Fake Straight

Let's just say that I had to double check I was using the phrase "power topper" in the correct contents in order to write this song.

Comments?

Rain Drops on My Soul

My cup is half full.

It is not my intention for it to get below that specific point at any one time. Although, sometimes when I go to fill it again, there simply isn't anything left to put in. They will say what they want. Say it to your face, without any courtesy to your back. They will criticize what they want.

Them…..

Those people….

The ones you've never met; the ones whom are closes to you.

It doesn't matter what the relationship is, they will say it without regard for their own tongue. They will say it without thinking of how sharp it is, of what they might hurt between the travels from their vocal cords to their lips to my ears. Everyone is a critic. Everyone does it better. It starts with the hair, clothes, weight, make up, lyrics, beat, mix, performance, integrity, and personality. Everything is critiqued. Nothing is sacred. Not even from the ones whom you share it all; not even from yourself.

There are times when I feel my soul is drowning in critique.

Critique from myself, from others, from strangers.

Try as I may, I fear that if these critiques get to me, my soul will drown unable to be revived to it's original beauty.

Be gentle with my soul

Be good to your lips and keep a dull tongue

Make This Beat Behave

I've had a few, but not too many, I'd rather catch another kind of high tonight. Close my eyes and let the music move my body outside itself. Now and then I catch the breeze from the fans above, just enough to feel but not enough to keep the sweat from running down the back of my neck prompting me to use my fingers as a temporary hair piece. It all flows together like Van Gogh, the fan, the sweat, hair, fingers. The dance floor is all that's left and the rest of the painting melts around my very soul while I bleed into the mix of the music.

That is, until the DJ lost it.

The mix was all wrong, the colors didn't work. Suddenly, my master piece was melting before my ears. Little by little my beauty was being stolen by a thief with two turn tables and no sense of heart. No No No. You're murdering those tracks, and yet you're still not killing 'em. You're just slowly suffocating them by providing an insufficient amount of oxygen, those songs don't breath together. My beautiful painting, my blissful dance, you are being taken and I feel you slipping from my grasp, but then out of no where..there is hope.

What do I hear?

Erykah, Fugees, Jurassic5 flowing evenly and poetically together as one.

Here I am bliss, my Van Gogh forming once again.

That is, until the DJ lost it....

Someone Please: Make This Beat Behave.

You Never Knew Me....

There was a time before your name.

I swear to god I wasn't always like this, if you could only see the girl I was before you.

Since you, I'm broken, I don't recognize these pieces of me in the mirror.

Where did this girl come from?

She

Is a stranger to me and everyone she knows.

I don't like her.

I feel sorry for her.

I, would never be one of those girls...

If you only knew me before you met me.

If you could see the whole puzzle and not just these parts.

Then you would see how strong I am, then you would see I wouldn't put up with this.

Hello girl?

Where are you?

Where did you hide to when you met him?

If you only knew me when I didn't care if you were around, when I didn't know your name.

If you only knew me, if you only knew me at all, but you don't.

You don't even know my name, it's not baby, sweetie, bitch or dear.

Did I forget to introduce her when we met?

I'll take the blame for that, how can I expect you to know she is there?

Hello...

My Name is Tiffany Grace, I'm moody, loving, hard headed, won't always admit when I'm wrong, sometimes I hate make up, there are days when I cannot even stand myself, I am gorgeous, funny, strong, insecure, talented, curious, a little bit of a flirt, too much of a bitch, caring, out of the norm, scared, happy, sad, and that's just the start of my day.

It's nice to meet you.

Do you love me now?

Tell Me Why

There is something to be said for the moment when you realize that you're wrong. Although, it is what's not said that presents the most damage. When did our ego's become so delicate? At what point in our lives did we decide that being right, was more important, than...well...doing right?

It's always a struggle, love, just when you think you have it all figured out there it goes changing again. Springtime is here, the birds are chirping the sun is coming out from hibernation and everyone is in love. Do you know what I sometimes wonder? I wonder if people feel trapped by love because we chose to refer to it as "being in love", it's like people think their stuck in it. Then you fall out of love, and that just sounds painful.

So, here we are, us never satisfied creatures, either stuck in love, or painfully falling out of it! Well, you just can't win, can you? You don't want to be stuck, and you don't want to be hurt. For the love of God, what the hell do you people want? From now on I am going to call it, being around love. Doesn't that sound pleasant, to be around and surrounded by l-o-v....uh oh wait, I'm surrounded!! Let me out, let me out!! How about be just it, Love. There isn't a need to attach another word to it. I mean after all, Love is all you need, right?

Idiot Savant

My Dear Idiot Savant's,

I bet you're sorry now…..

Slightly sincerely and never again yours,

Tiffany Grace

Pink Houses

I am not the most educated of people, at least not on paper. Apparently, paper is very powerful as we go through so much to achieve this paper. We work for four plus years, get down on one knee, kill in the name of our country, labor 8 hours a day 7 day's a week, bleed, die, you name it and we have done it for different kinds of paper. How then do we obtain all of this paper for its demand? We cut down the one source of life that keeps the breath in our lungs. It is no wonder that the paper is slowly suffocating us all. It's no wonder that we all secretly strive to rebel against the paper. Knowing that there is something more out there than little pink houses with white picket fences, and yet we just can't walk away.

We sign away our lives to these papers as if our souls were dangling at the ends of our last names, but we're not holding the pen.

Interestingly enough, society is holding the pen because that is whom we are all living for. Who exactly is this society? The dictionary describes them as this "a highly structured system of human organization for large-scale community living that normally furnishes protection, continuity, security, and a national identity for its members: American society." I'll bet you never knew you were part of "a highly structured system of human organization". Curious that they have to specify this is an actual human practice. With due justice given it's barbaric animal like tendencies, though without as much grace as I am giving it credit for.

Living breathing things would never be so asinine as to cut their own life support in order to obtain paper. Oh, but we are, we are willing to die for this acceptance in order to prove our love, competence, loyalty, dignity, pride and so on. This isn't about saving the trees, the air, and the planet. It's about saving yourself, from you. Keeping the faith that conformity is really just another form of cancer. Silently eating away your dreams and passion as it fills your body with its disease. If I were you, I would save myself. The noose is already around your neck; I would remove it before "a highly structured system of human organization" kicks the bench.

Sleeping With The Enemy

It wasn't really a matter of morals, not at the time. It was a chance at an opportunity that I had let go by in the past. My body moved gracefully in every direction for the first time in my clumsy life. I watched the twisted confusion in your eyes as you tried to read a book that was finally closed to you. Brushing the dust away with your gaze stroke by stoke from head to toe, hoping to pluck me off the shelf again. Your efforts went unrewarded and you started to enjoy the uncertainty.


Energy surged through your nervous body making you squirm like a child being held too tightly for just a moment too long. Smiling at your discomfort it occurs to me that I have the control for the first time in our short affaire. It's appropriate to refer to this as an affaire as apposed to a friendship or god forbid, a relationship. An affaire is a passing moment, it's wrong in more ways than one. It has multiple meanings and even larger responsibilities. Yes, it's fitting to refer to it as an affair.


Every thought in your mind might as well have been uttered out loud like a Schizophrenic and that made you so easy to manipulate; but too damn crazy to realize it. Insanity must come from years of games and over confidence, the kind that is faked and not really earned. Though your thin veil hiding the face of truth is being taken over by beautiful moths tonight. Revealing holes that your insecurity is painfully emerging from.


The moment lingers on my tongue and I imagine the taste of my prey. Our chess game of wit and unpredictability has suddenly taken a sharp turn to a game of cat and mouse. My claws were out, I was in pouncing position and I was ready to bring home my prize; because this time I win.


It wasn't really a matter of morals, not at the time. It was a chance at an opportunity that I had let pass too many times.