I've been feeling...so I wrote...

And You Are…?

Thoughts of you run through my mind as naturally as a shooting star gains wishes during its run.

They turn over and over and I can’t stop them from flowing in…resistance is futile.

Like Deborah Cox said, “Nobody’s supposed to be here.”

Not that I put up walls or a barbwire fence…it’s just that…

You see, very few people wander into these parts without an invitation.

But the magnetic pull between us sucked you in with no advanced notice.

We seem to be simply orbiting around each other, slowly lessening the distance between us.

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So now that you are here…we seem to be on an inevitable collision course.

This isn’t just an uninhabited planet about to be stricken by an abandoned satellite.

This is two planets, alive and vibrant, about to touch bases and do more than just bump and grind.

We are close enough that I see your surface area, and you in turn, see mine.

As our worlds turn we occasionally see a little more when the cloud cover permits.

We haven’t learned the other’s weather patterns or even seen the sun and moon.

Somehow we instinctually assume that they will match and not clash once we do make contact.

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A shift in rotation seems of the necessary actions next in line.

Pushing any kind of movement could send either one of us spinning out of control though.

We have to be careful not to upset the ones abiding within, for they give us life.

The bump itself, no matter how soft, gentle and easy, is going to at least make waves.

We just want to prevent earthquakes, tidal waves and hurricanes as a result.

I believe it’s possible, if everything else remains normal, for us anyway.

We have yet to truly discover what is normal for the other as of yet, time will tell.

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If our weather, orbits and rotations are not “normal” to others, that’s ok.

As long as we understand each other thoroughly and are open to learning the changes that come along,

I think we’ll be fine, regardless of the interpretations from outsiders who aren’t influenced by our spheres of existence.

So I’m officially inquiring as a new convert to your sights and atmosphere.

So far, what I see, I like, and I’m craving just a bit more to view at every full circle turn.

I’m fairly sure that you are observing my attributes and weighing in your thoughts accordingly.

So feel free to get that bird’s eye view, and even touch down to walk among the fields.

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If…when we collide, you want to build a bridge to connect us throughout the ages, take a sample of my earth’s depths, so that you may feel fully informed.

Copyright © 2009 Natasha Guy

Until You’re Ready

Writing is supposed to ease the mind, settle the soul, captivate thoughts in ink.

What happens when you turn to the paper and pen as if they are your only hope of salvation and together they fail you?

They were the last hope, where even incoherent babble earns its right to be seen, to scream out to others visually.

But when something severs your spirit from your soul, how does the writing become the glue, the paste, the hammer and nails, even the staple gun?

The regular aches and pains are soothed like salve on a burn, the writing gives way to the sweet sigh of relief,

The one that unburdens the body and soul from packages carried long and short term,

Like finally being able to get oxygen into the lungs after losing your inhaler just before an asthma attack.

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So…where are the airflow and the rejuvenation? Where is that satisfying reward?

This time it’s not helping, breathing is still stunted. What.else.am.I.missing? What.else.am.I.supposed.to.do?

This pain and suffering is new, uncharted territory, like nothing I’ve experienced before.

I don’t want to be on this journey, in this boat, in the storm of my life…and theirs.

Turbulence barely touches the magnitude of complexity, trials and hardships, in fact, this here, is bigger than any word I know.

It’s like when you run out of words, out of tears, out of places to ache, and you’re left with this, this thing with no name.

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Your friends and family try to throw you safety nets, life preservers; they’d throw you a brick if they thought it would help.

But when you look in the mirror, not the one in our bathroom or bedroom…but the ultimate mirror that you can never shatter or truly avoid.

The mirror that reflects all that you are and are not, the one that speaks magically straight thru to your heart, regardless of your earplugs.

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That’s when reality hits. It’s you and God and He has raised the hedge that separates you from everyone else trying to help, trying to get in.

He has cornered you and your mirror and is looking for His reflection. He is looking for what you don’t see.

He waits.

Copyright © 2009 Natasha Guy

Copyright © 2009 Natasha Guy

Where In Da Hell Is Osama?

Does anyone even remember who Osama Bin Laden is?

We have mourned our fallen towers for years.

We have gone as far as celebration about a death.

Did y’all forget that Osama’s last name isn’t Hussein?

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Situations of a political matter don’t often pull my string.

You see, I preach from the proverbial soap box often, just not about this.

But…I feel alone and stranded on this big rock we call the U.S. of A.

The land of the free and the brave seems to be an isolation tank right now.

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Am I the only American here screaming, “Where In Da Hell Is Osama?”

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Now we are a young country, as far as countries go.

I understand that we wage war to protect who we are,

As well as whom we want to be, in the chaotic world as a whole.

Sometimes that next step or the stand itself is a hard one, I get it.

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What I don’t get, is why I seem like the only one still looking.

Most folk get offended when someone says,

“All y’all dark or pale or yellow folk look the same to me,” and shrugs.

Rightly so…but isn’t that what we are all doing now?

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Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I could have sworn our troops were on a mission.

Now, let me pause and say that I appreciate our men and women,

The ones that fight for our freedom, and other’s freedoms, every day.

A moment of silence, if you will, for the resting, fighting and fallen military.

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And now I politely ask, “Where In Da Hell Is Osama?”

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Can I get an “Amen,” or a hand raised way in the back?

Does anyone else feel my anguish and frustration?

Can someone hand me a road map because I’m lost.

Are any of y’all thinking…wait, I thought we hung that fool?

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Let me introduce you to Mr. Saddam Hussein!

He was the leader of Iraq, not the Taliban!

He made bad blood with G.W. Bush SENIOR,

You see, I suggest, that we have JUST seen the end of the Gulf War.

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Now, like I said, I don’t do politics most of the time,

But right now I feel like I’m being force fed a stick of dynamite,

Coated with just enough crude oil to make it palatable.

Well guess what? I’m not opening my mouth!

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No sir! I’ve got a few questions left before I swallow any of this.

Truth: Our buildings went down and the Taliban said, “We did it!”

Next: We sent troops to go get the sons of bitches.

Conclusion: We got him! Saddam is goin’ down!

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Wait…what? “Where In Da Hell Is Osama?”

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I have the audacity to think for myself and not follow the flock!

I have been told that I think outside the box.

My answer to that is, “Oh shit! There was a box??”

I’m almost done…stay with me just a few minutes longer.

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I propose that G Dub Junior went to finish his daddy’s war.

We stormed the Middle East saying, “Get the bastard that dared cross our soil!”

I was supportive too, with my hand raised Black Panther style!

Then, “Here’s the big bad guy, Saddam Hussein! Everyone cheer!!!”

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Huh? Excuse me? I think I missed a memo somewhere because

All Middle Easterners DO NOT look the same.

Hell, this man even goes by a different name!

He may have done some bad, bad things but...

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“Where In Da Hell Is Osama?”

Copyright © 2009 Natasha Guy

I Think I’m an Anti-Feminist!

It doesn’t take much to see that I’m a female through and through.

I get the typical insecurities, but I also know what’s true.

The right man will see beauty when he wakes up next to me.

When he puts his hand on my stomach and gets to feel his seed.

He’ll feel that chill creep straight up his spine

When I walk into the room and he says, “She’s mine.”

I don’t mind being claimed, how it sounds or how it seems

Because I know deep down, what being his means.

You see, I don’t mind giving him the final say,

I can’t wait for him to come home to me after a long day.

I dream about giving him a tangible product of love.

Every day I remember to tell him he’s my gift from above.

My man is a true man in everyone’s eyes,

When others find out he’s taken, it comes as no surprise.

I enjoy making him dinner and catering to his every need.

Because I understand that a satisfied man is happy to lead.

Know that men are human, and they too can fall from grace.

But as a woman, know when to stay out of his face.

I don’t challenge his role as a lord in my life.

You see, I’ve researched what it means to be a wife.

When I took his name, he became my covering.

To step out from under him, leaves me vulnerable to all other things.

Women, we don’t need to teach a man how to be a man,

Because if we give them the chance, they will make a stand.

I hate to break it to you, all the daughters of the feminist song,

But someone needs to tell you that mama taught you wrong.

She told you, “You can do anything a man can, just as well as he can.”

Lil’ woman in the making let me tell you something. You can NOT be a man!

Your pants may go on like his do any day of the week,

But your seed won’t produce a child with mine as we both reach that peak!

After I’m done, I’ll give you the time you need to reflect,

But right now most of you are in need of a brutal reality check.

After a hard day’s work, women want to relax, release and relate.

But what we are designed to do in this life is to create.

Create a home for a man out of the four walls that he gives.

Make a homemade dinner out of greens, potatoes and ribs!

What a man brings and lays at our feet,

That’s him sowing, so give him something to reap!

I know some of you are looking at me like I’m out of hand,

But if you back out of that man’s place, he’ll have somewhere to stand.

We go around searching and screaming, “Real men are nowhere to be found.”

Shut that mess up and sit your butt down!

The Bible says a man who finds a wife finds a good thing,

So let him find out who you are before begging for a ring.

Good things come to those who wait,

Stop attacking the man before he gets thru the gate!

Learn how to be a support and a true treasure, a gem,

Let him see that you are the prize that he wants to win!

As a reflection of him, I take pride and delight in my position

Because I am protected by him, I don’t worry about my condition.

This means he takes full responsibility for me.

Not just my body and mind, but even my spirituality.

It is such a relief to finally ease into my place.

Because now there’s less stress to wrinkle my face.

Ladies if you want your man to be a true man,

Take the back seat and give that man room to stand!

Copyright © 2009 Natasha Guy

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