista moved closer to Kintahmee and the baby; playing with them both, giving them the
kind of affection that put a smile on her face which made me happy to see as well-the
kind of affection that he could care less about the boys on the corner seeing that he
had him in to give.

Soon thereafter, he was done with the affection as if he had a curator timing him and
with a wooded stick-forced him to turn it off.

The child: still smiling.

Kintahmee: slightly smiling-no longer feeling numb.

My turn.

I squatted down to Baby and turned the stroller towards me so
Kintahmee and Mista could talk, but they barely said a word to one another.

Baby’s deep dimples held my attention as she cooed-still smiling and happy
that I finally made my way down to her from her constant stare and smile up at me.

I would occasionally peek up at Kintahmee-she had that same slight smile and
finger in her mouth; reminiscent of a blushing pre-teen with a school-girl crush.
I could tell…this woman-she still loved this man. In her eyes-in her world: “this no-good man.”

Mista eventually walked away and disappeared into the crowd on the corner
where he originally stood the whole time that we stood there: watching over
Kintahmee and his child.

Remembering what she told me the last time I saw her about not having a phone,
I was caught this time between trying to figure out how to ask for her number
or even if I should. I wondered if I should give her mine-just like I did the
last time I saw her.

I took the plunge.
“Well here, take my number,” I said.
Again this time to grab a pen and paper, I reached for my duffle sac while she
reached back into the satin jacket.

“Give it here,” she said, with the monotone expression in her voice as if she
was about to fake like she was entering it with the elite list of people in her
world-already programmed.

“I use ‘dis here,” she said, pointing the cell phone, not giving a damn about
what the hell I thought of her. Carelessly, shamelessly, frank, and honest,
she defensively concluded: “I aint got no phone at home.”

Glancing over at the corner where Mista stood, I imagined the sky-high home
phone bill that she probably had stashed away in her dresser drawer somewhere from
accepting one too many of Mista’s jailhouse phone calls, now learning to live
without a home phone.

So what, what da hell do I want ‘choe numba fo’ anyway. If I was gone call
I woulda called the last time I saw you and you gave it to me,
” I read her mind,
brows and body language telling me while she looked me up and down…then at me
(finally)-wondering now, in our two separate worlds-what the hell we even had in
common that we could even talk about.

Little did she know, our experiences were the same difference.
We just never got around to sharing them together…

But I let her off the hook, yet again.
So as to give her an easy exit; I turned my attention towards the meat market’s
door and she prepared herself to finish her stroll on the strip.

Her mission was complete.

Yes, knowing that it would invade her space, I still hugged her tightly while in
a flash in my mind; I played out fantasies of being able to set her up straight-give
she and the baby enough to put away for many-a rainy days. She needed it oh so badly.

She relaxed and accepted my sincere embrace-her body did. And although it was in my
head that she smiled, her face did not.

I could deal with that, because smiling like the way I once remembered her-just wasn’t
her thing these days.
I was merely glad that she let me in with my hug.
I was merely glad she now knew that I still loved her-and that I still saw her as the
same happy little girl that she used to be, even after all these years.

Standing at the meat market’s door, I looked her in the eyes and said:
“Hey Kintahmee-keep in touch with me okay?”

“Okay,” she lied.

“Hey. I love you,” I said, sincerely, knowing that she would be numb to that-I
didn’t care though. I only cared that she heard me say it to her.

“Talk to you later,” she replied, as she turned to walk to the right.
Her satin jacket was shining brightly from the cool spring sun beaming onto it.

Mista still stood across the street to the left-watching everything.

By the time I picked up the meat order, loaded it into the car, and pulled out
of the parking lot, I could see the shiny black jacket a couple of blocks down the strip.

From my rear view, Mista was still posted on that same corner-he and Kintahmee
still hadn’t said a word it seemed. Their body language told me so, even from the rear
view short distance. It didn’t even look like what I knew was a fact: that they lived
together and slept in the same bed.

Driving slowly, I watched her as a smile of familiarity came across her face while
she yelled down the street.

Some girl stepped out with the same satin jacket Kintahmee had on-and even the cap to match it.

I think I got a little bit jealous as I drove off the busy strip. I could feel my own
expression on my face-looking as such, so I admitted it to myself.

Kintahmee. A woman now. But once was the sweet girl that I used to think was my little
doll who for years and filled with so much energy and laughter that nothing in the world
could have told me that she would not have grown up to be bubbly, playful and wild like
I remembered her-then.

Way back then she had an amazingly natural sense of humor and was filled with so much
energy and laughter, that sometimes she would wear me down. She was such a doll. I would
pinch her cheeks and burst out and sing to her: “Little Lou Lou, I love you just the same!”
She would laugh so hard, then smack me and run-thinking that I was insulting her.
But it was my “doll song,” because she was a doll to me.

That was all way back when-before “life” stepped in.

Still feeling a little jealous of that familiar smile that came across her face for
BlackSatinJacketWithTheCapToMatch, I played out a corny thought in my mind-wondering if
I had busted out and sang the “Little Lou Lou” song would I, too, have gotten that same
smile of familiarity that she gave to BlackSatinJacketWithTheCapToMatch. I reminisced about
how she used to hang onto my legs and wrestle and fight with me. She was so rambunctious
and cute-loved to be up under and around me any chance she could (really wanting me to sing
my “doll song” to her so she could laugh and act like she hated it).

Life.

It has funny way of grabbing hold of people.
People melt and mold themselves into certain ways that life beckons them. I realized that
to be true-at that moment.

Kintahmee had gone through so much in her life that she could only not be numb
around what was like, or familiar to her.

I understood that.

I had to accept that.

I didn’t judge her, and I wanted her to know that. And although I knew it would invade
her space; I hugged her anyways.
I needed to tell her that I loved her-to let her know that I still saw her “as-was.”
And as we are now, I insisted on treating her “as-if.” As if her life (at that very moment)
had gone the direction I thought it would. Her mother was a debutante and she was raised well,
and with all good things and good people who loved her. Somehow, she settled for a life
that was different than expected but I never judged her.

I could tell that she was so used to being judged, that she could turn her
automatic brick mode on and off with the switch of familiarity. BlackSatinJacketWithTheCapToMatch
showed me she could.
Jealous, but I understood.

So many years had gone by and had taken a lot of her with it.
I knew of (personally), so many changes that she had gone through.
Tears came to my eyes as I wondered what it was really like on the inside
of her-nowadays.

In an instant, I got mad at every situation in her life that I knew about-that chipped
away at her bubbly spirit.

I got mad at the environment and slumlords that permitted a human being with a baby to live
in all the places she had lived in over the years.

I was pulling out everyone I could that most probably contributed to bursting her “bubbly.”

I thought and I thought and I thought, but then a smile came across my face.

I had forgotten about the permanent smile on the Baby’s face-and how so very happy
she was-it was just like Kintahmee’s when she was a little girl, toddler and
pre-teen-before life stepped in and got real mean.

Baby was clean, she smelled good, her clothes were clean and she wasn’t hungry-so
I smiled (with the same kind of smile that Kintahmee had on her face when she saw BlackSatingJacketWithTheCapToMatch).

I couldn’t help but smile-because in that moment, I realized that as long “as-is” is treated
“as-if,” everything will fall into its place-no matter who it is.

I couldn’t help but smile.
Because although they barely said two words to one another, I forgot about the way I would
catch Mista looking at Kintahmee with complete adoration in his eyes, but physically showed
it to Baby while Kintahmee stood there with her finger in her mouth like that girl with the
high-school crush.

It was cute to observe.
How soon I forgot.

I couldn’t help but smile.
And in my mind-as I thought about Kintahmee while on the road, she really was
happy-her mission was complete, she got a sincere hug and was told “I love you” from someone
that she loved and adored once upon a time. And little did she know-she was also being adored
by a man that she too, obviously adored-but didn’t even notice the adoration in his face for her.
I did though. I saw it.
And I couldn’t help but smile.

I smiled for her because she, at that very moment in time, was in the company of
BlackSatinJacketWithTheCapToMatch who too, was making her smile and laugh-which therefore,
put a smile in my heart. And
I couldn’t help but smile.”

©2009AngelaSherice

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{January 31, 2011}   The Sun is the Star.


The sun is the star.
The brightest in the sky.
The source of heat, energy and life force.
The vessel from which many seek life source.

As it plays its position high and above, standing front and center of 12 constellation’s admiration and love-still-I am humbled…

Where from its literal element, it gets its shine on…
Excuse me, I mean: shines down on…
It is often times in need of a down-to-earthly kind of nudge…

To put many things into perspective.
‘Cause from high above there’s no time for introspective.
Its main function is: “look at me-how I glisten and when I speak-you should only listen.”

But from groundness and earth, there’s quite simply another mission.
Most often times it’s the reality check that it’s been missin:’

Did you forget?
Let me reit:
You have a daily 12-hour window to shine and ex-hi-bit.

Which should transcend this message:
“The world is not yours. All in it does not revolve around you. It is the constellation’s duty to do.

All things in life have a time, place, reason, season and mission.
From the sky is where you play yours…
And from groundness is my position…

You’re up so high up, that lis’nin…is exactly what you’ve been missin.’

©2009AngelaSherice

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{January 30, 2011}   Undefined.


Give me Dread.
Give you Red.
Give me Boo.
Give you Blue.
Earn my Loyalty.
Give you Royalty.
Never duplicated.
Somewhat complicated.
Underestimated.
Simply stated:
One Me.
One You.
Solidarity.
Such a Rarity.
Way you stare at me.
Not a Parody.
Give me You.
Give you Glue.
Give me True.
Crazy Glue.
Unguarded Me
Just for You.
Through & Through.
Everlasting.
Others I’m passing.
Unmasking…
Standing Tall.
No more wall.
Beckoned to call.
In to win.
All within.
Truth is thin?
Gone like wind…
Said it once.
Say it two:
Give me You.
Give me True.
Stuck.
Like Crazy Glue…

©2009AngelaSherice

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{January 30, 2011}   My Autotune.


With the exception of a tear in the eye.
I never have or will press rewind.
I live on pressing: Fast Forward. Stop. Pause. & Play.
To live in regret and rewind
To me, is to be in denial of where you are in this moment in time.
Well, for me, these moments in time require no rewind.
Those moments only require right, wrong, reasons, and contemplation.
Conversation or explanation-but no rewind of that personal station.
For I NEVER bow my head in sadness, sorrow or shame.
I know full WELL my name, heart and mane.
I do nothing just for thrills, fame, money or in vain.
Whatever I do, wherever I go, I stake my claim.
When you stand still on water, is when I bow to your name.
On my walls and in life I write, rhyme and converse that.
All which I feel needs a cap twist-back.
Or I write of love, happiness and all that is fine.
What I see, think or feel for that moment in time.
Other times I turn the mirror to the buffoon
And then release MY autotune:
From Angie’s mane, what I press is the only name of my game:
Pause.
Stop.
Play.
Fast Forward.
So pleeeeaaaassse don’t get it twisted.
If I let a lot of things get to me I’d be sifted.
I stay blessed and know that I’m lifted.
Good mind, great eyes, green thumbs, big heart
…I am gifted.
©2009AngelaSherice

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Mimosas, toasters & sofas: things like rollercoasters.
Doing everything that you’re s’posedta.
Shown true colors and then most of.
Up then down, around like a rollercoaster:
Instant. Fast. Stop! To the head like mimosa…
Think I’d better rest on that sofa.
Sleep til’ mornings-clarity, it’ll be over.
On to keeping focused like I’m s’posedta.
See, I don’t drink or sip mimosa.
Been years since I rode a rollercoaster.
So rest on that like a sofa.
In to that silver box.
Burned up to the top.
You go in, then up you pop.
Just like that toaster…
I can’t tell you any better than I can show ya…

©2009AngelaSherice

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{January 30, 2011}   What’s Your HTML?


Go to your Tool Bar.

Click: “View.”

Then: “Source” or “View Source.”
…that is called “HTML” (Hyper Text Markup Language).

Hyper Text Markup Language is the words and symbols
behind the face [of any page] that you are looking at…

It is the cryptic language behind the face that tells the
face how to present itself to you…

Those words and symbols tell a story and paint a picture with
its words but in front of those words is the face-the HTML is merely
the complexity behind that face which exhibits simplicity…

Any page of mine is my face, my canvas and my “HTML-” upfront rather
than behind…

Keep in mind however that though my HTML is on the front, I am a person;
not just a picture behind HTML…

My HTML (and complexity) is what lies behind this PERSON
(flesh and bone-just like you)…

Everybody has their own HTML…

I am merely displaying HTML-a mixture of how I think and what I think.
Which comes from various sources of experience or observation;
gathered into HTML code.

How I feel and what I feel (generally speaking).
A mixture of emotions: personal, interpersonal and not so personal.
Merely observations or experiences of others as well-past or present.

I write-so that is what I do: write-about a lot of things…

Because I chose to exhibit my HTML in way(s) that you may not chose to,
will not dare to or can’t…do not negatively judge me or challenge me when
what I’m merely doing is sharing with you for:
I am not judging.
I am not challenging.
I feel that if one does not judge-he should not feel judged.
I feel that if one does not challenge-he should not feel challenged…
(now decode then download that^ for a sec)…

If within the source of your HTML is filled with and of hate, envy,
strife, anger, feelings of resentment, mean-spirit and any other
weak emotional fear; then what you will see is merely you are
and what’s already inside of you.

If the source of your HTML is of happiness, joy, love and light and any
other emotion of strength (faith, hope, love, courage);
then what you will see is merely you are and
what is already inside of you as well.

If within the source of your HTML you love me, have love for me and/or you
personally KNOW me-then you fully understand, can decode, most probably have
seen or been with me while living some of my HTML, with and because of that,
you can do nothing but love me more after sharing my HTML…

So ask yourself this question:

Have you ever literally viewed the source of your very own HTML?

Where is YOUR HTML?

Don’t ever think that because it may not be written…that you yourself do not have a
story to tell and that because it may not be written, that it’s tucked away oh so well…

That’s just the very nature of cryptic (or hidden) HTML…

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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The moon was so pretty last night.
As it shined through my window pane.
Glaring in my face, bright enough to make a stain.
But it didn’t.
Instead it called out my name.
Staring at it made me remember all the things I could not change.
It just sat there, immovable and stubborn-sort of like you.
I’m watching it, telling it things I wanted it to do.
But it just sat there…
It wouldn’t move, or do what I told it to.
But still that moon was so pretty you see
Reminding me of the feeling I had when you were first sent to me

But when I look at that pretty moon, I know that in a matter of days, its shape will change
Just like our love from bass, alto, to soprano range
Like the way we cuss, holler and fight;
Oh this tumultuous love affair
The tears that I cry, just needs to know that you care

It’s so funny unlike before; confidently I can say I’m at a “safe” place today
If you stray or stay either way, I’ll play
The intensity could go almost any way

For I spend just as much time crying with you as I do when we are apart
Still trying to find a name for this feeling inside my heart

It hurts so much for me to leave, and hurts just as much for me to stay.
It’s so funny how I talk about how much I love you and how much you love me
Yet love isn’t supposed to be this way

Never understanding the why or how
I’m packing up my life and love for now
Taking a deep breath, I have to do it now or never
Though in my heart I know for you or for me
There’s no one else out there who makes the other better.
You bring out the best in me.
And also the worst
Sort of like an irreplaceable curse

You see loving you is so very simple, not hard to do
For me it comes easily. I never ever had to deceive you
Lie, cheat or steal? All I had to was leave you
Because I know that it would hurt you more
So now I’m walking through the door

And what about the way you lied to my heart, cheated me of my chance
Stole all of my love with just one glance?
Slighted us of making good love and great romance

A love like ours, should it ever be?
The way we love, then hate, so passionately
In circles-just like that moon shining through my window pane
Making me wonder if our love will ever be the same

Or am I fooling myself, packing up my love, my life; calling myself leaving you?
Knowing in my heart and mind that you, on the other side of that pretty moon
It’s making you blue
Me? On this side. I’m bluer than blue.
Thought you knew…

Thinking of the way we play tug of war with each others hearts
A love like ours, shouldn’t have ever fallen apart
You and me; we could have wrote the book on it
But I’m on this side of the pretty moon, trying hard to close the book on it
By making myself disappear from all five of your senses
Reminding myself that this time I meant it
Knowing that you’re on the other side of that pretty moon-still waiting for me
You can’t imagine how much on this side of the moon, the same thing applies to me

Stretching my imagination a little bit
Picture this.
You, on the other side saying, “you’re cute and fine but you just aint her-
She’s one of a kind, 1 more than a 9. A love like hers is hard to find.”
Me? On my side inferring the very same thing to the person in my face,
They’re cute and fine, and all that, but could never take your place
I’m envisioning you right now with your jealous lil face;
Frowning and mad, your everyday pace.
Woe to anyone who tries to invade your space
In my heart and mind and all my five senses
But these games that we play are ever so senseless

I must admit, your jealousy turns me on.
But not from the other side of the moon…

How unfair of you on the other side of that pretty moon above
Looking like the thief who stole all of my love
Unable to feel that wrath of my jealous ways
Or see my fits of angry displays
I know there are a lot of things that you do
That I’m more than sure I won’t agree to
While on that other side of the moon…

I’m staring at the pretty moon, bright, stubborn, round-and in a circle: like our love
Staring at the heavens up above, telling it to tell you it’s you that I’m thinking of
That moon, shaped sort of like how I’m talking, in circles, cause I aint going nowhere
You without me and me without you, us without us- I could not bare

I ask you once again, are you here to stay or play?
I won’t try to stop you if you should decide to stray
The gloved one said it best in a song one day
“I like living this way. I like loving this way”
So I’m unpacking my lil bags of life and love
To show you that you are the one I’m always thinking of

I know when I wake to the sun that you will be there
To take over all my five senses and to show that you care
I’m inviting you to hold me and see all that I see
And show you exactly what you mean to me
I’m inviting you to the sweet sounds of you and I when we make love
Underneath that pretty moon shining up above
I’m inviting you to the smell of you and me on fire
And feel our hearts melt into one desire
I’m inviting you to the taste of ecstasy
Of me on you and you on me
I’m inviting you to touch me the way you want to
And to do all the things that you want me to do
Then you’ll know for sure what’s in my heart and mind
‘Cause a love like ours, we’ll never find……………….
…………………………………………………
…………………………………….
……………………….
……………..
………
…..

The sun was so pretty this morning…
©2000AngelaSherice


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{January 30, 2011}   Delivery.


You can lead a horse to water.
But you can’t make him drink.
You “CAN” claim you’re a champion lover, but the proof is in your delivery.
You can help make a baby, but can you deliver?
Well then the product of the prize is essentially the fruits of the deliverer’s labor.

Debts I paid them all to you. I paid and paved the way for you.
If the proof is in the puttin’ then it was me who put it on.

What good are dancin’ feet to one who can’t deliver the dance?
Can do is what really matters, all else means nothing at all.
‘Cause you “can” pull the rug from beneath my dancin’ (and deliverin’) feet, doesn’t mean that I will fall.
Nobody is perfect, I know I’ve done my wrongs, but I have no reason to hide in a shell.
My strength comes from those who remained in my corner, knows my heart and mean me well.
I said it once before, it’s not what you “can” say, but what you “can” do.
Ooops, I contradicted myself in that song I did and delivered about you.

It’s not all about what you “can” do, but it’s all in the delivery.
So I ask-once again: “Is it true that you “can” (deliver too?)”

I wrote this to put something on your head, for the next time you think of slaying and defaming my name.
Make sure you “can” do AND deliver all of your claims to fame.

Until then, I’m turning my back on you-my shoes you’ll never fit
May the last words you’ll here from me come from that other hit:
“These boots are made for walkin-’ tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna put on my walking boots and I’m gonna walk all over YOU…”

©2002AngelaSherice

MEET ANGELA SHERICE
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{January 30, 2011}   I Never Finished What I Started.


Ever since I was a child, my mind has traveled from mile to mile
To many places, persons and things
Refraining from making promises, afraid of what tomorrow brings
But you can’t call me a procrastinator
I never promise to get back later
Everything from A to Z, every canvas that I’ve touched
Friendships/relationships, yes they all meant much
It’s just that I never finish what I’ve started.
Yet I try so hard not to do anything half-hearted.

Detached? Astrology tells me that I am not.
Does completion really put me on the spot?
Though my mind at times appears lost in space
My heart has always been in the right place:
With you…
And everything else for that matter
But since loving you this one thing I have gathered
That I never finish what I started, yet I try so hard not to do anything half-hearted
But of everything from A to Z
I’m so glad that you were sent to me
To help me finish what I have started, to give you my all whole hearted.
You’ve proven to me time and time again that you are here to stay
And wouldn’t have it any other way
You make me finish what I started
Regardless how many times we’ve parted

If I could think of one song that reminds me of you
One that makes me cry even when I’m not feeling blue
It’s called “The Wind Beneath My Wings,” you know that one, don’t you?

I never finish what I started…

©2000AngelaSherice


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{January 30, 2011}   I Hate You.



When I see you I see fog.
I hear rain. I feel fire. I feel pain.
The mere thought of your touch to mine feels like brisk cold wind to my skin.
And it’s because I hate you.
I hate you for all that you did, and all that you didn’t do.
Can’t say that I hate you for all you didn’t say. You said plenty-you just never followed through…
Nor did anything “Me” or anything “You…”
No matter what I think of when I think of you, tears from the years marinade from inside
And make their way to crowd my tired eyes.
But they never fall anymore.
They just sit there.
Filling up in the wells of my soul and then like the Grim Reaper, here comes the fog: Guess who?
You.
I hate you.
On fire, my heart palpitates and sends Fahrenheited sensations to my chest down through my limbs.
A place once filled with the pitter-patter of butterflies moving all around and about at whim.
I hate you so very much because you put many miles on my heart.
You make me wonder if this was in your plan right from the start…
Funny how you crept on me, then in to me and left nothing but skid marks all the way through me.
I hate you for all that I went through for you, with you and because of you.
I hate the fact that I share this universe with you.
I hate everything that reminds me of you.
I hate that you breathe the same air that I breathe.
I hate you.
I just hate you, and wish that you would leave…
I never loved so hard, hated or hurt so bad.
I hate you so much because with no warning-like the same way you entered my life-you made me hate you right in the middle of loving you…
And for that, I just nothing but hate you.

©2001 AngelaSherice

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{January 30, 2011}   So Compatible…Are We.


I turned to the television
To the sounds of the land and the sea
As always, you capture me-and keep my undivided attention.

no one was waiting there
the atmosphere belonged to only You and to Me

you see
You…
are the Land-the Sand
and
I
am the Sea.
my still waters ran deep-the moment the wind introduced You to me

Hello.
I am pleased to meet You.
Your magnetism kind of reminds me of how the Sea can’t stay away from the Sand

it’s so beautiful how We blend together, and I sink in…to You…
But what’s happening to Me?

You’re always there
i feel your warmth from the sun welcoming me
thirsting for my coolness
longing for my moisture that the sun steals
from you-the Sand
who needs Me-the Sea
We never need an audience. We make our own music.

You love the way I dance
the way I make my waves to you from the wind whispering to me
And I love the way you glisten
from the sun and part of me

the wind touching Me and the sun touching You
just wants to know why
You-the Sand
and Me-the Sea
are so inseparable
so compatible-are we…

But yet, the Sea is a reminder of all that has flown from within Me…
You-the Sand
and
Me-the Sea
are so inseparable.
So compatible-are we?

©2000 AngelaSherice

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{January 29, 2011}   ABOUT THIS BLOG SITE

Just: Angie

Doing Angie

Always…All ways.



et cetera