My Senses Will Not Let Me Be A Prostitute (Video)

My Senses Will Not Let Me Be A Prostitute

My Senses Will Not Let Me Be A Prostitute

She said it like it was easy, when I asked for an idea on how to make some “senseless” cash she suggested it, like it was nothing. Like I could close my eyes and pretend that all my senses were gone, I looked at her, and then I told her:

I would be a prostitute if it wasn't for the smell.

The smell of semen stained goals, hopes and dreams.

The smell of men's lust and deceit - of them objectifying you - of them preying upon your low self- esteem like vultures, vying for whatever flesh is left and eating you down past the carcass.

I would consider being a prostitute if the smell of lubricant coated latex in the hands of a total stranger didn't make me cringe.

If this strangeness didn't feel so much like rock bottom, a last resort and defeat, when I prided myself on being a winner, then I might think about being a prostitute.

I might think about being a prostitute if hearing tacky plastic heels hit pavement in an unsure strut didn't make my heart halt abruptly.

If seeing a car slow to a stop and a tinted window roll down didn't make me fear for my life.

If hearing the sound of some strange man calling me “sweet thing” didn't make me want to cry and heave from the depths of my stomach. If the words “hoe”, “slut”and “whore” weren't filled disdain and self hate, I would consider it.

I would do it if seeing the look the eyes of the passersby didn't make me hate myself although I never really cared what people thought until now. If seeing my reflection in your rearview mirror wasn't so damning I would most definitely consider being a prostitute, especially if the taste of your flesh wasn't so sour and rancid. If it didn't always taste like losing. If sometimes I wouldn't taste the blood of my lip or cheek after you hit me, disrespect me and defiled me.

I would probably consider it if touching myself didn't give you so much pleasure and didn't fulfill one of your sick fantasies. I would consider it if your skin didn't burn me when I touched it. I would even do it if feeling around your car for my underwear didn't make me so ashamed. I would do it if the $50 bill you handed me didn't feel so dirty.

I told her, I would do it if it wasn't for Katrina, for your sister, for your friend, for your mother or for your daughter who already made that mistake. I would do it if all 5 of my senses would let me or left me.

It's not as senseless or as easy as you think.

The Pursuit of Happiness - Video

This Poem Is Because I Love You

This poem is because I'm blinking back tears and because I can't love you like I want to
This poem is because my head hurts when ever I have to leave you and go back to a house that is not my home
This poem is because as we lay in our respective beds at night and have phone conversations about nothing, more tears come
Staining my sea foam colored pillow case
I cry because I love you, because words are not enough
This poem is because I can't articulate my plee for help and because you're the knight in shining armour that I want to cry to but I don't know where to begin
This poem is because I need help and things are out of control and you're the only one whose orders I want to take
This poem is because playing a movie that I've seen a hundred times to fall asleep is no longer an adequate companion at night
because I've fallen asleep in your arms and slept soundly and woke up happy
This poem is because I'm scared that you don't fully understand the intangible depth of my love for you and it's because I think you'll let me go and watch me fall
This poem is because tonight I need you
This poem is because tonight is the hardest night I've had because I'm struggling to hold back my whimpers while trying not to choke on my pride
This poem is because not laying your arms might kill me then steal my breath and use it to ill speak me
This poem is because tonight is an unbearable pain in my heart
This poem is because I might die from my sadness
This poem is because you mean the world to me even when my world is crashing down around me
This poem is because tonight I might not be able to exist without your comfort
This poem is because I love you
-Fayola Perry
(Copy written so don't copy me)

Poem from/for Slams: A Backwards Progression 041008

This mindless monotony means nothing to me, my greatest accomplishment is  having learned to be me.

Let's elevate our minds to a higher plane.
Don't do the same things over and over again.
We've been stuck on this plateau for way to long.
You say you skipped to the next track but it sounds like the same song!
Because now left is right and right is wrong, trying to resist your lies but they're way to strong.
From this hell on earth is where I wanna be ordered and delivered from; 3000 said, "there's a war going
 on and half the battle is guns".
The other half is armed with power, greed, and selfishness, they're unaware of other people's pain
 suffering and helplessness.
I'm mad because all I can do to hell is this, put pen to paper and write down my wish.
A wish for the little boys to men, a world where we're less concerned with the material trends.
I mean we're all victims of some type of social rape, trying to rise to the top but the bottom of the
barrel we scrape.
The game of life will never be easy so we have to fight like UFC we see on t.v.
I wish that when I turned it on I'd see more people like me, trying to stray away from the negative
 normalcy.
All I'm saying is we need more people with a vision, people with the ability to execute take-over
 with precision.
They say the revolution won't be televised, that's a damn good thing because I wanna see it with my
 own eyes.
Up close and personal in this war I wage, although I'm scared that my dreams won't go past this page.
How can revolution begin with one?
An idea of where to begin it seems we have none.
Seems killing has become a new form of fun.
Little boys' favourite toys are little plastic guns.
I'm so done with this world and it's money hungry power struggles.
I create my own space, my words form a bubble to block out the corporate bustle.
But it's like Jay- Z said, "You can't knock the hustle".
-Fayola Perry
(Copy written so don't copy me)

Poem from/for Slams: For Granny, For Daddy 050608

After dark there is light my friend.
No longer does the finality of death mean that this is the better end.
Come to terms with it and understand what it means, yet do understand that we shant ever part because
 we're together in your dreams.
See death isn't pretty so damn the flowers and if one's not born yet how can you give them a shower.
But that's getting off topic;don't hold it against me, just drop it.
I'm  toxic because it seems like death had plagued me.
Try to run away from it but it invades me;sanity evades me.
Stood so close to the graves so as to better see but in both sets of closed eyes all I saw was the death of
 me.
Cold limbs and fixed facial expressions- I harbor old feelings that grow into aggression I approached
 both coffins with discretion, not ready for either to be taken away from me .
It hurts that I can only remember him vaguely , she was taken away from me, to early see, she was my
 number one fan.
Through every step of the way she held my hand.
She prayed me into this world, I praised her out.
She's in the upper room with the Lord that she told everyone about.
She was the biggest role model in my life; her eminent death pierced my heart like a dart or a knife.
The poet said, " God only takes the best".
I guess I must keep that in mind since he laid them both to rest.
She took off her bracelet and now I've got her Bible; If I said I didn't miss her, that'd be libel.
Losing these two people, so undeserving of such suffering-as the matriarch, her loving was buffering
 for all our feelings, so who do we turn to now?
God's good and faithful servants have taken their last bows, I guess from this day forward, this I vow, to love my family in the here and in the now.
- Fayola Perry
(Copy written so don't copy me)

Poem from/for Slams: Ode to a Video Vixen (Katrina) 111209

Why is it only considered Hip Hop if the beat knocks and chicks pop naked asses in the air and call rappers pops?
That's not your daddy!
And although he may seem to be every black girls dream, he's not trying to get to know you he's trying
 to get into your jeans.
And every time you give him  head and spread your legs, and invite him into your bed you're letting him
 into your head.
Giving him power to embed more seeds of low self esteem, instead of empowering yourself.
Basically you sell your body just to be in the presence of his wealth.
Well what's his money going to help when fate's cards are dealt?
When you're alone and he's getting dome from someone else?
When your feelings are invested, this rapper that you slept with probably doesn't care; he's probably
 off some where throwing dollars into the air.
The limelight starts to fade, and you're feeling like a lemon and the money that you thought you were
 getting he's no longer sending because he's moved onto the next.
What's terrible is that at best you're not even an ex;
You're now an industry chick that had sex for a check- an expensive whore.
 nothing less and nothing more.
The saddest part is, you were my homegirl from next door.
Video Vixen, Video Vixen, close your eyes and just listen
You idolize Melyssa Ford but life's lessons you're missing
Katrina
- Fayola Perry
(Copy written so don't copy me)