Yo Mama

I insulted a kid's mom today, a one-girl yo mama off, like throwing verbal punches at a cardboard door---picture a door with perverted poster pin-ups that make you want to look the other way

The dirty minded guy with a crude comment stuck by his side like a shadow turns up empty handed as I open fire with my open mouth in position, my tongue burning with possible disses

My competitive school will never know just how mean insults can get, murky swamp green, factory smoke gray insults, so gray the fog blinds, masks the possible well mannered pink dress proper posture girl so cleverly hidden under layers of skin

I try to avoid embracing that side, but guys expect a girl to be that perfect, a goddess in tight miniskirts, yet with the smile of an innocent child

Looking nice is important, yet perfection is life-or-death

You diss people, you become the ugly bitch tossed in the heap of throw-away dirty girls

The one treated like garbage, viewed as the street dog, so dirty you can't tell she's female

Yet when the suburban in badass clothing is dissed with one of my freshest yo-mama's, I get my class to erupt in laughter---a class of 8, subtract half, and three energized kids are left in the room, cracking up at pathetic insults aimed towards his mother

I'm just getting started---

"Speaking of dresses, yo mama's so fat that when she wears a black dress she looks like outer space"

"When she wears a yellow dress, people think she's a giant twinkie!"

"If it's a blue dress and she walks down the street, people think it's a tidal wave!"

I just keep going until the teacher casually enters

the kid is dumbstuck---Picture me sitting behind his sorry back, stifling a bright golden grin

He still can't believe the quiet girl has verbal weapons of mass destruction hidden beneath her smiling face

oh, speaking of faces, yo mama's face is so ugly...

The Melanthiad

Remember Melantho, the minor character from The Odyssey? Didn't think so! Anyway, this is her perspective on how she is supposedly viewed:



I was the loud, in-your-face girl, who took whichever suitor I could scavenge. The one who answered back, the one who believed she deserved the life of a queen. Turns out, retribution is a bitch. You mess around, have a little taste of glamor while the boss is out and the innocent wife is still about, and from then on everything rolls down hill like I’m the one rolling the rock up the mountain for all eternity. My attempts at a new life from then on revolve around my “wicked” deeds. I’ve been a prostitute, a third rate model and a petty criminal, and it’s hard for me to believe that the best life I’ve lived was as a waitress at an off-road diner. All of those lives ended in sadistic pain and abuse. My former tyrant Odysseus believes that I deserve torture for life, as if the hanging wasn’t enough. His teenage son gets to berate me and murder my girls and I in pain, gasping for breath every damned second. I deserved the life of a goddess, I was born a beauty, shouldn’t that count for something in the afterlife? Because I was supposedly a dirty woman, does that mean that my eyes should remain heavily made up, and my skirt always well above my shapely legs? There are many derogatory terms used to describe women like me, and most of those insults came from my ruler when he was finished with every last suitor, and right before my time was up. The old goat Odysseus even wrote a book dedicated to dissing the maids and I, calling us ‘wanton’ and other things as well. I’ve never been a poet, though I was a struggling writer in one life, but here’s a piece about a piece of my mind dying to get my story out so I can finally be at peace with who I am. Maybe now they’ll all listen to me---no---they will listen to me.

I hate to admit it, but I really did love hardheaded Eurymakhos. Sure, he was only there for my mistress, but couldn’t he (and I) have some fun as well as she? Miss lady loyalty, high and mighty with her fine silk robes and golden jewelry, yet so clearly ashamed of it all while her king was away. Housewife of the year! But I don’t mean to be cruel towards the old cow. I mean, she is the one who raised me---wait---she raised me the way I am, so shouldn’t she have been killed off like the rest of us? Anyway, sure she was nice and kind to me, I was always her favorite. She would nurture me like a mother bear would her cub. She taught me which people to stay away from, what not to wear, how to keep from getting dirty—judging by how I turned out, I’d say I paid close attention to her cute little lectures. But, come on! When I was a teenager I had the same desires as any royal, common, or low class girl that age, and let’s be honest---how many ladies out there actually listen to their mother? Her husband had left her for the Great War, so who could make me feel any type of guilt? I was reckless as a whirlpool in the waters of Ithaka, which Eurykleia, the picture of faithfulness detested me for. A typical conversation between us was as rocky as the island itself.

“Melantho! Have you been borrowing the jewels of mistress Penelope? She would be cross as a landlord you hadn’t paid rent to in months, I should know, from experience.

“Miss, I wear jewels that could appear as if they belong to royalty, but maybe they only look that radiant on me?” I would try my best to sound innocent, which would cause the other naughty maids to tremble with laughter.

“You impudent girl! If lord Odysseus were here he’d have cut your head off by now! Get back into the house and return those jewels to your mistress at once!”

The other maids and I scampered like a pack of rodents back to our places, which were cleaning the royal robes (I swear, all those mourning veils Penelope wore!) and preparing the royal food for the mobs of suitors in addition to my mistress and her lazy-boned son, “clear headed” Telemakhos (I can assure you there was nothing “clear headed” about the thick daydreamer). Though honestly, serving food had been my favorite job, as I would attract many drunken suitors, though the only one I knew I could trust was Eurymakhos. Now, I’ve stated before that I was no tramp, but Eurymakhos was the one man in Ithaka who could prove that accusation wrong. I never messed around while we were together, aside from hearing occasional playful wolf whistles from his closest friends, and though he was courting my mistress, didn’t stop to glance at any other maid. We used to meet every star peppered night, black as pitch, so none of my “superiors” would catch me (As a guest, Eurymakhos didn’t need to worry about getting caught). I’d bring with me a jug of wine, which we’d share, straight from the bottle, and remember why we fell in love with each other. Looking back, it was a mere infatuation, but I, for a time, felt like he was the only one that knew I was destined for something better. After hell started breaking loose in the house, while both Odysseus and thickheaded Telemakhos were away, we could easily meet with each other in public. He was not ashamed, though I was just there to entertain him while he dreamt of bright golden riches.

The connection between us was as solid as the lifeline of a God, until Odysseus came back, and performed his Matrix-style revenge, but without the censors----you saw blood, meat and bread cloaked in dust on the ground, bodies laying there like heaps of firewood waiting to be burned. Yet Odysseus would save the burning for me. Except he let Telemakhos do the honors. I bravely cussed him out while he tied the rope around my neck, which won me a slap across the face, and the usual derogatory slang that was directed towards me. I was left, as he tied the knot tighter, gasping for air, my distorted face changing color rapidly, struggling to break free of this sadistic madness. Telemakhos never gave me a chance. Yes, I deserved a chance! I deserved a million chances!! Give me one Life worth living, like the ungodly Gods gave the royal son. Divinity is biased, I swear! I hear Penelope wrote in her book (Yes, the bitch wrote a book) that Telemakhos had become many great things: A senator, a distinguished author, a member of parliament. As I write this, my surroundings grow dark, and I sit in cold hatred looking back at better, brightly painted, cheery, lemonade cooled days, not that there were ever any for me.

Art Class (compliments, spray paint for Angola, and my favorite DC supervillain

If someone comes up to me and says "That's pretty good" or "that's cool" my first instinct is to be offended. The way I see it, "pretty good" is code for "hey, that's almost good" or "I want to be nice to the girl drawing after the bell rang over there, so might as well say something." In comic geek mode, I was drawing Harley Quinn, and it hadn't been going too well. Look at the picture for the post below, and you'll see some red, black and white. I had the idea to make the background sky red, with black clouds and some blue. There'd be a dark street, with a rusted manhole, and she'd be smack in the middle of the picture. The only problem was the face and the right hand, which I had to look away from, focusing on the black and red pastels for the sky and street, which was when the guy comes up to me and says "that's pretty good." When it comes to art, I'm a perfectionist, and like to be told my work is "really good" or "great" if I'm that lucky.

Another time, after I'd finished spray-painting the side of the supply container that my school sends to Angola I'd designed (the container had 4 sides, 4 designs were chosen) and I'd gotten help from my class, who drew awesome peace signs and flowers, and this girl who's a talented graffiti artist, I felt proud. But while my chorus was watching the Angola project slideshow, and showed the beautifully-painted '08 supply container compared to the image of my spray-painted side of the crate some kids right in back of me said loudly "I wish our container was last year's. They did so good and our's was so bad." They hadn't known how hard others and myself had worked on that crate, and how last year, only art teachers painted it. I felt defeated at first, but then I realized, they don't know anything about the crate. They weren't out there every lunch and free period, climbing a ladder and working graffiti magic.

So I was determined after art class to make the supposed ruined drawing better. It I fail with disgrace, I can always make it abstract. I can and will fix the hand and mask, and maybe even get the "that's great!" I've been hoping for.

Childhood Idols

No matter how original you try to be, there was always someone else to inspire that desire for originality

As a kid I admired the villains in my life, cartoons of robbers with special powers, weapons at their disposal, and they would always put up a fight

I admired the bad girls---the tough as hell girls, who could get guys, use guns and outdo the men in battles cleaned up for kid's TV

I would watch the same lighthearted episodes of batman repeatedly, stuck like glue to my seat, silently praying that a deadly villainess would destroy the caped crusader at last

The bad girls wore the dark-colored costumes, crimson, pitch black, bottle green, and could pull off any combination or style----I was never a fashionable child

Others would cheer at the sight of a hero, while I wanted their demise as desperately as any animated psycho could

Harley Quinn, the black-red jester was my favorite---free spirited and ready to kick ass no matter how badly she lost----I wasn't too sane at the time

I painted my nails playing-card style cherry red-and-tar-like black to copy the outfit she wore, because i loved the idea of being a psycotic harlequin

Yet the nails came off as goth, before emo replaced it, instead of lunatic

Were heroines any better? They were all adults dressed in costumes, hurting people, same as any emo-nails-tough girl


As a child I paced around, unable to sit still in a cemented desk, imagining the villains I knew as the victors

years later, the bad boys and girls with the courage to be hard as a coffin still make me thirst for my chance

I now know the line between good and evil--it didn't take a batarang to knock some sense into my skull

yet i still desire that moment

the thrill of being bad

The Question (a bus ride, rap, and an "excursion")

So a bunch of English Classes are on the way to see twelfth night at Navy Pier, and I can't really find anywhere to sit on the bus, so I grabbed whatever seat I could find. Then this guy from my English class starts running towards the bus, and takes the only open seat he can find, which is next to me. Now I knew of this guy, but not well, and I didn't even remember his name. As the bus takes off, and the kid next to me talks to his friends in the seat across the aisle, I realize my pants are wet, and I looked up to see a leak in the roof, right above my seat, thinking "how could this get any worse?" The other girls were wearing heels and dresses and carrying fancy-looking purses, like they were on a date with some popular college guy instead of a freshman class from the north shore on a field trip (or "excursion", as New Trier calls it) to Navy Pier. I wished I'd made an effort to look nicer, instead of just throwing on some presentable looking top and jeans. Problem is, I don't even own a regular skirt, and I'm kind of a tomboy, as I only wear dresses on Halloween for a costume, or If I go to prom or some other formal dance.The outfit I'd chosen was getting soaked on one side of me, while the boy on the other side was debating about the bible with some idiots in front of us. My face is pressed to the window, admiring the blank-gray sky, since blank gray days are less peppy than an in-your-face sunshiny day. I notice the boy tapping a beat on the back of the seat in front, which was pretty cool. I hadn't talked to him yet, so I decided to make some conversation: "What music do you like?" He states that classic rap is his favorite, leading me to jump in with an enthusiastic "Same! which rappers?" He names Tupac, and we discuss the songs we know and love by him. I ask about Kanye West, and soon we're talking autotune, and how many rappers can't do it right, like T-Pain. He even says "hip hop is dead" including Nas in the mix now. I ask about female rappers, and now Missy Elliott and Queen Latifah are in the scene. According to him, B.I.G's "great" Jay Z's "the best" and P-Diddy's amazing (which was a surprise to me, as I think him a sell-out). But it was interesting how he was willing to listen to every rapper, no matter who was feuding with whom, which is how it is with me. during the conversation, he says to me, "you're the only person who actually likes classic rap" and i felt the same way. I mean, he actually knows who public enemy is while many others I've asked about music don't even know Missy Elliott exists.

He invited me to hang out with some of his friends after the play at the food court, and i went along, not having many new trier friends, but being a somewhat distrusting person, i walked away after lunch, which i think pissed him off. (I've had a history of being burned by "friendly" seeming groups, so i was hesitant) I felt guilty about that, and the way home, we were silent. I looked out at the beautifully murky sky, while he talked with the people in front. I swear, I heard him mention "california love" once to them though.

For My Friend, keep rockin' them beats!

"Don't let them say you ain't beautiful

They can all get fucked just stay true"

Even though eminem isn't what you listen to

When we listen to The Black Eyed Peas Boom Boom Pow

and you keep "rockin' them beats" i'm just like wow

it's insane how hyper some days you can be

when you visit town after getting drunk on pepsi

I swear you're addicted to the weirdest things

but this isn't just about the excitement you bring



You don't do shit just to impress or show off

Don't need to buy fancy assed clothes or act tough

We had a fight 3 years ago, I thought our friendship ended

Times have changed, I'm glad for that, and thankful things were mended

I'm sorry you have to visit my dumb as hell suburban town

Just so we can hang out and do weird things and be friends again

We were both Greasers for Halloween, yet we handed out candy in different places

I think you're cool and always will, stop trying so hard to impress those old faces

most thought you were nice, funny, honest and sincere

They thought you were cool when you came back here


I've soon gotta end this rhyme

I can't wait to see you again next time

if you say you're glad were friends, I know what you say is true

So here you go, this spoken-word's dedicated to you

Don't listen to idiots who think you haven't changed

I mean, you have in many ways but haven't forgotten my name

You're still my friend



They can all get fucked just stay true

This one's for you.

Mother's Day

mother
We have had our differences in music

Not to mention TV, cause I’m no fan of Star Trek

I tried drawing you a card three times, and all in my eyes were wrecked

I turn on the shower while you’re talking on the phone

I turned the bathroom to a swamp, and all you could do was groan

But when you bought a case of munchkins, and without the powdered ones

That made us feel, as Jack would say, you really are “the one”

When I blast Eminem from my room you curse my name

And I run like hell for shelter when it’s time for family games

I tried drawing you a Brooklyn house, a beach scene and graffiti on the subway

So I began with a picture of Spock, that looks more like Kirk as Ted would say

Its annoying how you mute the screen when there’s R Rated material

Like if Chappelle were to play a guy eating crack cereal

Or something that looked way too real

Not censored

That could be a train station, subway or suburban street….



I think in rhymes most of the time like that

I don’t know why I’m in this MC phase

But that’s not the message this conveys

If you don’t know I’ll say it anyway

So here it is mom: “happy mother’s day!”

Remy Ma's sentence

If you've looked at my blog profile, you'd know that Remy Ma is one of my favorite rappers right now, and as of the beginning of 2008, is currently in jail. Back in 2007 she was arrested for shooting a friend outside of a nightclub in New York, when found guilty, the possible jail terms ranged from 8 to 25 years in jail, but luckily, managed to get 8 ( though it could have been 3 had she pleaded guilty). This may seem like a light sentence to give someone who had been charged with attempted murder, assault and criminal possesion of a weapon, but compared to rapper T.I.'s sentence of one year and a day in jail for illegally purchasing machine guns and ammo, seems unfair. Fellow NY rapper Lil Kim was given the same sentence of a year and a day as T.I., and for a similar crime to both. Why then was Remy Ma given a 7 times longer a sentence? Her lawyer, Ivan Fisher had defended very wealthy clients, and she had confessed to the crime, though she had pleaded innocent. Do you think Remy Ma deserved the 8 year sentence?

Girl's bathroom

Over here, over here!

should i let my hair fall behind my ears

switch to the strapless top mid-day

Shit, your lucky you have such good knees

my legs are too fat, guys won't notice me!


Girls gather round like chickens in a field

bunched together in packs, i haven't known how that feels

left out,outcast, watching as gossip rushes past my ears

boasting how they did drugs or chugged like 10 beers

the parties they threw and how they're cooler than last year:


look at my lipstick, can you check my mascara?

my boyfriend said i'm so hot i'm like the sahara!

did you hear about the girl and the guy and the freak?

shit, they're gonna think i'm a geek cuz i read a book this week!

i'm gonna date a senior, so i can get to prom before you!

Bet your jealous already, but we have to buy my shoes

fix my hair, get my clothes, i saw a dress i can't even afford!

but your mom's so rich, she'll pay with her money

omg you're so smart, but you look like shit, honey

you need to buy new clothes no scratch that---a new look--- my look

for frikking sake put away that math book!


If they saw me they'd laugh at my pencil stained hands

as I turn the volume up so loud i can't stand it

sketching people i witness, though stress leaves when i draw

sorry, didn't hear about your new tan, i was listening to Nas

they'd ask 'who's he?' i'd just bast some more music

hopefully they'd disappear like i'd preformed a magic trick

Music is magic, gossip's trash

talent is more important than cash


i'm not very talented, just look at my "raps"

but at least i don't hide in masses, talking crap

Rose Dress (Another part-rap poem)

Rose dress--strapless

Shiny diamond necklace

sparkles in the light, so crystal clear

I know prom's so far from here

I can't afford a limousine so i'll take a cab

My date looks great but he acts so bad

This is no wedding so we're not gonna dance

We'll just look on from past the lights from the stands

looking so fine as we start to hold hands

Yet all this is so far away



Today in the spring freshman girls go to prom

with their older men driving them to the dance room

what can i do but just look on with gloom?

Hooked on thinking cheesy romantic thoughts

My hair's not done, no bouquet's been bought

I have no date, life's not looking too great

Even when i conjure up that image of myself

Looking at that red dress stored away on a shelf

so close i can grab it, close as can be

But prom is like 3 years away from me

so how come all i feel is jealousy

Worry and anxiety?



I'm finished my sob story rap, I'm done

Now go and enjoy yourself at prom

Eminem's Relapse

Remember Eminem, the rapper who made a bold entrance into the rap world years ago? He has been gone for 4 years now after the release of Encore, an OK fourth album, (though what makes it ok is that it lacked the fire-like energy of his past three) After 4 years without his rap, he is coming back with a fifth, and later a sixth album, better known as Relapse and Relapse 2. the question is, will these albums be any good? will fans look at him as an old man past his prime if they think it not as good as the slim shady lp?The release date is coming closer each day, with Shady appearing on both Vibe and XXl magazines, rolling stone waiting to review any new single, and eminem even selling "RELAPSE prescription pills" (breath mints), and eminem fans like me are more anticipated by the minute. Don't get me wrong, I have my doubts about the newest album, and the songs aren't his best work. Still, whether you hate or love his music, what do you think of his return?

This is based on a minor character from the odyssey...

a spoken word poem based on a maid in the odyssey: Melantho's rap:

I’ve been a gangster, a hustler in past lives

always a junkie, a whore whenever I try to live

breathe again, see clear water, air again

Dubbed a slut by my master and employer

who’d have thought he’d come back and become my destroyer?

I slept around, messed with all the bad boy’s minds

I wanted to rebel from the poverty and misery, the biting kind

The sort that stings you like a wasp, why’d I cheat on my boss?

My man chasing after my mistress, my life a mess all hope lost

Drunk as punch, drinking punch and other brews as well

Who’d have thought the rose-cheeked girl would become stoned as hell

Early life

My mistress, sweet and bland as morning tea

Always took good care of me

Showered me like a spring rain, with toys and gifts a plenty

the other maids, girls who would later taste success

in other lives, but for now I was blessed

the one with fair skin, hair smooth and black as pitch

who’d think I would become a bitch

A common fool, a slut, a witch

You know, the kind you’d later burn

But I was hung

Rebellion

I began to grow up, and like other girls experiment

with berries red, hell any color let all cement

on my face, I was causin’ trouble all over the place

lookin’ so fly

you don’t hafta ask why

I was looking so hot like I was 4^th of july

Then all the men come round and they wanna court my mother

she’s not a blood relative, and I was looking way hotter

sexy as can be, fresh like the nectar of the gods, that’s me

I met my man that day, waiting among the throngs of men

I poured him brew and we drank till drunk, collapsing into bed

from then on we became close as sword and blood

except he wanted my “mother” instead