provocative_510

I figure that since ur here you actually wanna know something about me. So here goes nothin...if i leave something out that ur curious about don`t hesitate to ask.



About Me... 5`1` I`m an East Oakland Girl I write poetry I love food I like hanging out and listenin to music I hate when people waste my time I`m not lookin for my long lost love but if you coo we can still talk

until then,

The Provocative 1



...Now for some provocative thoughts...



My Temple of Worship



I¿m looking in the mirror and I take inventory of what I see. Dark, soft, brown eyes that are too close together, and unevenly placed. One ear is higher than the other as well, but they are small and petite. I examine my rich, warm, chocolaty, sun-kissed skin, inquisitive brows, a nose that¿s a little too large, and full, shapely, inviting lips. My face is lightly spotted and I resemble a leopardess¿alert, agile, fierce.
Continuing in this vein, I take note of my sleek neck and feminine collarbone, my slightly slanted, muscular shoulders, thin arms, and my small delicate hand and nimble fingers. I notice my large ripe mangoes, complete with nipples like two brown headlights that catch the attention of passersby. They hang carefree from my chest and refuse to fit nicely in my shirts and bras, making it nearly impossible to find something that fits. From there I notice the smooth curvature of my waist and the slight roundness of my belly that leads to the slope of my hips like a waterslide. I turn slowly, taking in the whole scene until I can see what¿s behind. My shoulders and back are well toned, my shoulders protrude, but my forming muscles that I now flex and stretch only add to the allure of my beautifully feminine figure. I take note of my plump derri¿re, now slightly deflated due to my workouts at the gym, but firmer and has not lost its shape or ability to support itself. I turn again, and as I do, I follow the curvature of my body down my short, toned, slightly bowed legs, down to my feet where my painted little piggies reside.
My body is a temple that was fearfully and wonderfully made. It was not shoddily put together, that is why it has survived all the storms that would otherwise have shaken me from my foundation. Anyone who ventures inside to worship should appreciate the reinforced steel beams that make it possible to include such intricate architecture for any visitors¿ enjoyment and safety. After all, when there¿s a storm raging outside, who in their right mind would choose to find shelter in a tent over a fortress with the best accommodations? Sure, it has imperfections, but it is my temple, it is holy, and I wouldn¿t have it any other way. Besides, those minor imperfections that distinguish me from all the other temples out there only add to the character of my design and provide for a rich history. It is top priority for me to take care of my temple to make sure it is in good condition, but also to make sure that I stay true to the original design to preserve its uniqueness.
Inside the temple there is rest, peace, and harmony. There is no need to be on your guard and ready to fight, because here, no one will attack you. In my temple that doubles as a fortress, there is security. It is here where true beauty is appreciated and cherished. Private thoughts and profound words are shared openly and without fear. Honesty abounds and the feeling of love is given freely. In the temple courts, I cultivate all that is precious and rare. Here there is an abundance of everything and one can find all they need.
But outside of my temple there¿s unrest. A war¿s going on out there folks, there are casualties on each side, and it¿s over confidence, image and acceptance. This war has two very strong fronts that are undermining the true beauty of my temple and seek to destroy it. On one side, I am attacked by images of what I could never be and I am told this is ideal. On the other side I hear, ¿Got fries to go with that shake?¿ and when I move to the music of my soul as a manifestation of the love of everything that represents what I am, I am told to ¿Get low!¿ and to ¿Make it clap!¿ Somehow my faceless enemies, identified only by high testosterone levels, have been convinced by a higher and even more ominous unidentified power that they can only reach their full potential as a man if I am made to feel less than a woman. They cannot see that they are fighting that which is designed to be in harmony with them and sustain them. Estrogen-marked traitors who consort with the enemy to assist with the end goal further complicate this problem.
This assault on the essence of me is like focusing on the frame that holds a masterpiece, and ignoring the work itself. Any artist or art history buff would pull his or her hair out in anguish to hear someone rave about the framing of a work by El Greco, yet never even glance at the piece or take notice of its sheer genius or uniqueness. Just as anyone who is familiar with fine art would be put off and dumbfounded by this blatant disregard for what is truly beautiful in life, I am offended by those who fail to bask in my splendor and the glow that emanates from within me.
The question that plagues me most is when will the war end? I¿m am tired of hearing about all the casualties¿women who starve themselves, get plastic surgery, men who take steroids, beat their mates. As I look around, watching my back and deciding my strategy for defending myself and my temple, I wonder when they will come in to study for themselves the intricate architecture and come worship, forgetting that there is a war outside, that we are on opposite sides, and that he has to pay attention to all the wrong things and has to overlook the things that make my temple safe on the inside, and different from any other.








My life is rated R.

What is your life rated?