Dreams of a broken poet.

I just want to be deep.

I want to write something that inspires the general public and causes in uproar in the comfortability of the way things are.

I want to be a rebel with a cause worthy of fighting for, while my words ignite fiery and passionate resistance.

I want to be an influence, and push everybody under.

Maybe then you'll listen to me.

Listen and take heed instead of just smiling and nodding your head.

Listen to my dreams and believe me when I say they will change the world.

I want to be heard.

From the rooftops and mountaintops, from the basement to the attic, I want there to be static.

Maybe then you will cling.

Cling to my voice and it will guide you.

Of course you need to hear me first.

Ignorance

I'm trapped between the past and the future.
Whoever said there's no time like the present was right because there's no time like the present to wait for time to decide on what the future holds, or what lesson the past has to offer.
There's no time like the present and in the presence of this essence I must express the ambiguity that strangles my hand.
This hand.
The right one.
The one I live with.
The one I write with.
The one I die with.
I need it to be free.
Heaven forbid my hand stays strangled and these words go unwritten.
How shall I survive?
How do I find the surface I so desperately need to gather air before I delve back into this abyss we call pain?
The grip is tightening, and I can feel the bruises forming around my wrists.
The harder I fight, the tighter it gets, I'm losing for lack of complacency.
I lose because I know that its worth the fight.
I know that the pain now is easier to suffer through than the eternity of pain that bondage guarantees.
So I continue to fight.
But I am not alone.
Behind me is an army of warriors, equipped with weapons of mass destruction if they would only learn to use them.
For now we are at war with ourselves.
We haven't figured out how to use our weapons against this beast, so we bicker in frustration.
Each advance is followed by a humiliating retreat, and it feels as if we've lost valuable ground.
The enemy is closing in on us from all sides.
We've put our best soldiers on the front lines, but the lines are weakening.
Our passion is waning, and we are almost ready to accept defeat.
Just as the last sword is dropped I escape from my captor.
Valiant and proud I march into battle and am able to fight the enemy off for awhile.
But the pressure is too strong, I need help.
I can't win this alone.
I need my soldiers.
My soldiers need knowledge.
Knowledge.
Its the only thing that will fight off this massive assailant.
The only cure to this disease.
The only antidote to this poison.
The only light in this darkness.
We must use knowledge to fight this beast, and maybe one day we can win.
Maybe one day we will call ourselves the victors.
Maybe one day we will defeat this enemy we call ignorance.

Smile

Ignorance is bliss

and happiness is the pot of gold at the end of this rainbow.

We hold back tears to make others feel better, and once we let them go, they wash away our fears.

We fight battles and lose wars only to find out that we don't support what we're fighting for.

When in our lives will we be able to relish in the wonder of whats behind the next corner of our minds?

When will we find out that what we fight so hard to create, need only be harnessed as we are equipped with it?

When will we learn that we have everything we need, right here?

One of those tangents I go on...

I recently had a conversation with a few friends of mine, and this conversation got me to thinking. They brought it to my attention that the perceptions people have of me may not be as wholesome as they should be, and that maybe I should change a few of my actions in order to curb this dilemma. I was told that the path I am on is not the best path for someone of my emotional stature, and that I would ultimately get hurt one day by the same rules that I play. Where I thought I was a woman, I was told that I am in fact a child. A child in a grown woman's game, and I can't win. This child is bruised and hurt, so she lashes out on members of the opposite sex for revenge. She is immature and a change needs to be made.

I sat in confusion. I was caught off guard by the lack of credit I was given. I never understood how people can assume that a person isn't aware of the impact of their decisions, and the repercussions of such decisions. In the midst of these daggers being thrown at me, I broke down. As emotional as I am, there is only so much criticism I can take from those close to me before I begin to second guess myself. This conversation however was not the first of its kind, and I'm quite sure it will not be the last. On the surface, my breakdown was viewed as a realization of the things I do that are not so becoming of a young lady. What they failed to realize is, I was never a young lady. I was never proper. Never the image of a respectable and acceptable lady. I find these aspects to be draining of creative freedom honestly.

Its quite funny because as I write this now I think back to all the times in my life when I was told to be ladylike. From cussing out boys in my neighborhood, to spitting all the time, to dressing like a boy. I have always run from the stereotypical "ladylike" persona. Nothing about the woman I am today says lady.

Freedom. The freedom of choice, of discretion, of progression, of separation. I fight like a prize boxer against the ties of this societal view of who I am supposed to be. It was never about me proving to someone else that I can be a rebel, or unique, or different. It was never about proving my sexuality or enhancing my ego. It was always about me.

I stand alone, for I don't fit the mold of the cross-legged, lip-locked, conformed, and confused lady. Who is this person? She is not my friend. She is my foe. For her to thrive, I must strive. Will I ever win this battle?

Never before have I tried to explain my actions to anyone else, because never before had I cared. It never made a difference to me whether people understood me or not. I am not to be understood. I am to be accepted. Take me as I am.

Now I begin to think that maybe one cause of my actions is to see who will love me and accept me in spite of my taboos. Who will see past what I am supposed to be, and love me for me. I say it time and again. I am Nandi. I am beautiful. I am strong. I am determined. I am head-strong. I am difficult. I am stubborn. I am what I have come to be. Take it or leave it.

And I can go on forever.

I'm not sure if my point was made.

Or if you even care.

You don't have to understand or even agree.

Just accept it. Accept me.

You just may like it.

What do you look for? (the Tripod Quadrant)

1. Have to Have
2. Can’t Have
3. Don’t Want, Will Accept
4. Want, Don’t Have to Have

Have to Have:

(in no particular order)

1. Ambition

2. Confidence

3. Attractiveness

4. Respectfulness

5. Intelligence

6. Clean Fingernails

7. Elevator

8. Get along with Family and Tripod

9. Attention

10. Friendship

11. Understanding of Sexual Purity

12. Trustworthy

13. Close Relationship with Mother

Can't Have

1. Offspring

2. Diseases

3. Drama

4. Skinny Jeans

5. Female Tendencies

6. Cancer Sticks

7. Dancer

8. Shorter than me

9. Clingy

Don't Want, Will Accept

1. Too Old

2. Crazy Exes

3. Hustler

4. Two Earrings

5. Ugly Feet

6. Long Fingernails

7. Lie to me

8. Singer

9. Tattoos

Want, Don't Have to Have

1. Nice Body

2. Sexy Swagger

3. Perfect Teeth

4. Car

5. Frat

6. Upperclassmen

7. Athlete

8. Pass Billiards Test

9. Sense of Humor

10. Dark Skin

(Please Note: Lists are subject to change)

Figure Me Out

Talk about me.

Blog about me.

Text about me.

Tweet about me.

Dream about me.

Ask about me.

Fiend about me.

Scheme about me.

Wonder about me.

Ponder about me.

Philosophize about me.

Obsess over me.

Get addicted to me.

Get over me.

Figure me out?

I have yet to find the one, or the many,

who have figured me out.

If I, Could I, Should I, Will I...

ever ?

How do you solve a puzzle with pieces of 12 different pictures?

How do you solve a riddle like the one before you, when the ones before her were so simple, yet here she stands, the complete opposite of everything you learned in your past experience?

How do you figure her out when she hasn't figured herself out?

And just when you think you've got it, she comes from way left field with a new wrench to throw into your plan.

Then you have to start from the beginning and its a whole new floor plan.

Can you build this structure?

Will it collapse around you?

Do you need the instructions?

What instructions?

Sorry, batteries not included, instructions lost in shipping, and the finished product is a mystery, who knows how it will look once your done.

Figure me out?

I hear talk about me being sensitive, insecure, unsure, indecisive, emotional, secretive, flirtatious, poisonous, gregarious, mean, rude, nice, sweet.

I've been the pretty poisonous flower you wanted to become addicted to.

I've been the "hoe" you label because you don't know any better.

I've been the lost soul desperately in need of you advice and guidance.

I've been the joke that you need when a smile is what you need to keep your sanity.

I've been the innocent little girl, who acted older than she was and made you forget that she was still innocent.

I've been the distant yet attractive constellation that passes you on occasion.

I've been the passionate and loyal homie-lover-friend when you needed me the most.

I have been. I can be. I always was.

Figure me out?

Ha.

Good Luck.

What Would Happen?

What Would Happen...

What would happen if I loved you?
If we took off our shoes and dived into the pool of hopelessness of a romance,
and never looked back for fear of missing what's coming next, would it work?
If I decided to meet you halfway between fact and realistic fiction, then we took off and created our own path just wide enough for the two of us
and if this path led us to believe that we were right for each other, what would you say?
How would it play...
out on the screenplay of our lives?
What would happen if I tossed my inhibitions in the trash and you took it outside to wait for the truck in the morning?
Would I wait until you fell asleep and run outside to rummage through the can for my fears?
Or would I finally have a good night's rest and wake up in your arms with enough strength to take my own trash out?
What would happen if you took a walk through the mystery of my sense of humor, and got lost in my eyes?
With no road maps and no street signs would you walk around aimlessly until your instinct led you to my heart?
Once you found it, would you still be lost?