Tattooed PlayHouse EDITS

The little girl in me still plays house
Never stopped stuffing
Pretending to be pregnant
But now
Instead of pillows under my shirt
It’s penises under my skin
Boys behind my ribs because I have to let him in if I expect him to hold my heart
Despite what people claim to see in my eyes
Barcodes etched into my thighs show him just how much I think I’m worth

I hide the epic poem of my life behind fairytale book covers
Cinderella slippin my way between the soiled covers of a borrowed lover
I pretend to be illiterate
Not to read too deep into his silences
Not to read fast enough to see “wifey” sending him text messages
We both see monogamy as sentences
But where I see articulation
Structured expression
Shared understanding and talented construction
He sees punishment
Being locked up against his will
Though when he’s out he doesn’t get off the block anyway
I guess the adrenaline rush of a quick nut beats 3 hots and a cot any day
Apparently I’m too maternal for guys my age to appreciate

But he is like a masterpiece of acid tear marks covered by ink
His tattoos whisper volumes of poetry
His stories make murals on his skin
Begging me to dive in and learn their purpose
Because there is more to men than mistakes
And there is more to art than aesthetics

I am juxtaposed prose in a poet’s position
The irony of hoping to find Mr. Right by pretending to be accepting of all types of wrong
Every love song is a slap in the face that no one loves me that way
So I still play house
Looking for a man looking to be loved
And finding only boys looking to be fucked
Savages
Looking for a hunt
With the marks of a soldier but the heart of a civilian
His tattoos were beautiful but only skin deep
The only meaning seeming to be pleas for attention from everyone except apparently
Me
Hieroglyphic hopes to not be forgotten hand painted on his temple

A girl once burned down the chapel of his heart
So he became hard headed and thick skinned
With warning signs spray painted from needled cans saturating his surface
“Do Not Enter!” scream the pinup girls on his ribs because that’s really how he feels about the gift God made of him
Barbed wire on his biceps so I would not be tempted to lay in his arms
A lion on his left pectoral in case I dare go near his heart
Lips traced on his collar to assure me my kiss was nothing he didn’t already have
Countless stars so everyone knows he believes he is above them

He is like a flower
Plucked and placed on the kitchen table to be admired
It was being beautiful that brought him so much pain
I am sorry
But I am playing house
And isn’t that what grown ups do?
Decorate their home with priceless works of art that they won because at some auction they were willing to give more than everyone else
Something like how in relationships I'm willing to give more than myself
So I’ve stopped looking for a partner to write love poems about
And will settle for a prized possession to display in my play house

New Poem (UNEDITED!)

EXCLUSIVE
(I know its really long, but it's cuz I haven't had a chance to edit it yet...thoughts are much appreciated)
Tattooed PlayHouse

The little girl in me still plays house
Never stopped stuffing
Pretending to be pregnant
But now
Instead of pillows under my shirt
It’s penises under my skin
Boys behind my ribs because I have to let him in if I expect him to hold my heart
Despite what people claim to see in my eyes
Barcodes etched into my thighs show him just how much I think I’m worth

I hide the epic poem of my life behind fairytale book covers
Cinderella slippin my way between the soiled covers of a borrowed lover
He looks me over
Pegs me as an unclaimed lamb
Butters me up for the slaughter
Never checked for my marks
Never bothered to listen to my scars
Thought he was the only one with permanent expressions on his epidermis

I pretend to be more shallow than I am
Not to read too deep into his silences
Not to read fast enough to see “wifey” sending him text messages
We both see relationships as sentences
But where I see articulation
Structured expression
Shared understanding and talented construction
He sees punishment
Being locked up against his will
Though when he’s out he doesn’t get off the block anyway
I guess the adrenaline rush of a quick nut beats 3 hots and a cot any day
Apparently I’m too maternal for guys my age to appreciate

But he is like a masterpiece of acid tear marks covered by ink
His tattoos whisper volumes of poetry
His stories make murals on his skin
Begging me to dive in and learn their purpose
Because there is more to men than mistakes
And there is more to art than aesthetics

I am juxtaposed prose in a poet’s position
An angel on a Saint’s mission
City-switchin
To-Do list wishin
I am a genius of oxymorons
Staring at the make-up
Looking for the balance between putting more on
And wiping away the lies
I’m not going to find Mr. Right by pretending to be accepting of all types of wrong
Every love song is a slap in the face that no one loves me that way
So I still play house
I’m the mommy and the daddy and the nanny
Looking for a man looking ro be loved
And finding only boys looking to be fucked
Savages
Looking for a hunt
With the marks of a soldier but the heart of a civilian
His tattoos were beautiful but only skin deep
The only meaning seeming to be pleas for attention from everyone except apparently
Me
Hieroglyphic hopes to not be forgotten hand painted on his temple

A girl once burned down the chapel of his heart
So he became hard headed and thick skinned
With warning signs spray painted from needled cans saturating his surface
“Do Not Enter!” scream the pinup girls on his ribs because that’s really how he feels about the gift God made of him
Barbed wire on his biceps so I would not be tempted to lay in his arms
A lion on his left pectoral in case I dare go near his heart
Lips traced on his collar to assure me my kiss was nothing he didn’t already have
Countless stars so everyone knows he believes he is above them

He is like a flower
Plucked and placed on the kitchen table to be admired
It was being beautiful that killed him
I am sorry
But I am playing house
And isn’t that what grown ups do?
Decorate their home with priceless works of art that they won because at some auction they were willing to give more than everyone else
Something like I give more than myself
So I’ve stopped looking for a partner
And will settle for a prized possession to display in my play house

FILM REVIEW: Precious

WARNING! This is not an obese (no pun intended), plot focussed review.

Precious was NOT the typical Hollywood movie which is refreshing, but the focus on the emotional shock value depleted the ability to relate to the story line. Except in the generic sense that "sometimes bad stuff happens to good people and then right when it starts to look like its getting better it gets worse" there is very little that the average person can identify with. In fact it seems as if a message that "you shouldn't complain because it could be worse" is the main goal of this movie. The problem with comparing struggles is that everybody is a different level of strong. What could ruin the life of one person could be completely trivial to another. It is all based on the individual interpretation of the person experiencing the struggle. My dad used to tell me: "I am upset, not by events, but rather by the way I view them." (someone else said that before my dad, but I don't know who...) There is no one way to judge the pain of a situation, it all depends on the perspective of the person experiencing it. That being said....you should go see the movie for yourself....bring a tissue and a hand to hold.

Rihanna Rated R

I give it (drum roll pleeeeaaase)
5 OUT OF 5 STARS!!!!!

I've never been a huge Rihanna fan, but I've never been a hater against her like so many seem to be inclined to do, but this album definitely caught me off guard with how much I enjoyed it. As a poet I think the fact that 80% (disclaimer: not an actual percentage, just a rough estimate) of the songs are extended metaphors (i.e. Cold Case Love, Fire Bomb, Russian Roulette....ok those might be the only ones) and 100% (an actual percentage, not just an estimate) of the songs are conceptual. There is a clear theme to every song and every line supports the chorus which could be considered the thesis.

The beats are tantalizing, border line entrancing. Comparable to Trey Songz's Anticipation album, the instrumentals have a lot of depth to them and Rihanna's exotic accent only accentuates (ironic, right) them.

I don't agree with or relate to everything she says on the album (she definitely exposes herself as a whole other level of crazy) but I can understand where she's coming from and THAT is the mark of a good artist: How well they can express they're insanity-eh I mean, artisticness to normal people.

Well that's my opinion. Go find out for yourself! (I had to take the link down because THE MAN caught me lol)

Oh and uuhhh....HAPPY THANKSGIVING, EVERYBODY!!! :)

Thoughts of a Slacker

I know I haven't been updating my blog like I said I would be, but I have been trying to. There's a lot of updates. I've dyed my hair blue (its wet in this pic so it looks more blue than it actually is. its more purple like my header)-->

I've made a new YouTube channel which you can check out www.YouTube.com/RoyalAndPoetic
and you may notice that I'm a rapper now :) But yea. It's 1:25am and I just wanna blog about whats on my mind. More to come I promise!

"CeCe. you've put in a hoop nose ring and dyed your hair blue. What are you doing?"

This question was actually posed to me today and it caught me EXTREMELY off guard and I found myself extremely upset with my lack of a clever response for about an hour after. Well my smart ass answer to you guys is: "Me. I'm doing me. Is there a problem?" My more thorough answer, though is that I wasn't happy with who I was attracting so after asking God for the "Courage to change the things I can" I changed my definition of attractive. I took the advice of the beautiful Thea Monyee and stopped worrying about being the pretty girl. I'm just worried about being a BEAUTIFUL PERSON.

KNOWING HOW BEAUTIFUL/ROYAL YOU ARE DOES NOT MEAN YOU THINK YOU ARE BETTER THAN ANYONE ELSE!

People think that because I call everyone in my life King/Queen that it loses its meaning. I say there are BILLIONS of people in the world that I don't refer to as royalty. If you are in MY life, even if only for a moment, my Royal path has brought us together and you are capable of nothing less than God-Like perfection. Embrace your beauty. Embrace your Queen/Kingdom.

GUESS WHO'S BACK Back back....

wellll it sure has been a while since I've blogged....

I am no longer in Los Angeles. I have moved to New Orleans and am 3 weeks into my freshman year at Tulane University. I am enjoying myself beyond what should be allowed as legal and often times isn't lol

Well I WANTED to come back with a BANG i.e. a video, buuuut since it's 1:11am here and I just got the urge to blog typed will have to suffice. Here is my poem about my personal feelings about coming to New Orleans. I LOVE CALI, but I gotta love me more first ya digg? Here it is:

Please forward my mail to New Orleans, Atlantic
I mean
New Atlantis, Louisiana
I mean
That graveyard we abandoned
Where survivors were left to scavenge for scraps in the aftermath of levee damage
But 3 years later we pull 700 billion out of our asses
I wanna learn government magic

How to turn street cars into surf boards
How to bury every dream in the muddy streets of the 9th ward
How to steal from people so poor they couldn't even afford to evacuate when they were warned about the storm
Tell me
Is is still bad to bite the hand that feeds me if that hand forces bullshit down my umbilical chord?

Children all over America were being born into snow globes of hope
While others were dying in the Super Dome
But that's not what they showed
I was told "THOSE PEOPLE" murdered and stole
The truth was my fellow Kings and Queens were trying to use their thrones as boats to float above the city they called home

And I learned that the hard way
Riding the metaphorical waves of a poet that drank that rain
There is nothing OK about putting a price on the lives of people caught in the mistakes of an underestimated hurricane
But I think I finally went sane at the front door of Tulane

I'll take the 504 over the 405 anyday
So I left LA the city for LA the state
Goodbye, Angels
Hello, Saints

PHOTO JOURNAL!!!

110 South.