Bête

The sky churns somewhere in the crevice of my mind.

Shades of gray distort and smoke my senses. My touch is numbed and my taste buds burn. Crawling towards my reflection the textures and colors fall in thick droplets from the canvas onto the tops of my bare feet. My vision fails me and my chest begins to beat outside itself. A band of percussions locked in by my ribs. My knees buckle and with a distant thud my body hits the cushioned surface beneath me. My numb fingers move and interlock with blades of grass. I struggle to open my eyes but it is as if dozens of tiny hands are holding my lids shut. They are sealed. I turn onto my belly and with fists full of earth I drag myself blindly. There is a weight on the back of me and pressure that cuts my breathing. The percussions begin to drum. I release. Lifelessly I lie face down. Silently. Thoughtless. Blind. Numb. Through my deafness, a muffled groan breaks through. Closer and closer. The air grows thicker, heavier. In my ear its breath ruffles and moves my hair. Crouched over the back of me the large talon twirls my hair while the other claw rests firmly on my exposed shoulder, piercing my skin. My hair is coiled tighter. Yanking my head back and arching my spine inwards causing my chest to arise, into my open mouth it breathes into me a cold, dense breath that taste of bitterness with a sour finish. As it moves past my tongue and down my throat my body tingles and pricks like a waking foot. My eyes shoot open but there is a veil, a glaze that lay between my vision and what is before me. I am tossed onto my back and brought to my feet. Fragilely and wavering I stand face to face with this creature that has preyed on my senses and weakened me. A piercing , shattering scream reverberates through my bones. The blades of grass between my toes and the ones locked underneath my feet disappear into the hard slate-like bathroom floor.  I grow cold. My vision still hazed, the color before me mutes. My eyes grow heavier and heavier. They shut. Suddenly I’m hit with the drumming in my chest and at the same time I’m woken. I stand face to face with myself. A clearer version. A golden version. My sight is sharper. More vibrant. My mouth fills with blood. As it pours past my lips, down my chin and falls heavily onto my breasts, goose bumps form and I shiver. A change has occurred. And now I know…

Untitled.

A person with exclusive and select powers; Powers that are exposed at ones most vulnerable moments. She's an individual with the ability to free you from agitation and give you the greatest sense of tranquility and serenity. She can make the most confident and presumptuous person meek and uncertain. Her looks are disarming, allowing you to willingly drop your guard and any arms that you once felt were essential for your survival. Her eyes can divulge your entire being. Her touch makes you feel unstoppable and relentless. You feel an incomparable sentiment when she's present. She's a person that controls you, your thoughts, your emotions and does so perfectly. But who is she? And why does she carry such extraordinary and scarce powers? What feeds her? Love. It feeds her, she carries it..she's love in its most purest form. She's you.

Lion Hearted.

Last night I closed my eyes.

In the distance I could hear heavy feet wrestling with grass, running towards the back of me.

My eyes open widely.

I struggle to my feet and begin to sprint almost tripping and falling over myself due to the sudden burst of movement.

Too scared to look back, I push forward.

A familiar backyard transforms into a lush jungle of another world.

Low lying switches whip my bare legs, but the sting of the impact goes unnoticed.

Large, knee-high trunks act as hurdles as I desperately force my limbs over them; blooding my shins on the bark that drapes their thick bodies.

My breath is short and my heart feels as if it will burst from my chest at any moment.

The deep, heavy pants of the beast resound around the trees and through my very bones.

It is close.

The front of its paws brush my bare heels.

Shocked by the contact, I throw my shoulder and face this thing that has made me prey.

Stumbling back, space is created between the two of us.

A full, dirty and golden mane frames its large, wide face.

Its brilliant, bright green eyes pierce proudly through my darker, tear-filled ones.

It lifts its head as to assert its superiority over me and a smirk curls the corners of its mouth.

“Finally.” its gnashes at me.

Opening its mouth wide,

He lunges forward.

Basquiat over a Rolls Royce.

Jean Michel Basquiat was the catalyst for the modern-day tortured artist. 

The Radiant Child.

A poem written to me from my little sister.

Speaking from the Heart


Well, Jazmine, I'll tell you:
Love ain't an easy path to walk on.
There's the heartbreaks
and smiles.
And the waiting,
for someone to pick up your world. --
Heavy hearted.
But I'm still loving,
I'm still smiling
and picking myself back up.
And sometimes you'll feel like you're
walking on broken glass with no shoes on.
There'll be those days when your bones ache because you're so hurt.
But don't stop loving.
Someone will pick up your world.
So don't you give up.
For I'm still smiling,
I'm still loving.
And love for me ain't no easy path to walk on.

-Taylor Cosey, 15

1 Corinthians 13:1-13

If I speak in the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a tinkling symbol.  And if I have prophecy and know all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.  And if I dole out all my goods, and if I deliver my body that I may boast but have not love, nothing I am profited. Love is long suffering, love is kind, it is not jealous, love does not boast, it is not inflated. It is not discourteous, it is not selfish, it is not irritable, it does not enumerate the evil. It does not rejoice over the wrong, but rejoices in the truth    It covers all things, it has faith for all things, it hopes in all things, it endures in all things. Love never falls in ruins; but whether prophecies, they will be abolished; or tongues, they will cease; or knowledge, it will be superseded. For we know in part and we prophecy in part. But when the perfect comes, the imperfect will be superseded.   When I was an infant, I spoke as an infant, I reckoned as an infant; when I became [an adult], I abolished the things of the infant.  For now we see through a mirror in an enigma, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know as also I was fully known.  But now remains  faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

The Getaway

No words I can say.

No words could I write to iterate why or how I feel this way.

Through this touch I pray you can feel me.

The transfer of energy from one body to the next.

It’s like the hope that filled you when you learned to ride a bike.

You closed your eyes tights.

Let your head fall back as the wind whipped your hair and face.

You breathed in the scent of autumn,

And prayed like hell you didn’t fall and bloody your knees.

Your loss of control is greeted by the embrace of the grass.

Breathing hard, your chest rose and fell. 

A smile crawled across your little, flushed face as you began to laugh.

Exhilarated in disbelief,

Realizing you finally did it.

Firmly your hand grips my hip as we lay side by side.

It lets me know you’re here.

You lend me your lips softly.

They let me know its all right.

I take your face in my hands,

All bad I’ve immediately forgot.

Sweet, sweet, sweet.

Wrapping me in you.

Swimming, growing, filling.

Our breath shortens and the thickened air encases us.

We’re lingering somewhere between here and there.

Each movement is steady.

Each movement is taking me down.

Each movement takes us to our getaway.

I escape in you, and you into me.  

Pit

I feel it move into me. Filling in all the empty spaces. Yet when it takes me over I feel emptier. This darkness brews. Each time it comes and goes it leaves a little more of itself behind. Each time it comes, its visits seem more extended than the last. At its arrival, I am enraged. It is a slow, burning fire deep in the heart of me. During these times I am not quick to anger nor do I display any true emotions. I intentionally hurt people and take pleasure in it. Sucking out their joy, hope, and happiness they have ever found in me pleases, feeds, and nurtures me. I become a glutton for punishing. I seek to be left alone. I isolate myself and socializing becomes achingly unbearable. The only people I can speak freely to are the ones who may not understand but do accept the darkness within me. I’m sinister. There is evil in this. I can physically feel the change in me. My facial expressions dement. This has been me since I can remember. Anytime it comes I feel like it’s an old friend. I know it wants to permanently take hold of me. I am considering it. 

The Tree: A Short Prose About Evolving Love.

       I had a dream of a tree. Little hands touching its thick, rough trunk. Little laughs filling the air and little feet running barefoot around the base. “I’m going to catch you.” Narrowly the little hand misses the cloth that covers the other’s sun kissed back. Large grey clouds move to cover the bright life-baring source of their joy. The wide eyes fill with confusion and the little feet stand still. Looking up to the heavens there is a great change brewing.  The massive, dark content moves viciously. Looking down, the feet, hands, and bodies have now grown.  Time seems to have swept by without either’s realizing it. Looking back from each other and then to themselves again, they move their hands over their bodies in disbelief. Thoughts? There aren’t any that can be comprehensively strung together to gather one cohesive assessment. Its more like hundreds of thousands smaller thoughts flying around but not sticking.

            “How did we get to be this way?” says one to the other.

            “I’m not sure, but it happened so fast.” the other replied.

            No longer looking at each other with such young affection, but rather skepticism takes its place.           

      Now, clearly shown are the blemishes and hiccups that seemed invisible when everything was much smaller. 

No Lady should die without having...

A fur. Sorry PETA, but furs are beautiful and feel amazing on the skin. It definitely is a status symbol. 

A string of pearls. Classic and timeless. 

A Birkin Bag. Any woman who knows, knows that this is the most sought after bag. Beautiful and well worth the $9,000 - $34,000 price tag (if you're able). It comes in an array of colors, textures, and sizes.  Every young lady should aspire to have one in her possession one day. 

Diamond Studs. Simple and clean. These babies can pull together a look effortlessly. 

A piece of Louis Vuitton luggage. Timeless.

The New Year.

        The new year always seems to have people feeling obligated to make "resolutions" that they will never stick to; i.e. This year I will drink more water, not cuss, workout every day, go to church every Sunday, not procrastinate, etc. I never say what I intend to do differently out loud in order to avoid jinxing myself. I will say that this year will bring many, many changes that I am so very excited for.