weekendparadise.

off for a break this week.

much needed.

after ALL the dramas.

I'm hungry.

can't decide between pasta or fries.

  what are you up to this weekend?

post.vday.

i asked him
blue roses or red roses?
he answers
i'll buy what ever i'm feeling.

mancrush.

 'its not a bag. its a satchel'

betterstrangerdays.

i walked home.
heavy hearted
tired
...still wrapped up over the 'incident' from the boy.
i must have looked like i was about to cry.
i was trying not to cry.

a boy came up to me
reaches for me shoulders
and hands me a chocolate bar.
.
.
.
happy valentine's day- he smiled
i blinked and forced a smile.

'thank you'

i walked on.
and looked down at my newly acquired chocolate bar.

in those moments when you feel most unloved
it IS a miracle that a stranger can step up
and take away that pain
even for a moment.

perhaps thousands of chocolates were handed out today
to those lucky enough to pass him by.
but i'd like to think that my chocolate was my little miracle of the day

on a note attached to the chocolate were the words ' God loves you'
i don't believe in God.
but it feels good
to know that someone loves you.
no matter what.

to know that someone out there
took the time out
to hand out free chocolates
for all us lost souls.

andshelivedhappilyeverafter.the.end.

so i stood there and waited. the boy looks on and gives a nod.
a girl turns and smiles. at me. and then asked- to a friend. who i was.
i turn. the boy looks on.
i smile. and waited.
nope.
nothing.
i glance over. the girl's still there.
i sigh.
and waited.
still nothing.
he grabs his bags and walks me out.
the girl asks one more time
as i pass her by
who is she?
who was she?


i don't know love.

i don't know.

aspotofcolourwilldousgood.

theprincesswhoworelouboutins.

she called me a princess.
yes.
damn straight.
thats what she called me.
her first impression of me- me, wearing my louboutins (NOT-they're just red-soled) and she tells me she's worried she might have to work with a princess.
Well, i'll be damned.
Bring on the fashion gods, the labels and all its gory.
since when did women became labelled 'princesses' because we're in HIGH heels?
are we that un-conformed to the reality of the 21st century women??
you know- the whole 'be tough and strong BUT still being able to retain a hint of feminism?
isn't that what HIGH heels bring to the board?
Power/SEX/Woman

Now-
she thinks i'm ghetto'.

i resign to the subjection of being judge.
first impressions count.
from the words of one of me wiser mates-

'booya mutherfuckas'

my most 'princess-y' self.

red lipstick and all.
.
.
.
least i tried with the red.

lightersexiernote.

who made these babies??? !!

damn- those notes are in my documents.

somewhere.

pls be there.

pretend/not.

Being here (here being in this space-time-place-continuum)  makes me angry.

'Its hard to be happy here'- someone said to me- all doe-eyed and of course- SAD.

I stared back in disbelief.

FINALLY. someone summed up all my years of misery 'here'.

it IS hard to be HAPPY 'here'.

i'm angry- no- NOT grumpy even. JUST angry.

Everyday I make my way through this one bus stop.

filled with people ALL the time.

standing- walking through

knocking the gajibbies off of me

every SINGLE day.

Jay Z humming in my headphones- rappin' bout' life being a beach chair

ALL that's busting through my head though

is this incomprehensible need to feel ANGRY

with

this heat.

these people.

the noise.

the pretense.

THIS city.

City slicker-i sure ain't.

i'm going to hell.

with every single death wish i have in my head.

aren't i?

someone save my soul. *smiles*

theCOKEad.

                                                               lovin' it.