THE unfavorable characteristic

I’m a passion-less feign. I marvel in my inability to own a memorable gait, act the part of a diva. I’m insane, with bursts of horrid reasoning, when summoned for my my singular madness, becoming morose and pathetic. Stuck in the cerebral world of enlightment, my outlet is my pen, not a senuous hip swing. I only lean towards brains and eyes and lips more intelligent than mine. I’m sorry. I just insulted a few people. I can’t swirl my hips your way  boy( actually I can, but I make manifest the existence of  a head muscle before that of a joint’s loose-ness), to get your intention, but I can regale you with  the honey at the tip of my pen, entertain you with the thrusts of voluptuous locutions, and charm you with my lips. I can tell you things you have never heard before, but I havent found a way to show them yet.

-Aaliyah Abdul-Haqq

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To stay

Its been a while
But i cant get over that winning smile
As dusk approaches tears well in my eyes. I can’t disguise your lies in my eyes. There’s no pretending you made a mistake when the love you risked was three years long-to long to forget.
I think I hate you for dying. I know I love you for trying to stay forever.

Dear Dictionary …love, a scholar

Really, and truly the only reciprocal adoration i’ve encountered has been with you, Webster Dictionary. I’ve certainly liked many boys, but most, the unforgettable ones, are those  whose brains are more attractive than any row of abs available! And of course, even though they didn’t find me worthy of their attention, YOU  let me study you. You didn’t mind my breathe against your cheek or my fingers on your skin. So why do they? Why can’t the boys with pretty faces (not that I don’t admire your red leather) desire my company as much as you do?
                    Forever my love to you
                                                 

Beautiful heroes promising the impossible to kings’ daughters

Beautiful heroes promising the impossible to kings’  virgin daughters . Roses protected by thorns they are, but still, twists of hair are sent to and fro by romancing lovers. Imagine sweet meats and  earthy truffles in baskets riding up Rapunzel’s golden lockes or perhaps in Pochahontas’s long stygian tresses a feather of quality will be placed by some handsome jocular fellow

Melodydramatic 6/19/12

Is it a good thing that I don’t sing?
That my heart has stopped thumping and only beats to beat? One day though someone else will force it into my throat once more, only to let it fall to the pit of my stomach.

Please shoot silence. Please slaughter love, but let me live.

              let me weep
             let it seep
             into my stem
          slip from my hem
     be crushed beneath my heel
    and let its tough skin peel
     Oh, how I hate love
                      -also to Luca, by Aaliyah Abdul Haqq