MOST [Many] AFROCENTRISTS ON YOUTUBE ARE DUMB

had to post this one.. wow

Help Me

How do you tell your heart not to feel? How do you make it cold? Make it numb? How can you train it not to get attached to someone so wonderful, or rather, someone who it sees as wonderful? How can you make it ignore his concern, his caring, his affection?

How can you get it on the same page as your rational mind? How can you convince it how wrong this is for you? How can you stop it from skipping a beat when he says your name? How can you make it forget how it once longed for him? How can you make it realize how much better off it is now that the attachment has been severed? How can you prevent it from thinking of him again? Remembering how good it felt when he let you in, made you part of his world? When you knew you were thought about, cared about, and possibly longed for? How can you make it forget when you can't forget yourself?!

You remember how your breath caught in your throat when he looked at you. You remember that tingle down your spine when he smiled at you. You remember wondering if it was more than a crush, more than infatuation you felt. Wondering if he felt it too. Looking in his eyes believing he did. Refusing to believe he didn't. Stupid! of course he didn't! He would have told you! He would have shown you! He wouldn't have vanished from your life. He wouldn't have slinked into the shadows! Stupid heart, he never loved you! Love? Are you crazy? Why even say the word?? It sickens me that it'd even be conceptualized. Time to put this foolish thing, this heart, away. It never leads to anything but exhausted misery. It runs headlong into fantasy not fact.. emotion not rationality.. and each time loses a bit of itself... So it's over, I'm done, I'm putting it away...


If I only knew how...

Untitled

"Another child of pen and pad... " - Raxxie

So many things I want to tell you,
But I don’t even have the words
So many chances I’ve had to say them
But still they go unheard

So many hours I’ve contemplated
Whether my silence was a curse
So many times I’ve sat wondering
If I’d only make things worse

So many times I’ve gotten closer
To saying how I feel
So many times you’ve probed me wondering
If it were really real

So many ways to say I love you
But no one way can truly describe
So everyday it kills me slowly
That my love, I’m forced to hide

"...a slave to my pen" - Raxxie

...What if?

What if I told you everything? What if I finally let it out after years of hiding and stepping aside and simply being too dumb to admit it before? What if I told you that it’s grown since then? What if I told you that what’s in my heart has deepened and evolved? What if it’s something so big now that I can’t even define it? Can’t even describe it?

What if I were close to you? What if I looked into your eyes? What if it were as it were but this time around I responded differently? What if I didn’t wimp out? What if I were completely, uninhibitedly honest? What if I bore my soul? What if you found out that I loved you too? What if it were all worth the wait? What if I apologized for not telling you sooner? What if you still loved me?

What if I kissed you? Just out of the blue, what if I did? What if that’s all it took? What if you held me? What if you kissed me back? What if everything changed and all was as it should have been all along? What if all that’s standing between our happily ever after, is one stolen moment alone together?

But, what if I’m too late? What if I missed my chance? What if you’re happy without me? What if you don’t still wonder? What if it’s really over? What if I waited too long to realize it? What if I got my epiphany too late? What if it’s pointless now? *sigh* What if?

Raxxie 4.0

As I Rant...

Let's get personal for a minute y'all. See, I've had one or two things on my mind lately. This is one though that I want to get off my chest and I think this is the perfect place to say it. Anyone who wants to read it can, without it being directed to anyone in particular.

For those of you who don't know, I am different. I'm unlike anyone else you've ever encountered, dated, spoken to, and the list goes on. I don't think like the typical woman (if there is such a thing). I don't act like her, I don't speak like her, I don't relate to others like her, I don't present myself the way she does. I don't play her games, I don't use her tricks, I don't accept what she accepts, I don't reject what she rejects. Period. I am not her.

See, I know that lots of women claim to be different from other women but considering how annoyed I am with the ways of the typical woman I can guarantee that I am not her. In fact, I loath her. She sends a bad message to men about the rest of us. Gold-digging, dominating, loud, manipulative, moody, temperamental, superficial, confused, and confusing. That's how they see us because of her.

What frustrates me however is that because I am an obvious member of the female race it is automatically assumed that I can be treated like the typical woman and that's cool. Nuh uh homie.

I hate games. Don't play 'em. I hate lines. Don't say 'em. If I say no, there's a reason. If I say wait, it's for a season. Don't need a papi homie, I'm grown. If I show no interest, leave me alone. If you ignore me, I'll let you go. I don't beg attention, just so you know. When I love, I love deep. So I got no patience for men who creep. Moving forward I aim high. Get on my level or don't apply. It ain't that hard to be with me. Just go deeper than what you see. Those who love me, are those who know me. If you want me, then baby show me. I can leave you wanting more, just leave the B.S at the door. I won't put up with it my dear. The average woman isn't here.

I'm just sick of the B.S y'all. You don't need a show and fanfare. You don't need a hot car. You don't need to buy me a damn thing. All you gotta do is be sincere and be you. If you're not real with me, I will find you out. There's no escaping it. Treat me how you want me to treat you. To mess up (past a certain point) is to miss out. I won't fight you. You don't have to want me but damn, if you do don't screw around. Cuz if it's over, it' over. I don't backtrack. I learn my lesson and move on. Now I'm just venting.. geez. If you want me, act like it. If you don't then DON'T! I cannot stress this enough. ARGH.. lemmy stop.. cuz this has the potential to go on for an eternity and a half.

Peace

The New Unstoppable Records

Definitely worth the listen!

Black is Beautiful

Jekyll & Hyde

Time..

A simple enough concept... though we often forget it has more than one side.

On the one hand we see its fluidity.. its relativity.. there have been theories written on the subject.

Cuz really lets look at it. Time can be given. Time can be spent. Time can be shared. Time can be spared. Time can be wasted. Time can be savored.

Time is lost, time is borrowed, time is squandered... Time is begged for.

Time is too slow when you're in pain. Too slow when you're waiting for a blessing, a change, a sign, a person you miss. It's too slow when anticipating a touch, a kind word, a kiss...

Time is too fast when you get what you've waited for. When your blessing is being poured out, when the pain subsides, when the change is happening, when the sign is playing out, when you see that person again. In those times, no touch is long enough. Kind words end too quickly. Each kiss is too brief.

Yes, time is fluid... but we seem to forget its other side. It's unyielding, unforgiving, unchanging, immovable nature. We forget its rigidity. Time is no respecter of persons.. it will not bend in its course..

Time is like the surf on the mountain's face... it wears away.. it erodes, until memories and experiences fade. We forget how much we cared.. we forget how disappointed we were.. we forget how much we shared... Time heals all wounds only because it washes them away... it smooths them down until all scars are erased.

Time doesn't halt for anyone... under any circumstance.. So, that blessing won't last forever, that change will be forgotten, the sign will fade, the person will leave you. Your skin will forget the warmth of the touch, your ears will forget the sound of his voice, your lips will forget the sweetness of his kiss.. and it's because time steals it... it passes along and tares bits and pieces of us as it goes on its way..

Before you know it, it's like every good thing you got never came. Shared moments never happened. Conversations never transpired. Feelings never manifested. Secrets never brought to the light. Hearts and desires never exposed.

See, time is as merciful as it is unyielding... as cruel as it is kind.. it is its own polar opposite... The worlds greatest oxymoron.. The supreme contradiction. A living, breathing, Jekyll and Hyde...

Alone...

In My Mind

R.I.P Dear Love Song

What happened to the love song?
Don't you remember a time when a song made you feel something that surpassed the mere physical aspect of relationships? Songs used to have the power to speak words unspoken. To express desires and emotion that couldn't be expressed any other way. Do you remember where you were when you first heard "Back at One?" I do. It was at a grade seven school dance. It was my first slow dance with a boy. Even though I knew him, and we were friends I was nervous, but I sang along with Brian McKnight. Even now, I can't hear the song without it resonating deeply.. See that? When was the last time a song did that to you?

There were songs that applied to our lives, songs we could relate to. Remember "Have you ever?" I know you do. And don't all of us have someone from our past or present that the song applies to? I know I do.

There were songs that were so saturated with raw emotion that if you found yourself in a similar situation could bring you nearly to tears... after my 1st break-up I couldn't even listen to "Missing You." (112).

The notion of the love song has become nearly extinct since the turn of the century. Booty and sex are all that we hear about. Remember when there was a difference between love and sex? Now a days its as if they've become synonymous. its sad. i miss the love song. the love song helped make me who i am today. the love helped shape me. but it seems now that the love song has died. so this is its eulogy... R.I.P dear love song, you will be missed.

The Pigeon and the Peacock

Once upon a time there was a Woman. She thought well of herself, held herself in high regard and in turn was able to think the same of others. She loved the people in her life deeply, and thought of them fondly. She laughed, cried, fell, and got up as we all do.

One day as she carried on with her life, and when she least expected it she caught the eye of two men. Not one, but two. She of course was flattered.

Man-number-one approached her directly, forcefully, and flirtatiously. He made poetic declarations of emotion, and eloquent descriptions of her beauty. He bought her gifts. He took her places. He was affectionate. He was romantic. He sought to sweep her off her feet. He wanted her all to himself. He made it his mission to be exactly what she wanted. She was bedazzled that such a man had found interest in her.

Man-number-two looked on as Man-number-one did all this and was crestfallen. He had no large sums of money. He had no flowery words. He had no exotic destinations. And though he longed to be romantic with the Woman his ideas of romantic gestures paled in comparison to Man-number-one's. So, he gave what he had. He walked her to class. He called her when she was sick. He worried about her. He prayed about her. He stayed up late nights talking to her about nothing and everything. He dreamed about her. He offered a listening ear. He offered a strong arm. He offered a tender heart. He told her things he told no one, all in an effort to have a connection with this Woman. He became her confidant. He became her friend.

One day, Man-number-two sat alone. He was deeply troubled. The Woman hadn't heard from him in a day or so and became worried. She sought him out.
"What's wrong?" She asked when she found him.
"Why are you here?" He replied. "Why aren't you with 'Him'?"
"I was worried about you."
He looked into her eyes and asked her a question that had troubled him for so long.
"Why do you worry yourself with me when you have Him? He gives you everything your heart could desire."
She was shocked at the question but the shock passed as she looked back at him, realizing the depths that the question had surfaced from. Her face softened and she replied.
"He is romantic, He is generous, He is public with his affections. He knows what to say. He knows what to do. He is what most women dream of." She paused. "Then there's you. You brought me soup because I was sick. You held my hand because I was scared. You dried my tears because I couldn't. You walked with me, because alone, I wouldn't. He sees my tears, You know the reason. He gave from his pocket, You gave from your soul. He used flowery words, You said it all without uttering a single one. He shows me what I want to see, You show me what I need to see. He shows affection, but You show me love. You listen. You understand. In your quietness I see you, not the pomp and circumstance but you. Your motives. Your desires."

He couldn't believe what he heard. He'd impressed her without being "impressive." He'd shown Her his worth without putting on a show. He'd given Her what she needed not to win Her over but because He'd been won over. He was the man she loved not because He gave what he had, but because he gave who He was. He bore His soul and She responded. He gave His love and She accepted. Not because He expected a reward but because He loved her too much to do otherwise. The Pigeon beat the Peacock.

A Marriage

The joining of two souls. Becoming one flesh. These are the things that mark the sacred union of marriage. Only a few years ago when I was younger than I am now, I experienced such a union. This is the story of the courtship and marriage of pen and pad.

Each lived happily long before they met, for each had many uses before their love existed. They carried on blissfully unaware that they were both grossly incomplete. For you see when one is on their own, they are ignorant to their lack of wholeness. Just as one cannot miss a dessert without experiencing its taste, once cannot see their own state of unfinishedness without finding their other half. So, on they went, each on their separate ways. The pen doing the writing and the pad receiving the writing of others. Neither making a significant impact. Menial were their tasks, mediocre the products, until one day a third party entered into the equation. Me. Yes I am the narrator of this tale but also am I a character. Even more, I am the catalyst! For if not for my inspiration and introduction their love would never have been ignited.

On a day like any other I sat before the familiar pen and the familiar pad and on a whim suggested they dance. Neither had previously considered the possibility but since neither had any reason to object, they obliged me. What happened next was nothing short of breathtaking! They danced ballads, and epics. They danced sonnets and haikus. They danced stories both long and short. They danced romance and thriller and drama. And as the power of their dance continued to grow they fell madly in love.

That very night they discovered their desire for one another and neither could contain themselves. They were consumed by the flames of their longing and though shy at first, adoration for one another broke down the barriers of their insecurity. The wedding followed suit and the exchange of vows was more beautiful than I could endure. All present shed tears because they danced their commitment to one another.

They danced words of undying, unyielding, unrelenting love. The type of love that survives the test of time and temptation. The type of love that heals wounded hearts & makes men fly on wings of self-worth. The type of love that cannot be bought or sold, lost or found, only given and shared.

The honeymoon was long and deep, and years of blissful weddedness followed. The story however isn’t over. Oh no. For you see, once honeymoon is ended and time passes, the vows given during the wedding grow hazy and are forgotten. The fresh memories of passionate love fade and are lost as life continues on.

Within time, pen and pad became estranged. They forgot the reason for their love. They forgot the products of their love. The flame was quickly going out. They both returned to the menial tasks of their previous lives. Tasks with no beauty or magic. I didn’t know how to help, nor was I aware that help was needed. You see, inspiration, my lover, had eluded me some time prior. But as inspiration and I longed for that which we’d lost we were reunited, and sought to do the same for our dear friends, pen & pad.

We forced them to join us. The music began to play. They both knew the song, inspiration’s song. They began to remember their first introduction to it and all the beauty which ensued. They gazed longingly at one another and began to dance once more.

This is where the story pauses, not ends, but pauses because their dance is still strengthening. My beloved inspiration has saturated them with his song and they dance on. They dance right this moment to you, their audience. This very story you see is the product of their dance, of their marriage, of their love. The story will continue while we, the components, are present. Inspiration to writer (me), and pen to pad.

Simply Me

Hello world, allow me to introduce myself. Raxxie is what I'm affectionately called. It was a name given to me by my father. So now that the introductions have been covered we can get into my reason for being here. Put simply, I love to write. I am a writer by nature. The only thing I've done longer than writing is singing which is the other love of my life. The third and most important is my relationship with Christ which I'll address at some point.

Basically I want to share myself with the world, as it were, and so this blog shall be my outlet. Here is where everything will be shared in a way that can be related to. You'll see what I mean in time. So here I am, for you to see. Transparant to the world, my thoughts and feelings through my pen; the mightiest of all weapons.