Friday, April 29, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
List of Regrets?
*bust… gut… roll*
Not screaming for my mom when I saw that man setting our house on fire…I was scared.
Letting that big bitch from high school hit my ponytail everytime she got on the bus… I was scared… that was a BIG bitch.
Going to Micheal’s house that night that led me to the hospital for weeks… he wasn’t shit!
My first Joseph… Joseph K.
That dumb ass tattoo of “PVL” that I let some 15 year old do with a dirty needle and Indian ink on someone’s front porch.
Each time I bleached my hair and dyed it red… it made all my hair fall each and every time.
The night I snuck out of my nanny’s house to go to the club, get drunk and get in my FIRST car accident, I was 15… and dumb.
Going on “The Boulevard” that night and getting jumped by those million people… the police mased and arrested all our asses.
Skipping my last period to go with “the thief” to the mall… second arrest -_-.
My second Joseph… Joseph L.
Not kissing Lil Wayne in the mouth when I saw him in “The Barn”… my first night of college, in a new city and I didn’t take my first and last chance at a bucket list item.
Fucking over Jasmine… only she would understand… I apologize.
Leaving Xavier to go to UL… loved New Orleans and hate Lafayette.
That whole year spent with my ex-fiancee… he sucked.
Not kissing my baby brother the last time I saw him… it was after the club, in a hospital and I was fussing at him… he died, at 18 yrs. old, 10 days later. R.I.P. Mikey… I love you always.
Allowing “him” to continue the business.
Not beating that bitch ass that broke in my car the first time.
Not leaving “him” the first time I caught him at his ex’s house.
Dropping out of grad school… I am 75% done and haven’t been in 2 years.
Not leaving “him” the SECOND time I caught him at his ex’s house… that time he answered the door.
Leaving work early the day my favorite green car was totaled… and yes, it was a Honda. J (innie)
Bad habits… they started around this time.
Not spending every waking minute possible with my kids…. Those years were endearing.
Not beating that second bitch ass that keyed my car and bust my tires… that would have led to third arrest.
Ninety-percent of the outfits that I have worn… they always seem so cute at the moment… pictures looked at months later reveal they were hideous.
Getting on Twitter… it’s addictive.
Not leaving after the baby...insanity~ doing the same thing over and over and expecting a differnt outcome.
Getting that dermal in my chest… it was super painful, crooked and left the ugliest scar right in the middle of my freaking chest!
Too many drinks on too many nights of Shakers.
Wasted time… time is the most supreme of values.
Houston for New Years… I am sure I had fun… after the tenth, or fifteenth, drink things got kind of foggy.
A few “boos” here and there… very few… 3 assholes.
Befriending “crazy boy”… what goes around comes around psycho.
Not spending more time with my family... not allowing my kids to spend more time with our family.
Every opportunity I have ever missed to remind anyone that is dear to my heart that I love them... I LOVE YOU GUYS.
Losing Grace' s phone number.. i miss her.
Not being in Houston where the other half of my heart resides... MOMMY LOVES YOU XA'VIAN!
Going there, doing this, making that...Him… you… etc. etc….. WAIT!
Nothing! ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!... They are NOT regrets… LIFE LESSONS… all necessary for growth… I’m emerging…blossoming… become better. J
~Viola Monroe
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Love, Sex, Drugs
Love, sex, and drugs… all diverse components of life... all necessities of life, a HAPPY life at least… each allied in more ways than our world cares to admit… all three bound by their roles as foundations of euphoria... when administered correctly ;)
Sex is always better when drugs are involved (so I’ve heard). GOOD drugs make for enhanced sex… superior sex mixed with high-quality drugs is a concoction for “love”, at least an illusionary type of love. Imagine being in love, inebriated with good drugs, while simultaneously experiencing the best, mind blowing fuck, I mean sex, in life…that is the definition of “bliss” my dear Watson…
Love, the utmost potent drug known to man-kind, the cognitive predicament in which all coherent thought becomes obsolete. Love, the most overused and underappreciated word in Webster’s compilation of the human language. Many have tried; all have failed, to properly define “love” as this masterpiece of thought is both subjective and ambiguous, an idiosyncratic idea whose description changes based on the individual, relationship status, hell even the weather! Today Ms. Monroe is the definer, I am currently crazy in “love” and the weather is freaking beautiful!… so, for today (4/20), let us envision love as a fascinating, divine psychological state that allows one to dream bigger, laugh harder and walk taller… an enticing mindset in which everything that is good becomes great and all that was once bad is now reduced to petty nuisances. Love is the shit!
Drugs… touchy subject… I mean, illegal drugs are obviously illicit …. But really, it is common knowledge that tons of Tylenol, a permitted drug, will not make for breathtaking, sloppy head or mind-numbing, painful to the point of pleasure, backshots… therefore, for the sake of mental stimulation, let’s just say that “drugs” refer to a substance that causes feelings of jubilation, euphoria and an extreme rise in ones libido. Such a substance just so happens to have intensified effects when compounded with that fierce ass shit called “love”… the blue “drug” pill alone is said to make the pussy a little wetter, the dick a little harder… oh what wonders could surface with the fusion of said blue pill and the red “love” pill. For the element, the aroma, the aura of love to be present while both involved parties are mentally above the influence, is to create a personal paradise perfect for passion. Every sense being heightened ten-fold, high with love and cerebral intoxicants, an impeccable state of affairs for sex... no not just “sex”… the combination could only generate an act indescribable, a physical performance of majesty, erotic atonement, sexual enchantment … 2 beings, a Romeo and Juliet, weakened by adulation, all rational gone with the wind, seized by the inebriation of joint adoration (forgive the pun)… these two, or three J, slaves to each euphoric substance in the air, cerebrum forcing all fancies and fantasies to be acted out.. passion, clouds, enamor, bodies touching as if they have been built to interlock as unique puzzle pieces that have one exact match in this universe, tongues tangled, kissing, licking, sucking…producing private nirvana, juices of love overflowing and being consumed as if it is the magic potion for eternal youth, soft words of smitten worship for ones lover…whispers, screams, cries of lament that sound like the African Bonobo monkey, uninhibited, maddened deeds of fornication… supreme love-making… the ultimate nut waiting to be bust compliments of our friends…love and drugs. Titillating your mind, body and soul… Love, Sex and Drugs… <3
~Viola Monroe
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Dreams of a Realist
What is a life without dreams? Is it safe to say that dreams provide some sort of hope, escape from this fucked up world that tries to keep us basic and rudimentary. Daydreams, nightmares…. our typical dreams and goals all place us in fantasies of either longing or despair. Why is it that more than 50 percent of one’s existence is based on imagery of what is not our current status quo? Is our world a wasteland of unsatisfied fuckers that are content with simply conjuring up a future that is possible but not nearly probable? Have we become conditioned to be mind-numb zombies that think up a present that is so far-fetched and unlike “real-life” that it can be labeled as nothing more than a dream? I know, hush with the questions, we need all the brain matter we can muster and save it for those silly little dreams of ours. I will help… add to your sense of imagination, tickle your mind's clit, and give your brain fantastic brain ;)... the irony of it all right?! (last question!) I used to dream, yet, dreams are figments of one’s imagination, as far from realism as one can mentally venture. To know that I have thought up a perfect state of mind, environment, occupation, love life, financial status… to take all that wonderfulness and tell myself that it is only temporary to numb the pain of the truth, yeah, that shit is psycho.. I would hang myself. Therefore, Ms. Viola Monroe, future baddest bitch in the black on black Maybach Exelero, she, I, no longer dream… I plan.
I wake up planning, go to sleep plotting, go through the motions of my current occupation while designing my future paradise of a life. First off, I’m not too fond of this government name that is registered all over the world. That name represents old traffic tickets, dumb ass myspace pages, unpaid bills, bad credit, the name that old boyfriends and friends speak of with such venom that it pains me to continue to John Hancock such a negative connotative word. My blueprint to life calls for this burden of an identity to change… I like Viola Monroe. My great granny is Viola, she’s been on this earth for over 100 years and she is the baddest, most boss woman I have ever met in my life; Monroe deriving from the late great Marilyn Monroe, the queen of desirability, the originator of glamour. My new title will be one that captures the essence of two of the greatest women to have walked on God’s green earth in stilettos and rouge. Viola Monroe becomes the foundation to my future. This has been well thought out which brings me to the next step in this ever-growing strategy for life-long ecstasy. My current livelihood, my bread winning gig, my “job” (as boring as that sounds)… it won’t work. It wasn’t quite enough for Viola’s predecessor… hmmmm… this one may be a little harder than the whole name thing. I currently make enough money to be ok, right? (okay that was really the last question) But who the hell wants to be content… another way of saying your job will keep you with bread and water and no time, energy or happiness to enjoy your stale ass bread? When I am honest with myself I realize that I want to be rich, not rich, but RICH RICH. I want to have my future great grandkids set for life… and do it all while talking my kids shopping in France, to karate classes in japan, and pizza parties in Italy. I’m not saying I want to win the gazillion dollar lottery and never have to work another day in my life and be a rich bum. As appealing as the idea may be, it’s one of those “too good to be true” entities, a dream. I am no longer dreaming… remember, I am realistically formatting my future. What am I good at? I mean there are always the obvious choices… super hooker, the only groupie in the world that gets a rich nigga to wife her, find out I’m an heiress to my secret “real” father’s trillion dollar fortune once he passes. All options laughable… I have a better chance at that lottery thing. I got it! I will take everything of myself that is exaggerated and usually noticed, combine it with a few “this”s and “that”s that I am good at and create an industry behind qualities that my creator has blessed me with. Let’s see…864 tats, a strange love for purple, the most amazing kids IN THE WORLD, an I.Q. of at least 356.5, a sense for all things that artistically appease the eye , not to mention I possess a slick tongue and am capable of somewhat articulating any emotion via words. Most importantly, I have past experiences that have ultimately fucked up my way of thinking, in a good sort of amy winehiouse way. I will write, I have already started, my first being a book of love, or not, a collection of loveless experiences that have tested my love to the fullest. Simply put I will compile all the cheatings I have endured, the beatings suffered, the no good as niggas that have taken my love for weakness, mix it with a few ecstatic, yet fleeting, dealings with extraordinary men that I was never good enough for. My contribution to the world, a manuscript of personal heartaches initiated by the male species, will at least permit me to start my life journey. I am not hoping that I will sell enough to get me out of those four walls of that drab building that I report to daily and imprison my mind for 9 hours a day five days a week… I KNOW IT WILL. It is calculated. Once I am able to escape my temporary incarceration to the mediocre professional world my mind will be free, free to be stimulated and produce more magnificence that will in turn benefit my future financial status. Three more books, on my Sister Souljah shit, three books over a ten year period… my future audience (whom I love dearly) yearning and waiting for my next literal creation. In the midst of all this I will open a boutique, a few boutiques, kids shit. My life plans call for me using all resources that God has blessed me with. He gave me two beautiful kids, intelligent special mini mes that will be the brains and creative thinkers of this operation. A shared venture… mom, sir Xa and princess Jo. Our odd little dream team will craft the future generation’s “swag” (I hate that word). Kids, kites and Kicks… or maybe Munchkin Land… the name is still in the works J. This project will help fulfill the self satisfaction portion of Ms. Viola…. Every great woman has to have a portion of self-proclamation that goes beyond profit. My boutiques will be mine. Hmmmmm…. Why does it feel like I am missing something… wait! But of course I am carelessly omitting one tremendously imperative factor in this new life objective… If Jay Z’s Achilles heel is love than what makes me any different. I’m not… Viola Monroe needs adoration, undying affection, just as much, if not more, than the average being.
Over my 28 years I have heard so many women claim “fuck that nigga” , “I don’t need him” , “I can do bad all by myself”… all bullshit! I mean, are you so independent that the rubber object that you shove in and out your pussy is a valid substitute for real, passionate, heart throbbing love-making? So I guess now us women are super humans that can cook, clean, change tires, take out trash, tell ourselves we love ourselves each morning, kiss ourselves good bye and playfully spank our ass on the way out of the door? Hell no! I agree with all that I am woman hear me roar… but I am unable to imagine an adequate life without a partner to share it with. I can reach, and exceed, every goal that I have previously listed, I can conquer nations, hold Earth and Pluto in my hand and juggle the two while singing Rhianna’s “What’s my name”, I can cure AIDS, climb the highest mountain wearing nothing more than spanx and Dora socks… yet none of this will cause life contentment or fulfillment without that “special someone” to share such successes with. To complete my evolution I will need a man (notice I said “NEED” and not “WANT”.) This component of my preparation is sure to be my hardest due to the addition of an uncontrollable and unpredictable factor, my mate. I have realized that cupid doesn’t let any bitch touch his arrow and hits who he wants when he wants… I have no say-so in when he will decide to aim is bow at my small, but firm, ass. On this constituent I will pray… no hopes, wishes, dreams… prayer. I will pray that my creator has placed someone in this world that will be able to accept who I have been, who I currently am and the person I am ever striving to become. A man that will hold me at night and listen to my ideas for my next book, my boobie that will hold me tight and whisper sense in my ear as I breakdown about a late shipment of toddler Levi 501s, a sweetheart that will compliment my food despite the fact that the rice is too salty, my bestie that will never answer “yes” to the fat in theis dress question, someone that will creep in my office with a cup of hot mint tea, 2 spliffs of kush, a lighter and motivational kisses while I am up all night creating on my laptop.. I pray for a partner that will love my kids as if he was there to videotape there births, a companion that will dream with me as he dreams as big as me, a best friend that will look at me daily as if I am the only woman he will ever want, because I am, someone that will lick my yoni before each sexual experience simply because he adores to savor my familiar flavor on the tip of his tongue, a being that lives in the moment but plans for the future, OUR FUTURE, a counterpart that brings peace and serenity to my madness and does so with so much love and passion that each moment spent together is better than the last …. I will not pray vainly for a beautiful, moneyed, and renowned creature with a big dick that fucks like a porn star to worship the ground I walk on. No more dreaming for Ms. Monroe! I will pray for my yang, my Adam, not the perfect man but the man that is “perfect” for me… Everyday, until the day he falls into my world, I will ask God to guide my soul towards her ideal mate.
I have completed my plan… kids, jobs, name, spouse… my blueprint is not flawless but exceptionally strong and becoming exceedingly infallible the more thorough my planning becomes. Naturally there are other necessaries in between each major life goal, items that have informally been listed on the infamous “bucket list”. Life wouldn’t be complete unless I was able to be one-third of an awesome threesome. My creative mind will forever be somewhat stifled if I do not get to inhale the finest of bud known to man… on 4/20. My heart will forever have a small hole if I do not have the luxury of two men combating for my love as I watch in amazement and slight amusement. I will never kill that evil temper of mine until I can find that wicked bitch that ruined several months of my life and throw baby piss in her face… that was a joke… kinda… My course may change as I am not oblivious to the fact that obstacles come plenty and close in time. Viola is fearless. It is my vow to self, my promissory note for a lease on life to Ms. Monroe that all this, and more, shall be satisfied during my journey to self- actualization. Then, and only then, will I have died in my sea of dreams to be metamorphosed into Ms. Viola Monroe.
~Viola Monroe
Thursday, April 7, 2011
PUSSY INC.
I wake up with that feeling in my gut… I’m hot… Horny as the FUCK!!!!!
I lay for a few uncomfortable minutes… my pussy tingles on and off for the next 20.3 minutes… I have needs that must be fulfilled
I think about using those four fingers of my right hand that are oh so familiar with my always warm, super soaked cavern of desires and frustrations
Fuck that, those five minutes of self-love has become a conundrum behavior and although it makes me come, that shit no longer lets me reach that certain “peak” of frenzy… insufficient for what I require
Ten minutes later and my horniness is becoming a mental breakdown…. The tingle that originated in my pussy has traveled to my brain and has captured all sensible judgments
It’s not that I am no longer thinking straight… I’m straight no longer thinking… I MUST visit the realm of bliss, if only for a moment, or I will not survive in this world
I try for Plan B which consists of a few more wasted minutes of streaming video of people fucking like hot foul dogs in heat… compliments of the invention of internet, the acceptance of freaky motherfuckers and a little site known as “porn hub”
Delirium has set in! My pussy lips continue to throb…. My head aches… my nipples have become so hard and erect that I am instinctively rubbing ice chips on them to ease the wonderful, yet painful, erection
I cannot alleviate this yearning on my own… I need help… a partner… hell at this point I need someone that will take on the job of forcing my body to release the juices of my loin that have intoxicated me and left me irrational
I know just the person… my mind manages to focus a microsecond long enough to decide who I will hire… a man that I know will handle such a large task and do it with such effortless magnificence that my pussy would thank him numerous times with constant offerings of large flows of yoni juice
A mad dash to his lair…. No need to fix my hair or get cute… this man, the fantasy fulfiller, has been in my life forever… we share a weird love that only he and I could comprehend… at that moment I knew I was the luckiest bitch on earth to have to have this ultimate thirst quencher in my life
I walk into his workplace, the craving increases 10 fold… I am surrounded with proof of magic man’s greatness and hints of the forthcoming pleasure that will finally let my wett baby breath as she should
He comes from the back… ready to cum from the back J… his walk, his “I don’t give a muthafuck” attitude, his conceited ass grin that lets me know that he knows exactly my motivation for the unexpected impromptu visit… he completes the atmosphere… I need him NOW or I will surely die of “blue walls”
He takes me over to a chair that is laid back a little past the recline position… lays me down… begins to clean me… it is his nature to clean me before pouring every ounce of his being into me for a mere 60 minutes or so…. A 60 minute ethereal eternity that I wanted to never end… mind and pussy crying to be loved by him forever
Once I am clean and my magic man has all his tools of mental and sexual torment ready, he begins…. My deliria broken by a maddened fever… my pain and frustrations heightened ten fold for several seconds…. And it begins… the slow release of agony that my yoni has battled for the last hour
My mind knows that it must join this war and reminds the weak, wett vaginal thoughts that this is not wise… I am being absurd and did not think this through… every time this man touches my body he leaves an impression that nothing can get rid of… “Don’t do it, reconsider… read some liter- ature on the subject”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP” screams the pussy… she’s pissed and when she’s pissed she’s a bitch…the pussy is powerful and ALWAYS gets her way… today carries no difference… the mind is exhausted by sexual aggravations, overpowered by my need for yoni stimulation
The pain ceases as quickly as it has intensified… I let him work his voodoo on my body… for a moment in time I give myself to him to do with me as he pleases… he pleases to please me… he sends me to our own personal paradise… our secret island in which he is the ruler and I his queen… the islands only inhabitants that rule freely…. And NAKED
The haze cloud that this man functions in amplifies his magnificence as he pokes and prods and arouses senses I had forgotten existed… he does his job as no other could... he is a master at his art… the sensei of pleasure
Finally! I began to live…. Alive in every sense of the word… my heart, my mind, my body releases an emotion that even I am unable to comprehend… I no longer feel, yet I experience the smallest iota of emotional states … I hear the birds chirping outside, see each ray of the sun without squinting, and taste the Moscato on my taste buds from the sleepless night before…
I CAME! … He conquered… no disappointments as I began to breathe normally… no regrets as the cerebral fog clears from my mind…. I feel nothing short of ecstasy as he puts the finishing touches on my body… perfects both myself and his work with closing strokes and pokes
I look in the mirror. He sits in the background peering at me, all cool calm and collected and shit. I see myself covered in sweat, hair disheveled from the recent madness, clothing crumbled from the war that has been won… yet, my skin carries this brilliant glow that makes me appear to be a beautiful black goddess… and then I see it… his mark… God how I love this mark… even better than the last one he left.
He is thanked for his services, his payment type not standard to those of others; he functions under a different life system than standard society. He doesn’t need money… just the silent promise from your weak heart that he will always possess it whenever he fancies… he will… he knows this… I confirm simply for his ego
I walk out of his burrow a new woman.. both mentally and physically… my smile is a little brighter… my walk holds a lot more “swag”… my confidence cannot be waived after that trip
He is not forgotten as I wash off the scent of latex and A&D ointment… he has branded my with his forever art… he has relieved me once more… possessed my pussy with his ink…PUSSY INC.
~Viola Monroe
Ode To The Clouds
He begins his journey… a slight shiver in his bones… compliments of the cool jersey spring
His attire matching the rawness in the air… daring Mother Nature to defy his natural swag
Not much talking during his journey… his environment has forced him to constantly and quietly observe
So he moves as a shadow does… one is always aware of him but possibly too intimidated to approach him
The brisk air doesn’t stop them, the mystery man’s groupies, they still wait to offer feeble attempts at capturing his attention other than a sneaky glance at the nice assed ones.
He walks as if he has a mission,,, bopping his head to the constant singsong scream of “Gucci”, the pothead crooning of wiz and the lyrical street stories of jeezy… every super villain has dope theme music
His mind is filled with thoughts… mostly thoughts of her… he wonders what she is doing, if she will be there to meet up with him…what scent will she wear today…he’ll never admit it… but he wonders
Twenty minutes of walking, lost in his mind, induced with dour and good music, he finally hops on his mode of transportation, the train offers much more than warmth… its where it begins and normalcy ends
Five minutes of looking out the window and she appears… she’s early today… he must have missed her crazy… purple wife beater… shorts that may have been for her three year old and smelling of eucalyptus spearmint oil with a hint of flower bomb perfume
As soon as she sees him she ravishes his lips… he ponders how he deals with her daily extreme public displays of affection and quickly remembers why when he tastes her raspberry mango beauty rush lip gloss… she’s smart J
As usual, she begins rambling… how much she misses him, she can’t stand her manager, she used papers last night but still prefers cigars, her daughter is a maniac, she misses him, she loves him… she has no pauses, never seems to take breaths
She never wonders about them and why they are together… she adores him… he, on the other hand, can’t help but speculate on what force of nature placed him in her world and so unable to leave… she is everything he is not
He is who he is because he doesn’t want to be those things that he is not … technically she is the epitomy of what he would never want to be… as she continues her longwinded banter he marvels
She is a beautiful creature, but not like swan beautiful… more like the beauty of a sleek panther gleaming all over to show off its magnificent stature… but he was who he was…beautiful women followed him, flirted with him, fed him with short sexual experiences
He knew that she was more… more than a medley of pretty eyeshadows and pressed powder foundation… there was something more to this woman that anyone that crossed her path could see
Her heart was like his… wounded but not broken… tougher but not hardened… they both still believed in the idea of love
She did not know of HER man’s thoughts, this man that she met at this train everyday around the same time… she was oblivious to the fact that her words was not the cause of his loving stare
She loved him… fully, completely, without inhibitions… she didn’t think about her words being silly or her actions being erratic… she trusted him to love her… all guards down
He stared because he did… he loved this magnificent creature that existed sporadically in his world… he loved her with only a love that a man like himself could possess… it has been 25 minutes.. he knows she will soon run off… she hates jersey weather
Quick goodbyes and promises of love and next day dates…she kisses him madly, playfully pulls his hair and runs off… light years away
He gathers his thoughts, changes his ipod to mr. weed and shoes himself soulja boy, and remembers as he gets off in south jersey.. she doesn’t exist.. shes a kush cloud… he will get her back soon enough
~Viola Monroe
Kush Jersey
He possesses the mark of beauty … that glorious beauty mark that sits on the left side of the most beautiful face one has seen. The majesty of one small dark brown dot, placed in the perfect position on such a wonderful surface…his face. His avi tells the story of his lifestyle… the short version. He is a gorgeous caramel color, yet, the “chinkiness” of his eyes reveals that there is another ancestry hidden in his pores. His hair is a sandy colored mess of what looks to be the softest material known to man. After finally tearing your eyes away from adoring his hair you are immediately recaptured into his spell binding splendor by his eyes. The lineage of Puerto Rican in his blood rest in his dark seizing eyes that even through a picture clutches every ounce of one’s attention. Then comes the mark, the beauty mark that makes you fall in love with him. Introducing Derek, better known as “DK Kush”.
“Dk Kush” can be found running reckless through a twitter timeline. His thoughts speak pot head intellect. Uncensored… his short choices of words tell the tale of a young, rebellious, super smart sweetheart. He says what he wants and does as he pleases… a man like this could have anyone he desired. Any man that can woo the panties off a woman with his words is a bad muthafucker. DK Kush is the baddest muthafucka one could come across. You have no choice but to love him and pray he loves you even half as much. Do you wait to see if you will get noticed by such a creature in a sea of internet hoes with perfect photoshopped bodies? Do you find a way into his conversation, a tunnel into his thought process simply to make him aware that you exist? A smart woman does neither. A man like DK Kush chooses. He decides if you are worth the time and the effort. See he doesn’t mind working for what he wants, it makes him feel accomplished. DK wants to want a woman more than she wants him. So you wait… wait until you are detected. Once he sees you, once you have captured an iota of his attention, the hard part begins, keeping it. This being is not satisfied with mediocre conversation, he is not interested in ordinary personalities. You know this because he chose you and you are anything but average. Give him a taste of your extraordinary persona. Not too much, remember, DK needs a challenge. A few social exchanges of wits and you both feel the need to become more personal, more intimate. Yet, as luck would have it, this dream man is an estimated 1234 miles, 1985.51 kilometers, 20.6 hours away going 60 mph… google snitched. So, for now, numbers are exchanged and this “more intimate” setting is the constant thread of text messages that begins. He doesn’t give you much at first, makes you put in a little work to prove your worth. No information is voluntarily revealed, yet no answer is left unanswered if asked. The first 24 hours you nag… question after question of the most basic information one could know about someone. Somehow his basis needed to be learned to understand the totality of DK. You acquire that he is a Jersey boy, born and raised, half black and the other half Puerto Rican as is his mother, his siblings from youngest to oldest, and a few of his favorites. At this point one cannot hold back, the less he tells you the more you want to know. You urge to know everything about him… Who’s his favorite rapper, how does he feel about Obama, What does he want to be when he grows up, what kind of soap does he use… will he marry you? Even the most trivial knowledge regarding DK is hungered for… which is why you give him all of you. The most untrustworthy hurt woman would not hesitate to give her heart to him. You have not yet reached that point of emotional pain in life, had not yet become the “bitter old lady”. In hopes that you never see that extreme you give yourself to him…entirely. After the initial day long of acting like new lovers that craved the attention of each other, you knew it would end. DK is worldly, he gets bored quick. You know he has forgotten you in the 4 hours of sleep he managed to make himself get after being half dead texting you back and forth with no breaks longer than 20 minutes. But when he wakes, you are invited back into his world, although you haven’t actually left as you refused to let him go to sleep and therefore met him in your dreams. The next few days go by in a wave of Dk. You go through the motions of life in Louisiana but your mind, your heart, your love is in jersey. Two separate worlds that are far from each other in time, distance and culture…yet you both remain with each other in a similar cloud of local kush and exact clouds of pure, unselfish love for the other. Love at first sight is somewhat abnormal, what we had is alien to most people that walk this earth amongst the yous and the DKs. Eight days, one day over a week, he tells you he loves you. Your reply? “I love you too”… and it is true. You love him… you don’t question his love for you.., you love him enough for the both of you and you trust him enough to believe what he says is nothing short of the truth. You are drunken with love… intoxicated with thoughts of a man that you have not yet touched, high as no form of drug has ever allowed you to catapult. Ten days, you have known him for ten days, and feel as if he has been part of your life forever, as if he had stolen your pacifier when you two were still in pampers. You don’t though, yet you know him better than people that have watched DK learn to open his eyes. What he shared with you was more than a lifetime of simply knowing who DK was. In ten days Derek had given you his lifetime… past, present and future. His past is what leads you to him, being part of his present makes you yearn to be part of his future. Imagine loving DK… Imagine DK loving you… feels good…. Take my word… That mark… the mark that signifies YOUR DK Kush… my DK Kush. Ily… <3
~Viola Monroe
~Viola Monroe
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