Nameless

I see you. And your everything, but nothing at all.
Your Parisian flair & your hair down to there
Your supple lips and your tiny hips
...Tease me
I want to be like you. Not you you
But the you that is shiny and brand new on the cover.
With your waif delicacy entangled in diamonds and glamour
And your legions of fans that all flock and clamor
To see you.
Not the you that is like me
Trivial, broken and bashful
Bloating with insecurity and add a handful
Of anxieties.
Sometimes I feel nameless.
No, not that you.
I want the you that is pampered and adored by millions.
They love you and seek you out
Listen to you every word and stay true and devout
Take pictures with zoom lenses
Through your walls, high gates and fences.
Whatever you wear flies off the shelves
People want what they see on you on themselves.
Your waif entangled in pop and disaster
Is this the you that I’m after?
Your that girl. Your her. Quintessential ‘it’.
But you’re nothing at all. You’re nameless.
Im no it girl, no girl like you. But it turns out
…I have a name.

We’re not fam, we’re related

We’re not fam, we’re related

Ya dig?

We’re not fam, remember?

I'm ‘barely your kid’.

Don’t let convenience guise your sorted past

Don’t let me being grown let you forget you never wiped my ass

Never read me a prayer

Never braided my hair

Never were you ever there.

Yet you return with a blank stare.

Your absence didn’t make my young heart grow fonder

I'm still sittin here, like I'm 3 again, wonderin’...

Who you are?

And where I came from

And why you left

And why now you want to come back.

To the mess you made that She cleaned up

For 21 years and now you pop up so abrupt

Wasn't my birthday enough for a call?

Wasn't my stumble enough for you to catch my fall? No, huh?

Well catch my drift...

I've made it thus far, with the door to my life ajar

and you slowly shut it.

Now my growth is complete and surprise, you want to meet.

See my family you say? Nah, we're just related.

Im not your bitch,hoe, slut, dime piece or anything your lame ass 'swag' decides to dub me

Im tired of being referenced to as anything less than a Queen over a dope beat and a fresh hook.
Im tired of hearing all the masagonestic venacular that one man can think up while holding a blunt and smackin ass.
Im tired of being rated on my ass at all.

Im not your trophy dime piece. Your future wifey. Your bitter baby mama. Your bottom bitch. Your ghetto hoodrat. Contrary to popular belief, Im not tryin to be your golddigger.

My name is Christine; whats good?

I have more to offer than a pretty face and a rumpshaka. I have more to say than "yes" and "I can go lower". I have more ambitions that to simply belong to you...

The misconceptions that I, or any of my fellow Queens, are here to "have a baby by you and be a millionaire" are ridiculous. My future is blinding with possibility and, shockingly, it extends past your sperm.

Let me repeat - having a baby is possibly the slowest way ever to be a millionaire. So thanks, but no thanks, broke ass lame ass tryin-to-put-rimes-on-your-caddy mofo.

And try as you may to believe it, Im not tryin to "tie you down", "be a groupie hoe" or keep you from livin your 'great life'.

Trust when I tell you, things only get better from the moment you meet me, and it will be YOU not I tryin to make me settle; in more ways than one.

Im past wanting the joke of a dream I see in videos. I dont want to be your video vixen. I dont want to be the girl over the hood of your bently. I dont want to be on my knees, waiting in line with the 'others'...

Im not asking for much, but the caliber of my Queens has weined. Right now, I will restart the revolution.

I demand respect for me. My mind, my body, my thoughts, my ideas, my opinions, my spirit, my goals, my ambitions, my desires, my cravings, my urges, my hopes, and my dreams.

Sometimes I may want to be your fiesty girl, and if I ever choose to, it will be because I choose to; because I know you appreciate and respect me for what I am and what I offer and not for some plaything you want in the moment. Dont underestimate my willful 'sin'; i can be your 'naugthy girl' when I want to.

Dont think you can ever buy me - its never going to be that easy. If you dont want to put in work, step aside and let the next man apply. Because this job needs filling. And its a position for life.

My name is Christine, and yes, that is exactly what you can call me.

Dear Kate Moss

~While I am not a huge fan of yours overall, I FULLY support your comment that "Nothing taste's as good as skinny feels". No where in that self-imposed maxim did you suggest, imply or condone anorexia, bulimia, diarrhea or any other -ia that folks use to curb their figure.
Sorry - i call bullshit on the media.
And any woman worth her weight in honesty will subtly agree that there has NEVER, in the history of food, been anything as delicious as fitting into a pair of skinny jeans or into a top and looking FAB! Without tugging or pulling, or sacrificing breathing to fit into your clothes. Without using the mirror to offer reassurance, but instead using the mirror like a play thing because you know you look that good. 'Don't tease me', you think...
We all have our forbidden food rules that regulate our guilt vs our gluttony and this just so happen to be the motto of an international supermodel.
So KUDOS to you Kate, for saying what women have always mumbled to themselves when pining over the last cake, cookie, or carb of any form....

Infatuation

Suddenly, I wonder how I never knew you.
How I have managed to come this far in life...
do this much...
be this happy....
without having you by my side.
This is infatuation and I cant think with my head. Insomnia from
Not seeing the rest of you is causing me to lose sleep
lose hope
lose sight
of what it was that I did before I met you.
Was there a 'before I met you'?
Presumably so. But this is infatuation. and true to cliche, I have to have more.
Of your smile. and your lips. of your laugh and your jib. More of your swagger and your sin. More. Always more.
This is infatuation and sensibility has left the building.
I feel overwhelmed by the underwhelmed thoughts of me sans you.
Sans my girly giggles and giddy fantasies.
My inhibitions flee for cover and me, raw and real, finds you waiting...
anticipating my arrival. Ready.
We do what we want and whenever the urge overpowers, when we want.
This is infatuation and bad ideas have taken hold.
But I'm with you and truly, fuck the world because we are here.