By N.C.-Marisa Phanord

 

To be real with yourself is to see the ugly.

To be real with yourself is to see the pretty.

To be real with yourself is to be yourself.

To be real with yourself is to accept your reality.

You have wrinkles, freckles, curves, and people that just on your nerves.

To be real is to realize that you are human

Riding on an emotional train that has no specific destination.

To be real with yourself is to be yourself and work it!

Whose going to be you and pull it off as well as you?

Just be…you and you’ll go far

And you’ll make it to the REAL.

By N.C.-Marisa Phanord

Yeah, Yeah

You’re this, you’re that

but nothing close to a star.

I thought you were a diamond.

Now blinded by the crap

I’m sorry… I misjudged you

I kind of saw you as the man with “S” strapped on chest

Now when i look closely the man behind the “S” is just a big mess

and again I’m sorry

I thought you were cool, i thought you were appealing, and everything i’ve been dreaming

The problem was that you thought so too.

So mighty and totally hot, right?

Picking women from left to right

Just waiting and sitting, hoping that you notice me

You must have known how much i liked you

I guess you still have alot of growing to do.

I almost failed pre-school for not playing games

So why don’t you think this is not the same?

But don’t worry I don’t blame you

You’re not the one who made me a fool

It was I who put you on a pedistol so high and so tall

That I never thought you could fall

Man, you had my heart

and dropped it (one)

You had my heart and you kicked it (two)

you had my heart…

But wait ! If you add 1 and 2 together doesn’t it sum to the 3 times you shattered my soul?

Is it your goal? a toll that i must pay for having liked you?

It’s funny..that the pain only lasted a day.

Now that i am cool and calm Listen to me now Mister:

“I don’t need a man who thinks he is so cool that he keeps his lips so close to his butt looking like a duck!”

 

                                                             Bye!

 

By N.C.-Marisa Phanord

Hold me

Kiss me

Tell me that you adore me

Because I fear your essence is not near

And your love isn’t here

Once again I would love to hear your voice

That baritone that travels to my phone

Causing my soul to break up into an infinite amount of pieces

Tapping into unknown happiness that was then over flowing

I know this may sound a little whack

But as a matter fact

The ashes still remain from that fire that you once proclaimed

 To be love.

So what? It’s been how many days and so many things haven’t been the same

Things have been kind of lonely

In this one house, one room, once love.

So here is the now story

We lived 50 stories

There were no elevators, no stairs, only stares

Because we lived so high in air

For people to see our love in action

It use to take them for a ride, we charged no fare

Although we really didn’t care; I don’t think it was fair

To show them how it was, something that they probably couldn’t pull off

Was it some sort of deceit for us to succumb to defeat?

I’m tired of weeping

Wishing you could have told me from the beginning

Told me who you wanted to be

Just a quick fling, a man not willing to fight for the real thing. That’s me

So tell me Mr. Weatherman, will you be accurate today?

Will our forecast for tomorrow be clear enough?

To really see what has been eating us

Or will this black cloud remain and us continue the same which most people may call profane

But if it does then I would have to fear

With this being the final tear

This peering heart will finally get a chance to breathe again, see again

And maybe baby mend again

And go looking for someone to call friend

Once again 

There is a feeling that I want to grow

And inkling that just won’t go…

Away

It’s restless

It’s relentless

It’s scorning

It’s burning

Its yearning

It is forgiving

It is understanding

It is my warmth

It is my love that will subdue under any circumstance

Because it is my strength

It is my will …

To go on.

So I keep it locked away under my heavily guarded heart

Waiting for the one with the key for it all.

by N.C.-Marisa Phanord

Hello. My name is Confused. There are many things I want to say and do in my life but being a lazy-not-wanting-to-do-anything-fool I can not do so. It is so hard being me and don’t take me wrong I am not conceited. What I mean is that my life is hard for me and only me and couldn’t care too much about comparing myself to somebody else. I want to be this and I want to be that. Why can’t I get motivated? Why can’t I make that change that I know I want so desperately?

to be conceited

is to be defeated

to think that your hot and you’re really not

to improve

is what you  need to do

cause from my point of view

there’s lot to do

To sue

is to get a clue

that you tried to improve

what God gave to you

something not made for you

Silicon

Foreign to your body

Just as a good thought running through your body.

We need learn that there is not to be compared to and that there is nothing wrong with either me and you

Have you ever heard of the song by J.HOliday called Bed? Everybody is singing it like it is all cool but it is not. The song is so insulting to me (1% feminist). Why can’t a black men of the Rap and Hip Hop genre ever dipicite a women for her true beauty. But NO they have to talk about how they are going to use women or how they are whores and ect. My question to those artist are: how would you like it if someone was singing your song to your mother, sister, grandmother, or even your daughter?  Would you really want that to happen.

I just think that it is ashame how Hip-Hop and R&B is going now. It is also sad how these women feel that they have to degratter themselves to get in the music industry. Don’t they feel ashame when most of there  clothes are off and that they objected to do certain things that i believe you should not do. What if the music industry is working out for you maybe you are suppose to do something else with life or something else on the side. They sleeping with artists and degrading themselves. What make the music industry so glamorous especially if you got no talent?…… sorry.

I can tell you right now the music i am talking about is the same as it is 20 years ago. What i am objecting to the direct and disgusting way they do things now. Music use to sexy and fun and creative emphasis on creative because… I mean…  have you ever heard the song A BAY BAY? What the hell is A BAY BAY?! And no i don’t want you to take me to bed! you pervert!

Like Chamillionaire says Hip Hop needs the  Police.

I’m not gonna sit here and say how hard it is to be a haitian. As a matter of fact i’m gonna seek the nonsensicalness and embrace it for i am haitian american. My parents came to the states in there teenage years and worked hard. my dad is a hait ian  radio host and my mother a nurse and they raised us as american as can be. My other siblings grew up to mostly american music and became american (although we were born here). Although we “adapted” alot of influnce rubbed off on us. For example, my grandmoms only speaks creole to us so there for we speak it. When our mom would cook it was a haitian plate, the way we dress and the way we act. I sort of take pride in that because why not rep the country you mom and  dad   come from just we were sterotyped a certain way?

But honestly there are some messed up things about it. Like when your younger and they would always dress you up in dresses that makes it look puffy with puffy shoulder pads, with dress socks with a frilly lace at the neck of the sock. They would put your hair in puff braids….. that’s how you know that is a child of a haitian. Some haitian women when it come to makeup would get it all wrong. They would put to much rouge, wear red lipstick and where foundation a shade or two lighter than themselves.

There is so much too say. but this will be continued………………………….

with detail.