Venting Adorned in Poetical Face Paint...

I feel like everrryone can relate to this to an extent...that's the funny part. We're all so connected in our forms and manners of disconnection in hopes of self-understanding. But well, sometimes you don't need anyone to relate to you, you just need to be you...you need to be able to SCREAM and be left completely alone. You may want the whole world to HEAR you and could really give less of a fuck if anyone actually LISTENS...just as long as you weren't told..."Hey, stop shouting"...when in actuality you're just breathing...LOUDLY.

This is not poetry...this is me venting...this is me telling you, Hey! how ya doing...actually, no 'how ya doing,' just me telling you how I feel. This is what's driving me insane at the current moment...this is what's making me feel like me yesterday made more sense than me today and me tomorrow is my only hope for today...this is what's making it excruciating to have a conversation of substance with 99% of the population 99% of the time. This is why I smoke...regularly...this is why I cry in the name of joy and laugh in moments of suffering. This is why I'm me and you're you and we vibe AMAZINGLY or not...at...all (despite what you may think). This is not a cry for help, it is a testimonial of what is...I'm not requesting pity, nor understanding...I don't want a follow-up conversation...that's why I'm writing this as opposed to speaking this...although...This is not poetry.

This is the way my hand holds my heart, my fingers yell, my pen screams, my notepad processes and my ink bleeds...for me...in the name of MY understanding. This is venting. This is not a letter...there is no 'Dear so-and-so'...or 'To Whom It May Concern'...it may concern no one. I'm fine with that. Actually I prefer it that way, because if you're concerned, you shouldn't be and having to UN-concern you would only deplete me of more energy which has already seeped and drained through my...vents...pun intended. This is not poetry.

If I wanted pity and/or attention I would have let myself cry in front of all of you a long time ago...I'll cry later...Otherwise, I wouldn't have gotten so good at smiling...all the time. I would've made you feel lucky...or hate yourself...or hate me...for complaining so much, about the most insignificant matters of life...of your life...because those matters don't really matter to anyone but yourself, let alone hold any matter of weight in life...pun intended. But...I listen...I smile, laugh, bitch...about the stupid shit, so you'll never really know what I'm venting about...you wouldn't understand anyway...there is no room for interpretation...This is not poetry.

This is not a rant...well, maybe a little...this is me venting. Pumping air out of my lungs, my words escaping breath, seeking refuge from ears, so they can fall and plummet into an abyss that lies somewhere between Pg. 0 and infinite...absorbed and eternally embraced... and only existing...here. This is me figuring out where my loyalties lie...where my words' best interests are the topic of non-discussion...where they resonate past your perception and are silently heard. This is me telling you I know what's best for me without telling you a damn thing...not to mention, I refuse to take advice from someone just as, if not more emotionally and mentally challenged than myself...no thank you...no critiques necessary...

This is not poetry.



- © 2010 by Jessica Freites

The Assault on Emotional Intelligence (EQ)

For me to write this is almost self-defeating...I shouldn't acknowledge human weakness, right?...actually I should, it's probably one of the only conditions WE all have in common...and this here...this is MY platform, MY stage, MY "connection" to relating, helping YOU help ME...
MY ego might like to believe...
I might just be helping YOU...speaking on behalf of YOU, YOU and YOU...oh and YOU too....making the other YOU maybe step back relax, inhale and prevent your other inner YOU from acting like a blithering idiot...the one standing over there...yeah, HIM...or HER.
But we're all ONE...right?...that's what one of my YOUs is telling me to tell YOU...

My insecure ME is smirking as YOU read this...thank YOU for that.

By definition, 50% of the population is below average -- where intelligence is concerned...look around...which one of YOU is it?

And what kind of intelligence are we talking about here??...the one that got a 1400 on the SATs?...no, no. The one that can memorize and recite formulas and verses and equations
and put to rest the rest of anything taken out of context found in a text-book...or even a text?...
shake...
MY...
head...

Nahhhh, not that one. Wait, wait...lemme think, I almost got it, I feel it, I can't really describe it...I mean, YOUUUUU know?...right? Common sense isn't common and feelings are often the victims of perpetual serial suicide. We hold on to insecurity more than we do love...oh wait, that's cause we can't hold on to love...
it holds on to us,
if it chooses...

Let me rephrase that; we grasp insecurity firmly, violently, passionately pressed to our chest...with nails carving "I LOVE YOU" in so deeply that the pool of blood on the floor leaves us where we started...
alone,
with only a reflection at best...

But yet...
we keep grasping tighter and deeper and longer...Time doesn't even have this much dedication...and our loyalty is measured by our own emotional destruction...

We love to hate love...

We love to hate...ourselves...

MY wrists have converted to jackhammers and now I can barely see the bits of my nailbeds because they're nailed in,
embedded
in-bed-dead
tossing and turning, drowning in red-rum nightmares, hemorrhaging hearts,
cesspool typhoons, thimbled fingers nailing looms,
sewing towels to sop up the mess...fabric smiles to shield, using them to fight...
ourselves and the aborted notions of
future happiness.

Oh insecurity...
emotional intelligence only has so much patience for your antics...

the same insecurity that forces a male to think more with his head's foreskin...
to feel like the MAN upon
penetration,
to say "I Love You's" one day, I never cared the next, let's fuck on the third, and c'mon you always knew you were my favorite...
Let's be together now, before I was scared...
I wasn't sure if you'd always be there, I miss you, I miss your stare...
but wait let me figure out how to keep the others engaged...you know, just in case...you go astray...
I'm still the MAN...they still see me...I don't see them though, it's only you...
I just keep them around to remind me how special you are...
You don't feel the same?...the memory of our lie isn't entertaining to you, you're not amused by my games?
It's a waste of time?...Oh no???
Well fuck you, you're just another chickenhead hoe..anyway...

the same insecurity that has her more concerned with destroying her past lovers love interests than nurturing the self-love which she continues to neglect...
We have so much history, I can't let you leave...
you complete me...
I'm loyal, so loyal I'll kill myself and kill you
all in the name of a love that doesn't even acknowledge absolute truth...
and I'll hold on and grip, and to shreds I will make sure to rip
anything that destroys my wedding bell dreams...
even if the memory of we is really a nightmare...
even if it means you hating me and me hating you
but it doesn't matter cause as long as I own you
in my playhouse then I can play house and pretend there's a we and to be the woman
I will never know as me...

the same insecurity that has my ethnic brethren chillen at the bottom of economic stepladders because a pair of fly kicks and stacks fatter than the content of our gray matter is what really matters...right?...
Let them know how proud you are, how loud you can scream
BORICUA!! DOMINCANO!! LATINO!!...
let them know how loud your bass thumps, how to thump on your children's temples and self-esteem,
how to instill...fear...
how to have THE MAN fear you...
just make sure you clock in on time so THE MAN can keep feeding you...
Make sure your hair and nails are done,
the gold on your chest lies precisely in sight...the gems in your ears make me you a conquistador queen...
You just haven't conquered how to feed your children food that won't poison their Spanglish tongues and not turn them into
illiterate fiends....

Insecurity, the imaginary best friend we never had...

In-Security; i.e., NON-Secure...Does that make any sense???? holding on to the non-secure???...

"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and
expecting different results. "

-Benjamin Franklin


And yet these insecurity cycles continue...we see them in every aspect of society...every human, every culture, every generation, every relationship, every YOU, every ME, every WE...and we embrace them more than truth...we fight wars over them, we commit "crimes of passion" over them, we raise future emotional terrorists because of our need to project these wounds onto the exact beings which are supposed to be products of our "love" and in doing so we continue to fail miserably on the Emotional Intelligence scale. We forget that love predates us...It is not dependent upon our definition. We must learn its definition, we must live its definition...even if we can't write a 1500 word SAT essay on it.

It exists with or without YOU...it is not conditioned upon us and our insecurities...which means it is bigger than and more powerful than ALL of us...

Let love condition YOU...



- © 2010 by Jessica Freites

Untitled Love Poem

The beauty often lies in the shadows…
where the curves and dips lurk
awaiting the shadows of another

Only in the coolest of shade
such deeply misunderstood trenches are
a bed bred of
warm breath n’
hot sweat
enough passion and sex
to keep the dimming lighthouse
within ya chest
fueled,
beaming, gleaming and streaming
up
massaging the nape of your neck
deep tissuing your spinal cortex
and
surging, cracking and blasting
the thick walls of your tunnel vision mask n’
Now,
the same curves and dips are baskin’ in
….light…
in the dance of
rays n’ wind
….bright…
just raise ya hand
…right…
…never the left…
Feel me.

See,
cause, I was chillen
alone, numb and cold
in my maximum security snowglobe
Forced to reflect upon walls
of tainted mirrors made of distorted glass
Pictures painting self-portraits portraying crystal ball futures
laden of false pasts…

My solitary snowglobe…

But you,
you helped me bust
through the frosted dome…
(all three of them…ha)

And now the shards of broken glass
reflect spiderglassed glimmers
of memories past
With the sun’s hand reaching down
to wipe away the debris of dust
clouding future’s path
No more are we on the inside looking out
nor merely on the outside looking in
We’re IN our outside
and OUTISDE our in
and when we philosophize and dwell upon
each other’s skin
there’s a loophole in time
and a shift in spatial atmospheric
conditions
That when we breathe to each other
we generate….wind
So bold and so transcendent
Sweeping away the still hollow solitudes
of snowglobes within

So put ya right hand up and
FEEL ME.
Feel his words breathe…
You take my breath away…
actually,
I gave it to you willingly.
Let that same breath
be the oxygen that lights THAT flame
within ya chest
guarding it
with a bullet proof vest…
My hide-out vestibule
for blind love-fools
shell-shocked
from cherub bows and arrows
and hollow tip travels
into the cores of
right and left ventricles
With shock absorbent forces
to absorb the clamorous stampede
of horses
who’ve trampled my heart
in previous affairs
with an
“I’ll always be there…”
type of sentiment

But you…you’re different
Cause you,
You make me feel a certain kinda way
You know, that certain kinda way when your glances
play tag…
that glance you get withdrawals from and fiend for
that glance that later develops into a stare
A stare…that’s always lingering
riiiiiiiight….there.
Cause regardless of your physical
where…
abouts
there is no doubt
that you SEE me
You see me,
You know me,
You HOLD me with your gaze
speaking to me
at my dream’s peak
and as intimidatingly
as it may be

I want it…

That feeling
You know that feelin’
you be feelin’
when you’re feelin’ like ya illin’
like a group of children
who just
went in on
some sugary sweet
Sour Patch chilerrrins
So sweet, so so so sooo sweet
You’re gonna need
some new fillings
to bite, to suck, to lick, to fuck
to harness your inner smut…
Well,
that’s the other side of that certain kinda way feelin’
When the idea of his seminal seed
implants itself into your
bed of thought
to sprout various versions of perversions
adorned in thoughts of romance
n’
holding hands
n’
all that corny shit
that’s got you smitten,
lifted
off into an outer planetary trip
trippin’
off endorphins
cause the horizons of bodies in different orbits
make me want to astral project myself
into your landscape’s orifices.
To learn the shadow of your eclipse
and experience the constellation of your
Big Dip-
per
and I’ll stay and get lost in you and you’ll get lost in me
just to come to realize that
we
as one
are universal consciousness in love

The beauty often lies in the shadows…
where the curves and dips lurk
awaiting the shadows of another



- © 2010 by Jessica Freites

No Homo - You're Gay

"You can't be fuckin people in the ass and say that you're a gangsta" Thank you Method Man for the clarification.

Hotsauce

The Count is a Pimperish Dirtbag

FRUITY PEBBLE PIMPIN'

He wears a gaudy robe, has a foreign accent, all black errrthang underneath, tight ass edge at all times (no stuble) and lives in a dope ass mansion...sounds like some suave dirtbaggin' goin' on to me.

I Heart This...

and this

and this song...

and poopies...