Stumbling on that thin line of insanity
Obsessed with vanity
The current me is not who I plan to be
Nevertheless I’m still a fan of me
Should I feel some type of way about my pussy not being pink?
Is Pink Matter an ode to the light skinned woman’s pussy?
Or am I thinking about this far too deeply?
Would brown matter sound as good to you?
It sounds yummy to me.
And I don’t crave for vagina in the slightest.
Perhaps I’m just bias.
But if I don’t tell myself my womanly parts are beautiful, who will?
Some would kill for this brown matter.
Some would discard it.
Leave it to rot and become one with the brown soil that surrounds it.
Andre was with Badu so he must fancy both.
And we know Ocean fancies both,
Sex is colorless brown, yellow or pink.
And if I were a man I would want to taste the rainbow.
Possibly try all of it.
My dreams for you are a secret.
I fear that if I let them loose they will run rampant,
and further away from reality.
I clench them tightly to the interlockings of my brain.
I am the fetus to your motherhood.
When you stumble, I shake.
I want nothing more than to see you rise.
Like a phoenix manifesting from the ashes.
Grace the skies,
Dust off all traces of death and fly.
Patience is a virtue that I don’t possess,
I want it now, I want it fast.
Give it to me raw.
No need for bows or pretty packaging.
As long as I get it.
My earliest convenience is now.
In the eternity of these moments.
I linger, I dwindle.
If I want it, I want it.
And if I want it.
I want it now.
Uncertainty is slowly killing me,
Eating away at my flesh like vultures on an abandoned carcass,
Sometimes I feel like an abandoned carcass,
Slowly rotting and disintegrating,
Becoming one with the earth,
The Earth seems to be the only thing that is constant.
So if I were to become one with it perhaps I would find consistency.
I’m drowning in this uncertainty.
It engulfs me.
Filling my lungs, leaving no room for faith or hope.
Pushing out God.
I am left empty.
Simple as that.