curved like a scythe or sickle; hooked; falciform.
Etymology: from Latin falcātus, from falx, “sickle”.
Judge me for my mistakes
When my life is mine to make
And baits my karma that becomes my mate
Talk about me to the rest
Sip some tea and talk about my breasts
And how that girl thinks she’s the best
Shun me for me being me
Sorry that it’s me you see or that you say “she’s being mean to me”
Everything I am is something that you are
You might of finessed it and decided to take being me thus far
We all cried tears of hurt
But I swim in the ocean and drudge through the earth
We all dislike the ways of others but I dislike ways and throw shade and
I cut you off, unlike no other
I take pride in being me
because those are so judgmental and scared to just be
So I am probed to just be
And accept the powers that be
That state I’m just the worst thing or woman specie
Or a bad relationship queen to her king To be
No matter what the speculation
Or what they say while drinking and chasing
Cam is she
And he or she that talk to thee
Will never shake the powers in me
Cause I walk with a with my mistakes
Talk with delay
Exude my degrades and
Accept that I’m more of a flake
Because I’m what you are trying to hide
I am human
and That my “friends” I will never deny!
|—||Unknown (via happy-absturz)|
1. relating to a person’s body, especially as opposed to their spirit; of the nature of the physical body; bodily.
2. having a body.
3. consisting of material objects; tangible.
Etymology: from Latin corporeus, from corpus, “body”.
Could serge to ends of the earth
And swim to ocean depths unseen
Could do as I promise and let nothing in between
Like some could love self more than desire to be loved
Could nothing be put in the heavens above my worth on the crimson wings of doves
Should die tomorrow, I wonder would it be better than today’s short comings.
Would the pain be exonerated and decease as my last breath seeps through my lungs
Exhaling by each 10 second brief
So Poisonous air can leak….
Should pray that my sins be washed away
Would it be a myth to have the unbelievers believe
In something more than the truth and the way
Or is this the way the truth and the light
Guiding us back to painstaking dismal nights
Would give up on all that I was taught to care for
Would I be lost from life’s passion and metaphors?
If I, could I, should I, would I
Stand for something more than what stands for me?
I’m not sure within my confusion of opened and shut doors
But I will simply
STAND for something
And that’s ME….
Literally, ignore them.
Don’t invite any parts of them into your space.
There was a time that I’ve given up on anyone but you but now I give up on anyone but me. That was how it was supposed to be from before the beginning of we.
There is nothing so sweet
Than him and me
Convo to piece together our retreats
Gifts of speech we sit and receive
We might beef
Turn around and create deceit
But me and him are never too brief
To love or let feelings come between him and me
Become a powerful state
Where the republic is more than being mislead
I see things better than those that lay at a wake
I am more than a chase
More like the base to eventually having to chase
Due to its potency
Let me be great
Is all I indicate
So in time you can rate
More than you berate
Cause I’m more than “fancy”
I am that mysterious, grounded, loving Cammy
Girl sings the blues
Woman hums the tunes
She grew up still willing to choose
That girl masked in many issues
Never reaching a pivotal
Just elevating to the minimal
She trained her mind to remain somewhat in line
As she steps out of the faith she has proclaimed to never leave behind
Warrior in her soul
Heart creates heat to the cold
Yet she is left with a lessened degree
Mentally poor with thoughts that are bond and not free
The slaves of her past haunt her
Nightmares of chains that shackled her aura
She cries out to her dreams
Not wanting to see what deeds her nightmares supersedes
She, prays with no leads and no speed
Impatient indeed ….
She is never graced with peace,
just a severe disgrace, to say the least
Who is masked in pure destruction of her soul
Her mind to never unfold
The beauty that is caught within her potential
That little girl gasps for air and exerts her story into each tune
While the woman she is harmonizes lies with her truth
Standing outside of her faith and behind her chosen pew
Seemingly, forever to sing her blues…
|—||David Richo (via observando)|