Ants On a Log.

A friend of mine recently Tweeted this statement: "As I get older, I want kindergarten food more and more."

When we're kids all we want is to drive and do whatever grown-ups to. As adults, all we want is ants on a log and nap time (which studies have shown increases productivity in the workplace).

I personally don't mind being an adult though. I can dress myself (although I do have to lay out my clothes and bathe at night), and drive a car, and go to work every day (which actually kind of sucks).

Either way, I'm alive and childless so I win right?

Except for the moments when I feel like my youth is fleeting. When I feel like 23 is really 50 and I haven't started saving for retirement. I'm not in a serious relationship (whatever that is). I'm not married or even really almost. My job suddenly feels dead-end and other people have done soooo much more with the same number of years than I have. Some with less.

What is my contribution to society? Whose life have I made better through the use of mine? Why can't I get a man to fall hopelessly in love with me like every other woman I know seems to be able to?

Those are the moments when ants on a log is better. When I'd rather have a nap and learn to use purple plastic safety scissors than do morning paperwork.

But alas, this is my lot.

And by the way, what dumbass backs into an angled space? How do you not notice that you'll be going up the down when you leave?
C. Noelle

I'm lying in bed...

...and I'm blogging.

But I seriously think I'd prefer to be doing this from my phone.

Doesn't matter. It IS a shout out to my laziness, though.

I need to eat.

And bathe.

And go to work.

Starting in the afternoon is like a mini day off for me, really. I can sit around and not do shit until I get ready. And watch Maury.

How the hell do you test three men at once and NONE of them be the father? Like...you're bold enough to bring three men on national TV but not four?

Did you forget?

Or maybe your math was wrong.

I don't even know, yo.

So...I'm dating an old man now.

Not that anyone reads this blog to care, but whatever.

Oh shit...I don't think I'm posting this link on Facebook. I forgot that who I'm dating is nobody's business.

Anyway, I love him a whole lot. He's always on my mind, and every time I do something it's with him in mind. Would he like it? Does he mind if...

And he likes me for everything about me.

Because I know he hates my shoes but it never stops me from buying them. Because no matter what I'm cooking I think about his needs and the fact that he only likes ground beef.

He said "Babe those pants are granny as hell."
And I said "So?! They're comfortable!"
"And that's why I dig you chick. You don't give a fuck what I think."

He rubs my head in bed and kisses my neck.

I think that was the third thing he did that got me wrapped up though. He talked about his kids, he gave me his last $2, and he rubbed my head.

What more can a chick ask for?

My Hip Hop

So I've been using my Berry to write shit off the top, but I forgot.

Some of it is good, some could be better.

Either way, here's one.

It wasn't Jay-Z
and it wasn't Lil Wayne
MC Such and Such
Young This and That...

It wasn't a groundbreaking young
female emcee
with the metaphors
of several grown men.

It was a live band
and shaking Black Thought's hand
and showing him my head
under that big scribbled scarf
and realizing that larger than life
is shorter than me
but thank God that height don't
determine the strength of a true emcee.

It was feeling the energy surge
behind me
cuz they know all the lyrics
and seeing lighters up
fists pumped
when their hero spit them lines.

My hip hop's president
is not Black
and cannot believe
that the one drop rule
continues to apply
but it loves him no less
because he's got a hip hop state of mind.

It was checking for some new emcee
on the strength of an e-mail
and 2 years later
almost becoming a groupie
even though that male
never came through.

But I'm glad that I've found myself
and you.
I am better for it.


I think I started that one at the Elzhi show and finished or edited it @ Prince Poe. I think.

Not my favorite, but also raw and unedited.

About This...

I am blogging from my Crackberry. Every day I find another way to attach it to my self. And now I cannot live without it. On another note, I love.

Yes, again.

This time I love thrice. All very real. Or maybe I just covet. Who's to say?
C. Noelle

On the death of myself.

I haven't blogged here in almost a year.

A few on MySpace, but not here.

In that almost year, I have sort of graduated college. If not college then that phase of my life.

I have allowed myself to love for real, and let go of the thing I held on to for three very long years. I finally let that love be free, and I finally let it die. One can only nurture the pain for so long before she just outgrows it.

I met a man who has changed my life. In the beginning, for the better. Right now, because of him, I cannot stop crying. I know that in the end, he will have changed me for the best.

At first, I cried a few small tears. They carried the pain of (just one more) man that will break my eagerly given heart. It wasn't that bad. But as I continuted, they grew. Now they are huge and pregnant with years of pain that I can't seem to get rid of. They say crying is cleansing, but after a few weeks of periodic bawling and almost constantly fighting back tears (even when I'm laughing), I have to ask the gods "When will the cleansing be over? How is it that I am not clean YET?!"

"I know that fire purifies, but I feel pure enough now so can we please just let this shit die?"

But they disagree, and the tears keep coming.

Amid them though, I am seeing something new. The world looks very different when clouded with saline. Shapes change a bit.

Through these tears, I am seeing the death of myself.

There was just one moment where I finally stopped dabbing at my tears with Puffs and just let myself heave and bawl into my pillow. I reverted to my childhood just long enough to feel the tears change from the pain in my heart to being able to actually feel the cleansing that comes.

I had to cry now, because I was shedding. I had done enough crying after him, and now it was time for me.

Though I am not done, tears have slowed. Here in my room, I have held a funeral for the death of my old self. She is almost twenty-three now, and though the age itself means nothing in particular, the addition of one year's experiences is invaluable.

But now I have mourned, and I must release. Put away the sackcloth and ashes, and begin to rejoice in the freedom.

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
alone
than to be dependent
and catering to whims
snottin' and cryin' and shit
over some...cat
whose sex
was wack
ANYWAY.
Singularity
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.

And I Said...

I didn't want to write poetry tonight.

But that phrase "Shit on my mind..."

Let's see where it takes us, shall we?

Baby I've got
some shit on my mind.
I'm aloof
far off
not talking much.
Because I've got shit on my mind.
Not a reflection on you
of you
of us.
Just me.
I remember saying that
none of this was personal but
it is.
Just not for you.
So chill.
I've just got some shit on my mind.

Hm...that was ok.

Sestina?

Perhaps.

Shit. Mind. You. Can. Would. Talk.

I'm about to be sick of your shit.
I swear to God I'm on the path to losing my mind.
Too early in the morning for this nonsense. Can
you just chill? I know we need to talk
and I would
if it wasn't for you

and the way you're always talking
increasing amounts of shit.
Maybe instead of me yelling at you
we could get somewhere. Anywhere would
be better than here. Get back to me when you can.
I've got some shit on my mind.

I can't take
no more of this arguing shit.
We're supposed to be adults but we can't
even sit down together. You said you would
try to fix this mess but your
schedule does not permit. But I don't mind.

Just know though, that I've got other shit
going on. My world cannot
afford to revolve around what could
have been the one real. But I know you don't mind.
Heard about you taking
that yellow bitch to lunch. She can have you.

No, really. I don't mind.
Even take your time.
I've already had my talk
with you. You can
get your shit
on Thursday. I won't
be there but...
my new man will.

*pats self on back*

Interesting concept. Needs work.

But then again...who doesn't?