The Ink Of The Timeless

We used to live in eternity together. And after I was torn from that cluster of souls, I traced shadows of your name with five month young fingers on the walls of my mothers womb. I cried during birth because you weren't here with me yet. And I've waited my whole life to ask you for directions on how to get back.

Because East Of My City...

Before I ask you for your heart,
Let me ask you for your forgiveness.
- I shouldn't of asked you to fly.
God is an audience,
So I can't have you to myself above the clouds.
When it comes to you I'm selfish.
And to him I'm nothing but ill company,
sent to plummet below the heavens,
because when he asked me to,
I had refused to make love to the Sun.
I'd rather birth my light with you.
And fill your heart with the florescence angels dance upon,
Because before I stole away from the sky,
my lips took a piece of heaven with them.
I'll tear the hues out of skies for you if you'd ask.
Because I know more than anything,
You'll hold me down;
and I never knew before you how to embrace gravity.
Saturn's rings belong on your finger.
I've learned to be Atlas,
the architect of my shoulder blades,
arched them perfectly,
to carry heavens up on my back.
So if God rejects us,
you could build your own atop of me.
Read me like sheet music,
Hold me close,
and dance to my song.
We'll let the lyrics write themselves.

Sounds of the City

Dopeness.
That took place about two months ago.
My homegirl wrote.
I loved her piece, so I responded off it.

New York
Mayte

He's reminiscent of night time New York
wears labels like streets signs
smells better than home before pollution claims the scent
eyes like skyscraper windows
that sparkle like stars on a backdrop of unfulfilled stereotypes
he pretends to be cool
pretends to be the gold paved streets that I see in my
hand-me-down immigrant dreams
but i know the truth
know that no yellow brick road will ever lay beneath his feet
i know how to find his pain hidden among alleyways
his own light
scares him
so i'll let him borrow some of mine
and in the event
that New York City is rendered unconscious and
we are thrusted into darkness once again
i'll make sure he still shines
cause he is indescribable
so i'm reduced to
rambling and slight stutters
syllables and words that sound like what they mean
oooh's and aah's
yes's and stay with me's
have all garnered new found respect in my vocabulary
he just looks so good
doesn't compare me to Bronx streetlights
but just like the Queens he adores
he spends his nights with me
knighting me humble, caressing the crown of my head
traces hands along my abdomen
confusing me with handrails
plays music on the ribs i borrow from him
like subway entertainment
so i offer him pennies for his thoughts
and body heat in exchange for potential
cause i want to ride this out
take it to the end of the tracks
and as he pulls in and tags my station
i want to conduct him a symphony
of gunshots that sound like breakbeats
he can be as dangerous as
tourists claim this to be
the streets have no rules
so i should proceed with caution
should i proceed at all
and all i want is to write my intentions
into his genetic make up
so he can't make up excuses for running
cause his lips seem to take more than just my breath away
he's taken our past
and kissed it away like childhood injuries
no wonder i call him my boo
reverting back to childlike ways
i just want to play hopscotch on his freckles
and swim in the space created between curve of neck and collarbone
place quarters on his chest
and convert bellybutton into wishing well
he just looks that good
almost forbidden
like breaking curfew in the city of insomniacs
where happily ever afters
are best kept to 3am rendezvous
the same time New York City breathes
and slightly snores
chest elevated, raising and dropping
to his heartbeat
he ends up being the pulse of the city i'm comparing him to
the soul of the streets mimick the soles of his sneakers
life in his veins like traffic
i want to map his idiosyncrasies on my skin
carry his lips on my spine like backpacks
cause he
in all his subdued flory
reminds me
that in a city of millions
sometimes
all you need is
one.

New Jerz
Me

She's reminiscent of night time New York..
But I just view from afar,
because east of my city,
dreams seem to be at an infinite distance.
And so I chill,
wondering if she knows I'm just across the water.
With that New York insignia threaded on my fitted,
I walk around with her on my mind all day.
I check the skyline intently,
And think of her smile,
Midas hues canvassed
Unevenly against concrete slabs,
reminding me that,
her light will always be distinguished.
Refined, and so cosmopolitan,
Urban outfitter swag complete with,
hips I want my hands to make their west side story.
I want our limbs to be,
spacious highways and botched intersections,
with no inclination to stop movement.
We'll just collide.
No telltale signs of an outside world.
Sounds that escape us like backfired exhausts,
Complete with obvious exhaustion,
but still, no acknowledgment of disruption
existing in a place where our sound belongs.
Traversing her tunnels like subway cars,
Tagging her insides with my ink,
and leaving my signature audaciously on her skin.
I got that Jerz slang and talk,
With emphasis on AW's,
so I say things like Caw-fee,
Stealing away the O's,
thinking she could put them to better use.
In a city that never sleeps,
I'm fine with pillow talk that,
extends to skirmishes underneath sheets.
Moans and incomprehensible mutterings,
Lisps that take advantage of my anxiousness,
So syllables fall like dominoes,
Till the only thing she hears is my pulse.
She loves to leave my ego shattered,
Paper-thin and scattered like fliers on downtown streets.
Pushing through my insecurities like turnstiles,
As my confidence makes brief stops to carry us,
on track to where forever is supposed to be.
She's got baggage,
so like a Port Authority passenger,
I feel inclined to want to wheel away her luggage,
Even days I feel I might be exiting revolving doors.
I myself packed light,
finally glad to be rid of,
the yellow cabs that ran routes along my spine.
Damn - I'm still in awe,
Feeling my desires pulse in my fingertips,
to trace the contours of lips I've never even kissed.
I want to live with her in the safety of brownstones,
with a small plot for a garden,
where we could learn to grow our life together,
because Suburbia just doesn't do it for me..
I'm just saying -
I want to taste the Newport on her lips,
just to feel a fire in my veins.
Got me nervous, sweating intensely,
Like I just stepped off the courts at Rucker's..
She'll be the Nasir Jones verse to my Premo track
As my kisses lace lyrics to her heartbeat.
Her Canal street fashion kills them Saks Fifth Ave chicks,
Cuz you can't tag realness.
So never mind her LV is in lowercase,
My only concern is to add the OE to her life.
To add the me to her life.
to just, be in her life.. I guess.
Cuz you see,
She's reminiscent of night time New York..
But I just view from afar,
because east of my city,
dreams seem to be at an infinite distance.
And so I chill,
wondering if she knows I'm just across the water.

So There's This Girl...

... that makes me feel like this.

All Of Me

This was originally on Joe Budden's 2007 mixtape "Mood Muzik 3", the follow-up to MM2 in 05', which many a hip-hop head would describe classic. It easily became my favorite song on the tape at the time; I'm pretty sure I played it at least twice a day for a couple of months. Fast forward to the Reprise version, laced by the Klasix, Emanny laying vocals all throughout the verse, and the intro and outro sections add that much more drama to an already emotional piece. Joe Budden lays down roughly seven minutes worth of deep, introspective thoughts (what he's known for), from his issues with a former close friend in the industry, to mending the relationship with his current girlfriend, from his bouts with depression and growth in the rap game to a heartbreaking reflection on a lost friend. This isn't just rap, it's art.

"Friends keep telling me leave her, I won't,
Cuz she see something in me that I don't,
And I see something in her that yall won't,
If you never been in love don't tell me I'm wrong."

"There's three types of niggas in this world ya know?
You either gonna make shit happen, watch shit happen,
or not know what happened..."

Headphones - July 19

These songs get heavy rotation for the week.Why? Cuz I think my musical taste is pretty damn awesome.

Starting Five.

1. Take The Hit - Jade feat. Theophilus London
2. Over and Over - Scott Stone
3. Pretty Wings - Maxwell
4. Zion - Lauryn Hill
5. Losing My Balance - J. Cole

Benchwarmer.
6. Here I Am (Live From the Black Apple) - Mickey Factz
7. If It Kills Me - Jason Mraz (This is going to have it's very own entry soon.)

Tired of You Being In The Dark

No metaphors.
Okay - maybe one or two.
These lines won't allude you.
I just think you should know
that these words won't be enough.
The only way I could tell you everything,
is by laying your head on my chest.
My percussion to your ears
To confess the very best of me.
Like I only smoke my cigarettes with the lighter you gave me.
Or that, the last twenty poems I wrote,
were because of you.
I went looking for you through all the love songs I know,
thinking you were hiding somewhere in the lyrics.
I googled our horoscope compatibility,
then thought for fifteen minutes that we could triumph the odds,
when it said "incompatible".
My closest friends all know your name.
I didn't know my hands could feel lonely,
so I write a lot more than I used to,
because that's what bought me closer to you in the first place.
I like that your all over my facebook page.
And you keep my arrogance in check with your own.
You tell me I could do much better than you.
But I think you and I could be that perfect poem,
the one I told you I wanted to write. To exist.
I just never knew that words wouldn't be enough for it.
But I think we are.
I'll be vulnerable for you.
Words aren't enough. But you are.
At least to me.

Manhattanhenge

Every year, twice a year, the Sunset aligns itself with the east-west grid of Manhattan for the event known as "Manhattanhenge".

Taken from Wikipedia because I can't describe it better;

"At sunset, a traveler along one of the north-south avenues on the West Side looking east can observe the phenomenon indirectly, being struck by the reflected light of the many windows which are aligned with the grid. An observer on the East Side can look west and see the Sun shining down a canyon-like street."

Streets. Light.
Street Lights.

The world's greatest love affair. Even the Sun can't resist Manhattans charm. I'm not sure how the city and Sun are content... satisfied... whatever you'd like to call it... with intertwining their fingers; holding hands, for fifteen minutes twice a year. The remaining 525,530, both behemoths tend to do their own thing. Exist in their own way. Stealing glances as the globe turns.

I don't know; maybe there's a lesson there we should all walk away with. "I'll make you the center of my world if you make me yours." We are all behemoths in our own way, of our own measure. We should recognize ourselves as great; and never need to be appreciated together in order to appreciate both. We should build ourselves up, and then find someone who we can architect a part of heaven with. Someone that, when your seen out walking on a mid-day in July, strangers'll think to themselves "Beautiful."