Angry and hurtful feelings that I have contained and suppressed, leaked out and consumed my Tuesday evening. The uninvited trip down memory lane was not the sweet and blissful kind. Instead, it was an unpleasant revisiting of a haunted house full of raw emotion and bones (not too many, but enough).

You see, deep inside (not as neatly tucked away as I sometimes would like to believe), remains the traces of a naive and less savvy Angelique. The Angelique that if I could - I would - step into a time machine and drop a gem on. The Angelique that didn’t fully understand that respect is so basic and real love can be so much more than she got. The Angelique that played herself for so very little and gave much more than she should have. The Angelique that is ashamed and hurting. The Angelique that I needed to be at one point in my life, to make me the person that I like very well today.

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fantasy p

you crassly keep my imagination going.

in a bar your laugh
shakes
the sadness of why
everyone’s really there.

i want to stop your breathing.

i want you to cluck me
like you would a horse.

make me go the speed you want.

make me the man
you need.
you won’t change me,
you’ll just get love
and new year’s eve kissing.

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Around this time last year, I was explaining to a handsome young scoundrel (who I knew “off top” would/could never be my soul mate), that I simply would not be spending any more time in his presence. I went on to inform him that I have a lot going on in my life; family matters, career stability, personal issues and self discovery in general. I simply do not have the time for any outside distractions. And that’s what he was . . . a 6,4”, athletic framed, cocoa brown, model-faced, “distraction”. You know the type - the guy that distracts you from being the sensible, street savvy, hip-to-game, chick that you are.

Yeah.

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