The Pond of My Dreams

The Pond of My Dreams

The fluid shadows bouncing off of even the shallowest pool of water give my surroundings an ethereal feel.

I could float into the dreamland of my personal spa…if the water rose about my ears when I lay down.

I hear the womb like beating of my heart echoing like a giant’s footfall, bigger than life itself.

The smells of lavender and chamomile take up residence in my olfactory sensors and I breathe; out with the stress in with relaxation.

As I reposition myself, I slosh a bit of water onto my lips and purse them when I recognize the bitter taste of clean, pH balanced liquid.

I sigh heavily as I rise fully aware that all my senses have been bothered and disturbed.

The water that was to rock me into oblivion, the candles that claimed to be pleasurable to me inside and out, the extra water treatments to preserve the pooling fluid around me, all of this completely failed when my waterbed sprang a leak in the middle of the night. And thus, I brilliantly star in my very own personal wet dream.

Copyright © 2009 Natasha Guy

Under New Management

Here I am at the door to my heart

I’ve given too many the key.

So now I stand in confidence

The lock is changed and the new owner is me.

I’m making a comeback,

Loud, strong and proud.

But I’m doing it quietly,

Not drawing a crowd.

Most who had a key,

Didn’t bother with it for long.

Love felt so deep

But didn’t outlast a song.

There are a few of them out there though,

They’ve coveted the given key,

They’ve hidden it away

Sometimes held it with glee.

These chosen few

They always seem to return.

Not to open the door,

Just making sure the handle still turns.

What a surprise it will be,

Next time they try

They may even knock,

But that’s not gonna fly.

It’s time for me to be selective again

And I can tell by lookin’ nah you’re not him.

Copyright © 2009 Natasha Guy

Another one

Not Real Enough For Me

This won’t be light and fluffy

You won’t be able to walk away and say, “Aw that was nice.”

I’m coming at you straight from the heart.

If you think you can handle it, you’d better think twice.

I’m calling out everyone who calls themselves close

Who are you replicating when I need you the most?

What shoes are you trying to fill?

Looking like a child in their mama’s heels.

I need full, able bodied, whole minded people to surround me with understanding.

People who have been there, done that and are aspiring to reach…

Don’t come at me with some poster child remix of our parent’s goals.

Grow up, manipulate the ideas in your mind so that we can teach!

Why are you just a one hit wonder stuck on replay?

I need something different than the crap shoved at me day after day.

Where are my real people at?

Fashion today is borrowed from yesteryear.

Where are the talented minds of today with originality, not living in fear?

Doesn’t anyone have something of value to contribute?

Rather than offering up some butchered up, sped up, fucked up tribute?

We all need to retrieve our minds from the merry go round.

Jump off and let your own feet carry you into the future you’ve found

How can you rise above when you keep reliving the past?

We are supposed to learn from history, not rush to repeat it fast.

It’s not complicated, nothing is ever that complicated.

I just need to know where my real people have gone.

Everything has origins, this I know,

But when you have an origin, it’s something from which you grow.

But once I take away your founding position,

I’m left with nothing but monotone composition.

Someone come at me with something real,

Anger, love, pain as long as I can feel,

Something, anything from what you offer up

I’m tired of this rut, tired of being stuck.

Too much of the same again and again

Changing position, crying, screaming out in pain

My mind is frustrated with overstimulation

I’m searching for simple relief from this constipation.

I look in your eyes, at your walk, and listen to your voice.

My innards bubble up, I have no choice.

I must expel what yesterday sat still

Because your regurgitated efforts just are not real.

I’m lost and trapped in a sedentary mess

Where is the real person that can withstand the test?

So holler out with me if your soul too bleeds

If it’s crying out for someone to fulfill the needs

The emptiness left from lack of something new

Tell me, have I found it in you?

Copyright © 2009 Natasha Guy

An oldie but goodie lol

A Required Glimpse

I may have loved you once, innocently and sweet,

But it turned to something perverse which never satisfied me.

I craved you and poured from my soul,

Begging and pleading for you to make me whole.

You never had the power I assumed, for with innocence I also had ignorance.

You and I together led me to a place of understanding, that it was time to get off the fence.

I couldn’t be who I wanted to be and still be with you.

I’d have to give up too much of me and change my point of view.

The only problem with that, is I like what I see when I look out and survey the world.

With you things seemed lighter and heavenly, but the air quality just about made me hurl.

It seemed like a fantasy even as we were living our love out.

Feeling that things are too good to be true can plant that little seed of doubt.

Now that we’ve come down off of that high called love.

I’m growing back into me, my skin fitting like a glove.

I laid my heart on the line and I don’t see that as a mistake.

But I see what has been broken and that I can’t remake.

Although change is hard and it’s very sad to confidently say,

I mourn this change, but wouldn’t have it any other way.

I had to see what it was like; I had to have that place.

I needed to feel what it was like to bring a smile to your face.

Now that I know what it’s like, I know it was a necessary feat

Even with knowledge of the end of lover’s lane, the cul de sac of our street.

I’m glad we made this journey together you and I

Despite the rough landing we had to try to fly.

Much like two trains in the same place at the same time,

It’s time to move on and continue to climb.

So heads up as we charge farther away.

Perhaps our paths will cross another time, another day.

Copyright © 2009 Natasha Guy

Something Very Different

Extraction of Beauty

I stand in concentration over the gleaming metal table ready to begin my quest,

But mindfully and constrained, I won’t be wasteful because there is an end…about 5-6 liters in.

Sedation was easy, catatonic states are for those waiting to become a masterpiece.

The dutiful cleansing was tedious, the end result before me though was oh so worth it.

Taking a moment to breathe in the simplicities of life, eyes closed and hands poised.

I begin to stare at the rise and fall of the chest cavity, a rhythmic beauty in its own right.

But I am in search of the inner beauty, that which shines through the very pupils of a being.

This body washed and purified in its naked glory is just the beginning.

Hair strong and vibrant, muscles taut and defined, bone structure riveting, I could gaze forever,

But that would be a tragedy in and of itself, to end my mission before I’ve even begun.

A bird in the hand cannot be accepted this time, completion and perfection are my demands.

I will dig until I find it, until I hold it in my hand, tangible True Beauty, you will be my gain.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” I tell myself as I diligently lift each orb from its suctioned place.

I hold them, dissect them; marvelously engineered, but not as stunning as my treasure will be.

The mind is a terrible thing to waste, so maybe beauty hides in the folds of that fleshy organ.

I peel back the fascia, pop apart the hemispheres, I am intrigued by the findings, but not mesmerized.

The tongue can be one of beauty or give death; it is of no interest in this journey.

The vocal chords can purr songs that give life to ideals such as love and faith,

But it lays lifeless without the vibrations of air flowing through it, what a disappointment.

Maybe the lungs pink and moving will give me more of a rise, although I doubt that I’ll find it.

Perhaps I will find it in the lower part of the body, where waste is banished and cleansed for use.

I am tingling and vibrating with excitement as my new revelation leads my nimble fingers.

I cannot slow down, yet I must not overlook anything either, only 5-6 liters of time draining away.

It takes patience not to destroy while trying to find the beauty inside but being snared by entrails.

Exhausted with my restrained pace I hack through muscle that holds it all together, a nice neat package.

I attack the bone as if its hardness is preventing my very existence, maybe it lives in the marrow.

Where is the beauty within and why do I feel like it’s oozing out even though I see nothing but platelets.

“Can it really reside in the most obvious place,” I ponder as I zoom in on the faintly beating heart.

I carefully slice into the chambers with controlled enthusiasm, my own breath labored and audible.

My eyes burn with excitement as I concentrate on the heart of this open matter.

I am now holding in my hand, a lifeless organ that has ceased to pump life and beauty.

Where is the inner beauty that I have sacrificed to find, destroyed a piece of art in search of more…

Violently I release my anger of its avoidance on what is left of my pet, my poor mangled pet.

Choking the elusive last breath from an already lifeless body in frustration at my complications,

The truest beauty seeping out from between my fingers encircling and squeezing the filleted neck,

It all escapes me as I collapse in 5-6 liters of wasted time and substance, wallowing in filth.

Another failed mission, the search continues…

Copyright © 2009 Natasha Guy

For Lea and her Tia M

Do Tears Run Red?

When your heart is broken with heavy woes, words unsaid, hugs and what ifs,

As it’s torn in two so suddenly with snags and crevices deep,

It erupts, fast and hot, lava spilling from your eyes,

Even raining, do people see the tears running red?

They stain the soul with sorrow and memories,

Good and bad, pictures that bring smiles and pain,

Time will wash the outside residue from your face,

Erase the traces of the salt trails that outsiders seem to forget.

Your true friends will remember that tears stain red your soul.

They'll remember how tears burned their way and how they'll never dry

They'll supply the endless demand for hugs and never give a second thought

Your friends will wear red, so when you cry on their shoulder, your tears will become a part of them.

Your tears won't be a stain; they will be a welcomed addition of a friendship, part of your shared history and life.

Copyright 2007 Natasha Guy

What do you think?

Short Circuited

Um...

Did anyone else feel that?

It crept eerily up your spine

Or was it just your mind

Playing

Tricks on you.

Sitting there sippin your poison

When something interrupts your vibe.

Not an unwanted reaction

Just not expected, when

Out of nowhere…

While your mind was somewhere

Else.

Inconspicuously

You pivot to expand

Your peripheral view

In order to encompass the one

That has already

Touched you.

This search is droning on

As you listen to song after song

But you are still distracted

Unable to place

The cause of this feeling

Not easily erased.

It still nibbles at

Your inner core

Refusing to be ignored

But where

Is the inspiration

Behind this invocation?

Still playing it cool

And trying not to drool

You spin fully

Still looking around

Eagerly.

You finally catch a glimpse

Of the back of that soul

Passing smoothly

Thru the crowd

Sending ripples

Towards you.

Are the vibrations really

Unintentional?

How can they be this

Strong and yet

The sender is

Oblivious.

What being can

Possess this magnitude

Of reaching and

Detaining you

It fills and swells your

Curiosity.

You sway to the song and try to

Follow along

The sensations calling to

Every cell in your

Body

To seek out

The source.

Suddenly your mission is terminated

By someone else in your face

And you feel assaulted

You’ve been robbed of

Distracted from

Pulled from

The spell of

An internal connection.

Copyright 2009 Natasha Guy

A New Feel

Partake

Let’s do the dance tonight of pleasure and pain.

I’ll move my curves to the sultry tones and call your imagination to the playground.

My voice will caress your neurons and cause some firing manifestations.

Together we can cause a few reactions that you forgot or didn’t even know existed.

As the words float between my lips and the mic, close your eyes and come...with us.

Meet us in the world that we’ve created, where sensuality is tangible and taste is visible.

Let us call to your every sense and don’t forget to answer from the depths of your soul.

Feel our warm breath on your neck in short heightened spurts.

Acknowledge the little hairs on your arms standing erect and tall in response.

Revel in the words sliding over your goose bumps like warm molten wax molding to your form.

Allow yourself to be completely lost and find all of yourself simultaneously.

See the curves of my voice paint a picture of erotic phantasm begging to be pleased.

Taunting like a silhouette raised to extreme heights of orgasmic plateaus yearning to go higher.

Be enchanted with the vibrations pulsating along with the rhythm of the words.

Watch while the tantric undulations prepare a feast for your eyes.

Let your tongue sample of the sweetness dripping from my…verbal stimulation.

The aroma of vibrant metaphors makes you salivate as if you hear the bell.

Bring your appetite while we satisfy all the cravings you possess.

Like drinking an addictive aphrodisiac, let the reverberations slide down your throat.

Welcome to the verbally charged atmosphere of the open mic stage.

Copyright 2009 Natasha Guy

Back to writing!

No Longer Accepting Applications

I’m terminating the search.

I need a man who knows what a woman needs.

My wants will be answered when my needs are met.

The place still stands empty.

The right man will step into it without asking.

So I’m tearing up the questionnaire.

The interviews have ended.

I haven’t made a decision.

I no longer want to choose.

I’m tired.

The position is still open.

I’m no longer actively searching for the fill though.

I am complete on my own until I find my compliment.

My hand is open, not a tight fist closed.

It’s waiting patiently to be held.

I don’t want the magical swept away love.

I need one that can meet me here with two feet planted firmly on the ground.

It will grow with roots intertwined.

Strong roots being a natural occurrence.

It won’t feel forced or coerced.

The man made for the spot will not waiver.

He wants to be my rock and strength.

He sees me as his pillow and refuge.

He needs to be there.

He will know his place when he sees it vacant.

He will approach me and point to the spot.

He will say, “That’s my place and I’m here now.”

He will claim it and be a perfect fit.

He won’t be scared of my past.

He won’t be intimidated of our future.

He will stand strong.

He will simply exist.

Copyright 2009 Natasha Guy

Hair

Ok...so I just read a blog about black women being "afraid" to acknowledge their black hair by perming it. Now dont get me wrong I know there are some people out there who may perm their hair specifically because they dont want to "embrace" their black culture. However, WHYYYY do I have to keep my hair natural just to embrace the culture? The black culture is not JUST hair. I'm so annoyed with this! The way I wear my hair has nothing to do with how black I am! I'm not less black because I perm it, and I'm not more black when I decide not to. I do what I can manage the best at the time.

Sometimes thats to straighten it, other times it's easier to not worry about perming it. In the winter, I like to wear my hair down. I like how it looks straight and flat, so I perm it almost religiously during the winter months. I like to swim or be outside during the summer. It's also way too hot to keep it down; the way my head sweats, itd be frizzy anyway. So, during the summer months I usually don't perm my hair at all...maybe once lol. Braids or pony tails, etc work best during those months.

I say all that to say...my hair doesnt not make me who I am. It just means I was feeling it that day!