I know when a girl is prettier than me. I don’t give a shit, though. My mind is fucking beautiful.
The worst thing you can do to yourself is compare yourself to other women. It’s not that I never doubt myself, it’s that I correct the issue the moment it arises.
I’m in love with myself. I’ve seen my strength. I’ve seen my endurance. I’ve seen myself fall and rise again. I’ve read my own writing and listened to my own voice. I’ve heard supporters applaud me in my accomplishments. I’ve also seen the envy in the eyes of those close to me. I love me because I know me so well.
There’s nothing not to love about me. I am flawed. I’m never going to be America’s Next Top Model nor Idol. While I stand tall at 5’2, my voice is pitiable. Still, that doesn’t stop me from posing for the cameras or singing my heart’s desires in the shower.
I think I’m… pretty. Decent. Bearable. I spend enough on my shoes and maintain my mane (although I seriously need my ends clipped). I try to make sure my nails are filed and painted and that I’m at least 5’5. (I’m 5’7 today.)
I invented this thing & now they call it “swag”. It’s nothing more than being unaffected. Indifference. Insouciance. It’s not giving a fuck. It’s… me. Everyday, I’m happy. No one can take that from me. On certain days, I’m happier than usual. This may be due to a text, a call or from looking myself in the mirror. I’m aware of what’s going on in the world but I’m not bogged down by it. I live life. Every second of it. That is why I’m beautiful. I need no further justification from anyone else.
Today, I think…
Never going to be America’s Next Top Model? What was I thinking? No, I’ll never be on those shows, but I’ll have my fair share of the starlight. CJ’s been getting phone calls from people who used to know him. They’re afraid that he’s changing. He might be getting a big head. Something might be wrong. “I’m just not afraid of myself anymore,” he told me. When he spoke it, I realized I couldn’t agree. Interviewed @MillsDaComedian (CLICK HERE TO VIEW) a while ago. He’d seen me f*ck around on stage at an open mic and February and decided that I’m scared. The words “scared” and “fear” are my least favorites, so I couldn’t totally agree with him. There was hesitation inside of me, yes…. but why? What the f*ck is stopping me?
When I was 15, I was an angry poet at large. I couldn’t be stopped. I’m not sure how words come together so smoothly for me, but for some reason, they love me as much as I love them. I’ve never forced anything I’ve said. Everything simply slips from tongue to paper and while it’s not easy, it’s not hard. When my brother passed in 06, I stopped writing. Not on purpose, I simply didn’t have any words. Instead, I spent my college years participate in open mics & slams using poetry I’d written when I was 16. Quite honestly, I had died as well and it’s a bit difficult to express that to a crowd of people waiting for you to be live. During college, I wrote one piece in which I told God to go f*ck himself and spoke to my brother directly as I’d never done before. 4 years. One poem.It gave me my life back though.
You should see me in person. I think I’m hilarious. At first glance, everyone thinks they can/should try their hand. “Innocent” they call me. But when I open my mouth, the words that make their way out are just as you read them here. I get nervous on a mic, but I never get scared. Usually, I’m more pissed off than anything else. I’m always excited for the opportunity, but I can’t help but to wonder if everybody watching me understands how dope I am… Cocky? Nah… Confidence. And second place is a bitch.
I got on stage the other night –via StreetPoetsNYC — and f*cked up this one “verse” I have over a Madonna song. I knew I wasn’t ready… well… I wasn’t super ready. But this piece is giving me life right now & I need to find a way to perfect it. What you end up noting though, is that there is no way to prepare for an actual event unless it’s in a similar situation. I know I’m not ready for a big stage, but I’d be an idiot to not try my hand. The more you wait to do something, the more time passes you by. The most amazing part about being “good” at something, though, is how good you are when you f*ck up.
People love me. I’ve got a good persona. “Could you do that for me?” he asked. “Do what?” I responded with a side-eye. I hate being rude, so when people (mostly guys) speak to me on the train, I speak back. The part that always sucks is when they’re getting closer to their stop & have to make their final attempt. “Be my friend,” he replied.
“I’m a terrible friend,” I told him.
“I’m very busy.”
“That’s cool. I just text sometimes to say hi,” he tried.
“I don’t even do that,” I responded. “And that’s the truth,” I added on with a laugh. Everybody thinks that I’m playing around and… sometimes, I am. But always seriously. Not to downplay that open mic –It was fantastic & a group of phenomenal people –but had I not gone there, I’d have gone home to recite my newest, dopest lines to Duchess, who doesn’t know how to stand and ovate. I have to go out and practice in real life. You’ve got to move before you’re ready so that when you’re ready, you know how to move. “You guys can wave back and forth with me if you’d like,” I’d started out as I waited for Madonna’s intro to smooth out. “One day, I’ll be on a stage and you’ll all do it with me anyway, watch,” I told them. It wasn’t premeditated, but shit like that slips through my lips often. But it’s true. People don’t know who to like… but I know who they should. Granted, I’m not where I aim to be… but this is a tough move I’m making. I make a spectacle of myself and hope the crowd will enjoy it. The other night, I got up there –pretty face, heels and mascara — and surprised them with a little “gangsta”. They enjoyed it. I suppose that’s all that matters. I suppose I am, indeed, the greatest.
They scream, Ella!
Don’t do it!
You might fall!
The last few did.
But if you do it,
do it legendary:
Take them to the morgue.
We’ll help you bury.