She's Back

“Daddy, I’m depressed.” It was my friend reaching out to me. I’ve know her for almost a year. Back in January, she called me one day and said, “Zay, you know how I say you are like my Daddy? Well I was wrong, you ARE my Daddy.” I was speechless as she continued, “And when I get married, I want you to give me away.”
All I could say was “wow!” My friend has been through a lot. Is still going through a lot, and she really needs a Dad. So when she said she was depressed I ask, “What’s wrong hon?”
After a heavy sigh, “I’m tired all the time, my apartment is dirty, junk all over the place, sink full of dishes, dirty clothes all over the place, the clean clothes I washed two weeks ago hasn’t been put away yet, and I’m binge eating.”
I comfort her as only I can, and we make plans to have lunch the next day and a daddy/daughter date next Friday. After we get off the phone, I realize that in describing her symptoms, she could have easily been talking about me. Damn, here we go again...

Depression

I really hate it when you come unannounced
You ain’t got no decency, not even an ounce
I hardly even know you, just your first name
And you in my bed, no shame in your game
Touching me like you own me, bitch please!
If I listen to you, you’ll have me on my knees
Bad enough you coming around my job
Stealing as much of my time as you can rob
Distracting me when I got so much to do
Go away, can’t you see I got no use for you?
Don’t wait for me to come home from work
Can’t you see you driving me berserk?
I don’t want to be with you, OKAY!
You can’t fuck worth a damn anyway
All you know how to do is suck me dry
And while I lay there, tell me lie after lie
I already have a woman of my very own
Damn you bitch just leave me the fuck alone!
Pack you bags, shake a leg and get stepping
Stop smiling like that, that shit isn’t helping
You think it’s funny that my life is on hold?
I have so much to do before I’m too old
But you don’t care about that or about me
You just want to have me selfishly
Stop trying to convince me, it’s no use
I’m sick of you and I’m sick of your abuse
Just get the fuck out my bed and be gone
Find some other poor sucker to lean on
Put your clothes on and get out of my sight
I already told you, we ain’t fucking tonight
Okay, I’ll lie down but don’t get it twisted
In the morning I’ll wish I had resisted
You win tonight but you’re not here to stay
I have hope because tomorrow is another day

Peace and Love,

Ali’s Zay

Text and Photo: Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

The Science of Us

Equations that once balanced perfectly
Now pale in the light of reality
Every poem I ever wrote
Became a theory proven wrong
When our bodies combined
Allowing us to occupy the same space
On white hot cotton
Becoming one
I entered you
Intent on splitting the atom
Pillows flew
Like electrons flung
From the nucleus of unbridled passion
You covered me
Like a tsunami leveling all inhibitions
Light bent through fan blades
Blindly casting shadows on black skin
Vainly attempting to strip away heat
Flesh sublimed to vapor
Under the weight of friction
Our essence condensed to sweat
In the final solution
Soaked sheets were the only remainder
Of our physical division
Yet we remain
Forever standing
Balanced
Naked
Indivisible

Peace and Love,

Alizé (LoversA.blogspot.com)

Text and Photo: Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

Poem: The Inquisition (and Sincere Thanks)

Today is the last day of SAAM. Soon this month will be part of history. Today is also Wednesday. Every single Wednesday I post a gratitude list on my blog. I want to thank everyone who participated throughout the month and express my deepest gratitude. Whether it was by spreading the word or leaving encouraging comments, every bit made a difference. In a very special way, I want to thank all those who lent their talents to this effort. Knowing and seeing that this was never a one-man-show is so humbling and encouraged me more than words can express. I really feel a very special bond with all those who participated. I have to believe that together we made a difference.

I was going to post one last SAAM poem tonight, but since the one from last week was a poem of hope, I wanted to end on that hopeful note. So instead, let’s return to our regularly scheduled programming for the grown and sexy. ;-)

The Inquisition

Every time we meet
Our bodies can’t understand
Why there is this distance
So the questions start
Probing your innermost parts
Grasping my every revelation
It’s an interrogation so deep
So thorough so complete
Yet unsatisfying all the same
Leaving us no choice
But to start again

A touch: How does it feel?
A caress: Did you miss this?
A tap: Do you like that?
A grind: Who does this belong to?
A thrust: Who loves you like I do?
Through the night it continues
The mother of all inquisitions
Till dawn breaks, but we do not
We will not recant!
Devotion won’t permit it
But we do confess
Till death do us part
And as the sun rises it’s still not over
So many questions left to ask
As we bask in the brightness of our passion

Peace and Love,

Alizé (LoversA.blogspot.com)

Text and Photo: Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

Little Sleeper

Small feet in pink tennis shoes
Laces left carelessly untied
Panties and mini-skirt discarded
T-shirt hastily removed
Legs spread in a gaudy display

But she knows no shame

Prepubescent breasts barely fill her training bra
Tiny nipples cold and hard
Press like tiny pebbles against the damp cotton
Empty arms outstretched
Palms up to heaven in supplication
An unlikely intercessor for the sins of a man
Mouth agape and eyes rolled back behind half-open lids
Wearing a look of perpetual surprise
Head cradled in a pool of crimson
Body sheathed in dew

But she feels no cold

Daddy's little girl
Made to be the hostess with the mostess
Caters patiently to the flies
As a butterfly stops to sip from her navel

On a bed of weeds at the edge of the woods

She sleeps

Peace and Love,

Alizé (LoversA.blogspot.com)

Text and Photo: Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

Tell Me How You Do It

Who looks back at you when you stare into the mirror?

Do you recognize evil or are you just numb to your own horror?

How can you take innocence and twist it, crush it, spoil it?

What makes you think a child can be your personal human toilet?

How do you take your own precious daughter’s virginity,

Then tell her mother (your wife,) “There are 2 sides to every story”?

How do you (with a straight face,) tell your child Daddy loves her

When you know damn well all you want to do is fuck her?

How do you stalk her, harass her, and lie in wait

Using money, lies, and promises as bait?

How do you walk down the street and feel no shame

When you're fucking your own daughter, like it’s a game?

How do you sleep at night knowing that her belly aches,

Her body is sore and her little heart breaks?

Don't you think it's sick to deflower your own daughter?

Tell me, how do you do it? How do you call yourself a father?

I wrote that poem last year for SAAM. There are absolutely no words to express how privileged I feel to be loved as strongly, trusted as completely, let in as deeply as how Ali loves me, trusts me and let’s me in. The photo above was taken on my first trip to Jamaica. While Ali and I were together I was very surprised to see her crying. I mean we were having the most wonderful time in the world and there she was crying. I asked what was wrong and without looking at me she just said in that soft voice of hers. “I know you’re not leaving until tomorrow, but I miss you already.”

Peace and Love,

Alizé (LoversA.blogspot.com)

Text and Photo: Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

Raising Awareness

Just about every woman I know has been sexually assaulted at some point in their life. While the attacker is often a stranger, more often than not, it's someone they know. Sometimes the attacker is a close relative or even a brother or a father. But make no mistake; women are not the only victims. Young boys are increasingly being victimized by friends and relatives. Please share this page with as many people you can. The people you least expect might be the ones who need to read this the most.

************

This is from my upcoming second book, “Twelve Steps” which is the sequel to “Lovers Anonymous”. The Character of Terry is introduced in chapter 11.

"A Casual Conversation"

The two-bedroom apartment we shared had come fully-furnished. To us everything spoke of quality and comfort, if not luxury. To the vast majority of people living in Haiti, even most middle-class people, our home was an example of the extreme disparity that polarized the impoverished island nation. Terry, my roommate, was something of an art collector and had managed to acquire some impressive pieces over the years. Fabrice had paid for most of it of course, but Terry didn’t like to talk about her ex.
It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and we sat in the living room doing what we did best; lounging in our underwear, chatting about happier times and exchanging memories of our misspent youth as the tropical breeze danced through the apartment. Though we were not intimately involved, we seemed a living picture of domestic tranquility; I with my mango smoothie and Terry with her rum and coke.
I don’t remember how we got on this new subject, but when Terry spoke she erased everything that had previously been said from my memory.
She was slouched on the loveseat in her mismatched bra and panties with her legs spread slightly apart, “I was raped once,” Terry said matter-of-factly.
“Oh my God,” I said sitting up, “what happened?”
Terry leaned back, extended her long white legs out in front of her, and folded her arms across her chest as she looked up at the ceiling. “I was about 19 and I was hitchhiking home after a night of drinking. This car stopped for me… They got me.” Terry let out a nervous giggle before continuing. “I knew better than to get in a car with 2 guys, but one of them laid low. By the time I saw him it was too late. He just jumped out and grabbed me.”
“Holy shit.” That was all I could say as I leaned forward on the couch.
“Yeah,” Terry started again in a calm voice, “they fucked me up pretty good. They took turns in the back seat. Good thing I was drunk or it probably woulda hurt more.” Another nervous giggle.
“Terry, I am so sorry.” I said softly, not sure what else to say.
Terry looked at me and smiled distantly, “oh it’s ok man, that was years ago.” She pulled her legs back and reached forward to get her rum and coke from the coffee table. After taking a slow sip she looked past me to a bare spot on the wall and spoke again. “I just wish they had left my boots on. I had just bought these brand new cowboy boots. But I was wearing a skirt. They could have ripped that off without taking my boots off.”
I tried to imagine Terry fighting for her life. “I bet you were trying to kick the shit out of them.”
Terry looked at me. “Nah man, these were some big guys, I didn’t stand a chance. When they were done they drove for a few miles then threw me out onto the side of the road and tossed my clothes out after me, but one of my boots stayed in the car.” Terry looked at the wall again with an annoyed look on her face. “I really liked those boots.”
.../...

For Me

Too busy to write
Is like too busy to breathe
Yet gasping for fleeting minutes
Til I had to hold my breath...
I mean I held my pen
But it exploded
Exposing my thoughts
My feelings and frustrations
Climaxing repeatedly
Onto the black fabric of my blog

Reading it leaves a stain
An indigo blotch
Nestled in my empty pocket
Turned inside out like my soul
Even after many washings
Resisting all attempts to make it clean
An ever-present reminder
From the neglected pen
That screamed out for attention
Thinking about it makes me want to cry

And tear drops fall like ink
Black rain on skin-colored paper
Like obscene tattoos of my visions
But this is more than skin deep
This is the reality of human waste
Mortals too blunted to be mortified
Too dead to be considered normal
Yet so much like me that I love them
The wretches no one cares about
Given life by the ink of my eyes

And what about the soundtrack
Should I share the stories of
Pride gone and self-esteem so low
Some pay cash for a chance to give blowjobs
To condescending self-important scumbags
Because it make them feel special
To feel hot sweaty palms on their heads
While being told they give the best head
That sucking sound is not their lips
It’s their souls being drawn from their flesh

But this is not about them
It’s about my selfish need to be selfless
It’s about my insatiable thirst
To drink the bitter dregs of pain
From every Jane Doe’s cup of misery
A gesture of goodwill to those I meet today
In memory of the ones who kept me warm
When my world was lonely and cold
It’s about wanting to make a difference
In the life of a fatherless child

Yet another fatherless child

Peace and Love,

Alizé (LoversA.blogspot.com)

PS: April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month (SAAM). I am PASSIONATE about this issue and I’m determined to do my part to help educate as many people as possible. Please join me in spreading the word. Sexual violence must stop!

Text and Photo: Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

The First Kiss

The Duet played on a nearby radio
As Lauryn Hill made it known that
Every chorus was written for us
And young men shouted in the distance
The ever-present smell of ganja
Wafted over the walls
Indiscreetly from neighboring yards
Ebbing and flowing
Carried on the shifting tropical breeze
Another shift
It was the pungent aroma of jerk spices
Joining the aromatic bouquet
But I was unmindful of all that
It was the sight of your lips
That intoxicated me
The look in your eyes
That still nourishes my obsession

I leaned forward
Put my lips to your ear
Part kiss
Part whisper
I pronounced your name
It is the name I gave you
A secret name that no one else may utter
Spoken in a language of our own
Forged in the furnace of our passion
You gasped then sighed
I smiled

Drawn by the scent of fresh strawberries
I grazed your lips with mine
Starting at the corner of your mouth
I traced their outline
Using the lingering tip of my tongue
Until we could hold no longer
Our mutual addiction was fixed forever
It all started with a kiss
A kiss of your strawberry lips

I hope you enjoyed this poem. I won’t be posting any love poems or erotic poems during the month of April. April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month (SAAM) and I use every opportunity to spread the word. I’ll be posting poetry and photos all month but the theme will be SAAM. Anyone who knows me knows that I am PASSIONATE about this issue. The impact it has on society is immeasurable and I’m determined to do my part to help educate as many people as possible. Please join me in spreading the word.





Peace and Love,

Alizé

Poem and Photo: Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

Morning Wood

Dreams of us caress my roots

Like mist rising from my rich brown earth

Fertile soil for my sensual imaginings

Pearls of dew teaming with life

Steaming with moist heat fueled by thoughts of you

Like glistening confetti scattered about the dark grass

As a new day hesitates beyond the horizon

I hear your voice calling my name

It’s light enough to see the wood

It’s dark enough for hide and seek

As your words caress me deep within

In this blissful and unexpected role reversal

I am the earth giving rise to the wood

You are the sun bringing my seed to explosive fruition

As your voice sends a warm shiver down my spine

Good morning baby

I love you too

Peace and Love,

Alizé

Poem and Photo: Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

She Used Me

This poem was inspired both by my deep devotion to my sweetheart Ali, and Aron Neville's interpretation of the song "Use me up". I was going over our extensive photo collection one day and the song came on the radio as I was looking at this photo of Ali and I. The poem just flowed naturally from there.

She Used Me

She used my brush to paint a masterpiece on the canvas in her belly
Delicate strokes applied in living color within her flesh
She used my pen to write a novel on the pages of her thighs
A manuscript to be read aloud over and over
She used my marker to write a label across her chest
My name in big bold glistening letters
She used my pillar to support her fantasies
Until I made each one come true
She used my key to unlock her inner self
To be the woman of my dreams
She used my ruler to measure our love
Inch by inch as it grew

She yearned to give me her living heart
Even as it beat within her chest but
Her life is much too precious
So she gave me the key

To it instead

Peace and Love,

Alizé (LoversA.blogspot.com)

Poem and Photo: Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

Love: Q&A

I want to thank Bloggers’ Delight for the invite.

And a very special thank you for featuring the sound track of my life as the musical background on which to cast my words. This blog has the absolute best musical selection and I’ve taken to leaving my browser parked here just so I can relive my life, my youth, my struggle to find myself, and my search for creative freedom. It wasn’t all good, but it was far from all bad. And in the end, I've found the best thing of all: True Love.

Love: Q&A

How does a man like me
Make a woman like you see
Truth in the love I offer freely
Beyond the pleasure I give easily
That satisfies you so completely
Yet leaves you doubting my sincerity
When I tell you you're the only one for me?
Honesty? You knows my history
The broken hearts I tossed aside so carelessly
The failed attempts at matrimony
And let’s not forget the notoriety
That comes from a past of dependency

How do I prove I’ve found my way
That I’m telling you the truth and it’s OK
To trust me to do right day after day
No matter what other people say?
I know they say a player’s gonna play
But I played and lost and had to pay
After learning my lesson the hard way
That a woman’s heart isn’t made of clay
Not something I can break and throw away
So I promise to be yours and never stray
And make a vow to cherish you every day
I’m telling you I’m here to stay, oh-kay

How do I make you feel it’s true
When I whisper in your ear “Baby I love you”
And tell you there’s nothing I wouldn’t do
To make you happy as my boo
And make a life for just us two?
How do I make those words sound new?
Perhaps God’s love provides a clue
For only He could carry me through
By coming to my spiritual rescue
To make me pure as morning dew
And put me on a mountaintop to view
What life can be for me and you.

Peace and Love,

Ali’s Zay

Original poem and photo Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.