A sweetie pie with fire in her eyes
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It is all men I scream from bowels of frustration with the opposing gender. The gathering of misogynistic weapons clang in the distance at that phrase spoken by honest bearers communicating their experiences; small or large. Every woman thinks “will he kill me?”, “will he rape me?” Or “will he use me for sex?” Or “am I a human to him?”; whether it is a floating thought of father, brother, uncle, grandfather, friend, boyfriend or complete stranger.
By Cadma5 years ago in Viva
“This was supposed to be an open and shut case” he mutters. Twelve men and women equally staring at a thawed out woman pulled from the local frozen pond. Detective Kay rekindles the conversation with “Open and shut cases are fantasies for detectives who lack imagination and skill”. Terry glanced up at Detective Kay with a smirk. Detective Kay held a feminine exterior but the interior of a cold killer if pressed; the criminals she pursues often find themselves in fear. Terry responds “An open and shut case would mean we didn’t have a serial killer; sorry for being hopeful Detective.”. Kay replies “Hopeful is what probably got her where she is”, as she points to the body. “Were you hurt as a child or adult? Cause you’re so cold!” Terry snaps. Blake interrupts the unfriendly banter explaining “Look guys, regardless of anything much like the other victims, they were dead prior to being pushed under the lake”. Terry addresses Blake “How do you figure?”.
By Cadma5 years ago in Fiction
In the middle of a desert, lays a lake that looks like crystal and gelatin like. High above the ground are branches that hold different golden, silver and copper fruit like fruit hanging from it. Copper pear trees, golden apple trees, unnaturally tall silver lemon trees. The trees are not easy to climb and requires either one to be clever or incredibly skillful; not many can achieve easily. Himi sits at the bottom of the tree staring at the sky in the lake. She carefully sizes up the tree filled with confidence. She backs up from the tree to gain some insightful distance. As she begins gracefully walking under the tree and she spots the golden pear hanging up high in the copper tree. She inhales carefully and braces herself while removing one of her sai; and throws it full force. The sai merely bounces off the branches and falls to the ground. She takes the sai and walks up to the tree to see if she could climb up using the sai to stick into the tree. The sai makes weak indentations into the bark but it is enough for a petite climber to utilize. Each hit by the sai takes several stabs to make it stick. Each steady branch allows Himi to take a break. Over the hours Himi makes progress as she eyes the golden pear she wants.
When the phone rang I imagined a job less explicit. An amicable woman's voice greets me into an introduction of the world I would become a part of. Instructions were vague but well understood and I agreed. I had grazed this lifestyle once before but did not throw myself into the dark abyss because I saw something beautiful. So beautiful that it drove away all the darkness that I was born with, and like everything else in my life; the light went away and perhaps for the best. There's a level of filth no light could clean. He will be better off without me. I thought of him before I decided to dive into my new found work. I wondered what would he think but then I remembered that he walked away from me and refuses to speak or acknowledge my existence; so what would he care? However, I have no time to think of such things I have a friend who overheard my conversation and agreement to work; and they have a lot to say.
The never ending helix of mental consumption Brings your legs to tread a self-proposed destruction Through the eyes of a child, one can only watch
By Cadma5 years ago in Poets
Rambunctious memories sit and lay For moments to prance upon me to break Wounded and dead behind the eyes A blue eyed soul caught me by surprise
I never used to dream until I met you Your beaming optimism slowly broke through I didn't like to smile until I saw your face
The saxophone rages in cigarette smoke with a furious melody battling the singer’s scatting. Grey eyes and chocolate skinned woman struts across the room in meek confidence. She observes the scene of falsified debauchery pretends no one can see them in their acts. Carefully careening the room and she sits up staring at the white-haired woman staring at her. White haired and olive skinned with a smile built with mischief stands with her small bosom pointed up at the ceiling and dances her way to the grey eyed woman. As her white hair caresses the booth’s table like the smoke in the room, she announces “The name’s Sunna Eris and yours?”; grey eyes seemed intrigued and extends her hand to say, “You can call me Kailani”.
I’m getting tired of my dreams; strangling me It’s torture when I sleep, destroying me Wrapped in ambitions, hearts tryna listen
The sounds of the strokes of a keyboard create a cacophony of deferred dreams amongst my colleagues. I hear the shouts that have become an inaudible blur to my mind. It is 9 a.m. and I am questioning my life’s purpose; like we all do. However, I see my superior skipping his way towards me as if he is swinging a bat and ready to strike at me like usual.
Racial tensions are high in a society that promises equality to all shades of human kind. The small eyes in the mirror have always loved the red in the skin that surrounds it in the summer and how yellow it becomes in the winter; a pride of color but never supremacistic about it. Racial identification has become a highlighted necessity amongst the small minded stuck on over labeling. Within the last few weeks I was physically challenged by a Black male who called me on the slant which honestly surprised me and pissed me off simultaneously. Later only to attract a White Supremacist who chose me to sit next to and discuss how I Black Women should die. Later I was approached by my apparently “Latino” Papa in the street who insisted on calling me Mija in public for his assistance; he was also upset I was speaking Spanglish. I helped him to his location nonetheless. I was also judged for not being “Black” enough by someone else’s definition as if my skin color changes based on my lifestyle and personality I was also reminded that I cannot relate to others because I am only Black and nothing more to invalidate my strange experiences; only becoming another unnecessary experience.
By Cadma5 years ago in The Swamp
Opening panel: news caster reporting the news of a dismembered Vietnamese man. The reporter is talking about how the man was found in the trunk of his own car.
