Man Of My Dreams.

That's the picture of me that people will associate with my poetry.

I've got amazing eyes.

Right now I'm sitting here eating strawberry ice cream and listening to music.

LastFM is my shit.

I should be cleaning my room or writing my paper, but it's like I've been using these last few weeks to make up for a semester's worth of self-neglect. It's about me as much as I can make it right now.

I live my life for appearance's sake. I'm also fine with that. The important thing is that I'm fine with the appearance itself. I'd rather not exert my energy to create an image that I don't even value.

But now, I am shaping myself apart from my roots. Every image I play into is one that I must love for my new singular self.

So about the title of this blog...

Meshell Ndegeocello has a new album out. The World Has Made Me the Man of My Dreams.

Powerful phrase, I say.

Sounds like something I've said a lot. "I'm totally fine with being my own boyfriend if niggas don't wanna act right."

And I am.

I discovered that I am
a beautiful woman
who can't find a man
to match her wits.
So I learned to match my own.
Laugh at my own jokes
and love my own body.
It's much more pleasurable
to know what I likes
by myself
and understand what I need
to live
and to function
than to be dependent
and catering to whims
snottin' and cryin' and shit
over some...cat
whose sex
was wack
has surely
shown me
that to be two
I must first become one.
But I think I like one better.
One does what she wants
all the time.
And she does what I ask her to
on the first try.
She doesn't hog the covers
or snore
or sweat when she's on top.
As a matter of fact,
One may be
the man of my dreams.

And besides all that, One likes my bald head and tells me I'm beautiful every day.
Truest words ever spoken: "You gon' have to build you a man from the ground up girl."

So I did.