He said, “Girl, you could be my Queen,” his tone sincere, his intentions serene. He left flowers at my feet, put a rose behind my ear before pulling me into his embrace, his intentions crystal clear.
His emotions, strong. Said his heart was mine all along, then he went along to say that my voice played his favorite song. I’ll hold you close, he said. Never let you go, he said. But despite his heavy promises, all I could do was my shake my head, asking myself What have I gotten myself into? Questioned if thoughts or feelings were brutally misconstrued. Before I could collect myself, before I realized the truth it was too late and he dropped the bomb, sent me three words: I love you.
I played it off, dusted the fallout off of my shoulders and shuddered hard as I began to feel my heart grow colder. Freezer burn, immediately I could sense his emotions singe, could hear his heart start breaking, could feel his soul start to cringe.
He said he held me close to his heart, so dear
That’s when the road went cloudy, my train of thought unclear,
Didn’t want to string him along, wanted to cut him clear
Let him go and set him free, instead of caging him here
Before I knew it, I was starting to sense my own fear
His heart shattering, that was the only thing I could hear
It occurred to me that his heart was something that I wasn’t meant to steal
But it was already in the bag, and I was driving away with a lost grip on the wheel
This is how things could’ve been, this is how things should be.
I just shook my head, told him that there were never any guarantees.
I could tell it wrecked him, how he waited for the three words that were left unspoken.
He said I stole his heart and then played his emotions as a token.
A game meant for two but only played by one.
Presented with a choice between staying and otherwise, and I chose to run.
That’s when he told me, “Next time, watch what you say. Be careful with the guys you choose to play because there are bodies scattered across the entire board, you happy? You got your way. Consider this game a game you’ve won because, girl, you’ve got a fucking gun for a tongue.”
She was like the smoke from his cigarette.
He inhaled her deeply, felt the burning in his chest. Got him relaxed like a sedative, left his insides looking like a mess. He watched as she curled up in the air, beautiful and mysterious, coughed a little from the chemicals, leaving him delirious.
Took a sip of his coffee before taking another puff. No matter how much had, he could never get enough. All he ever did was crave her love, but she constantly disappeared into the air above. More puffs to re-materialize her, memorize her silhouette but despite her short appearances he would never be able to forget… That sexy figure, the curves of the smoke; fully carbonated, refreshing, better than Coke. The most wonderful, the finest lady he’s ever met but her consistent lack of presence turned into evidence of regret.
Clouded his vision of love, out of sight, out of mind. She was like poetry on the paper before him, perfect ring, perfect rhyme. The most luxurious creation of a dream woman, so divine, yet a full on cancer as well; it was only a matter of time.
In despair, he watched the tip of his cigarette glow.
Last one in the pack, one stoge left to go.
He drew her in deep, preparing for her last show.
Exhaled and there she was, dancing in tainted snow.
Watched her curl around the base of his lips, and he kissed her slow
Till she wafted away and disappeared with the smoke.
Makeup, Make-Up, Make Up (Original) | Spoken Word Piece by caseybee
(Featuring Musiq Soulchild’s Love Instrumental as background music)
This is for all of my beautiful ladies out there.
“She’s tired.
Covers up her dark circles with concealer, hoping that the cosmetics are enough to conceal her. She’s got various lipsticks, foundations, blushes scattered ‘cross the counter… she don’t need it, but no one ever tried to see the real her.
Why bother? She’s got nobody to impress but she’s so overwhelmed by insecurities that she tries to stand out from the rest with the use of makeup, hoping that the cake up will cover up the mess. Try to cover the ugly she feels, thinking that all of the eyeshadows and fake lashes will make her any more real than the models in the magazines. Perfection—that’s her dream. Perfect skin, body and legs. Sick ritual, torturing herself with cut-outs and she constantly begs to be flawless. She knows can achieve it if she believes it with cosmetics.
These insecurities—she has no security. The opposite sex always tellin’ her what she should look like and what she should be. But what I see, is what she could be. She doesn’t need all of this cake to be pretty. She’s a girl with potential and natural beauty.
She uses makeup to fake up the flawless facade, uses the cake to cover up her insecurities and make up for what she lacks but in my mind, she’s already perfect. She doesn’t need this mask.
Girl, you don’t need these things to feel pretty because you are. Beauty isn’t limited to a pleasant reflection but what’s inside your heart.
You are perfection. They say real girls aren’t perfect and perfect girls aren’t real, but nothing is more real than what you feel—so shut out those insecurities and open up your eyes because you’re more than just a piece of meat and inner thigh.
You’re divine.
You don’t need to cover up what’s inside or behind with layers of makeup.
Don’t settle for being just a tenth of a whole, a dime. Be a diamond and shine.”
So why settle for being a dime? Most gentlemen wouldn’t bend over on the street to pick one up; they don’t have the time, so don’t be a waste of it. You’re much more than just ass and tits. You don’t need to play the role of some “bad bitch” to get the attention of the opposite sex, because real men want real women, not mannequins. Any guy that casually refers to any woman as a “bitch,” bad or otherwise is nothing but a filthy dog searching for another girl to mess with.
I won’t lie, some men do carry change because times are tough and they want to save… but the moment they find another dime, or better yet, something worth more like a quarter, you’ll be forgotten and tossed in his wallet alongside the other dimes and the condom he’ll use to fuck some other girl. Truth hurts.
Strive to be a diamond because it’s better to be expensive and shining than cheap and on the street corner. Be something worth mining for and finding. Be the girl that is worth working for, not some cheap piece of silver you just pick up off the floor… because honey, you’re worth much, much more.
She’s tired.
Covers up her dark circles with concealer, hoping that the cosmetics are enough to conceal her. She’s got various lipsticks, foundations, blushes scattered ‘cross the counter… she don’t need it, but no one ever tried to see the real her.
Why bother? She’s got nobody to impress but she’s so overwhelmed by insecurities that she tries to stand out from the rest with the use of makeup, hoping that the cake up will cover up the mess. Try to cover the ugly she feels, thinking that all of the eyeshadows and fake lashes will make her any more real than the models in the magazines. Perfection—that’s her dream. Perfect skin, body and legs. Sick ritual, torturing herself with cut-outs and she constantly begs to be flawless. She knows can achieve it if she believes it with costmetics.
These insecurities—she has no security. The opposite sex always tellin’ her what she should look like and what she should be. But what I see, is what she could be. She doesn’t need all of this cake to be pretty. She’s a girl with potential and natural beauty.
She uses makeup to fake up the flawless facade, uses the cake to cover up her insecurities and make up for what she lacks but in my mind, she’s already perfect. She doesn’t need this mask.
Girl, you don’t need these things to feel pretty because you are. Beauty isn’t limited to a pleasant reflection but what’s inside your heart.
You are perfection. They say real girls aren’t perfect and perfect girls aren’t real, but nothing is more real than what you feel—so shut out those insecurities and open up your eyes because you’re more than just a piece of meat and inner thigh.
You’re divine.
You don’t need to cover up what’s inside or behind with layers of makeup.
Don’t settle for being just a tenth of a whole, a dime. Be a diamond and shine.
This is the story of a girl,
Who cried a river and drowned the whole world…
No. In the absence of these rivers was that of spite and anger; no abundance of tears would ever be enough to deliver. Little slivers of her heart, shattered pieces and silver glitter are the only shreds that linger within the ceramic casing of the coldest artery. There was no clear heartbeat, just the echo of a melancholy symphony.
She’d been breathless, half-dead and countless times, met the coldest ends. Lost relationships, friendships and all kinds of other ships shipwrecked on her life’s shore. Countless nights she slept on the cold beach wondering if she’d ever deserved more, or if this was exactly what she deserved. The endless internal battles constantly endured, the question always remained: would there ever be anything that could quell the hurt?
That’s where the pen and paper come in. White sheets, clean slates. Black ink, new fates. The scrawlings and scriptures could serve as a recreation of the parts of life that have been soiled, ruined. Reminiscing in dark memories and wallowing in self-loathing would never save her… but the blank pages could do it.
She picked up the pen and began the first line, calligraphy. The sound of ink scratching out words, a bittersweet symphony. The art of the heart, blood flowing through the veins and down through the fingertips expressing the words of the soul. The turning of the pages covered in her own vocabulary was simply the mold. Well, as she’d carefully told.
Writing. The only candlelit room for the prisoner of her own mind, the only thing that could successfully pass the time and keep her well occupied. Unslicing every scar, physical and emotional. Reverse and change the two mindsets, pessimistic and cynical. The only source to channel both love and hate into a successful compilation. The stories blended with emotion, a part of her soul stamping an imprint on her greatest creations. The masterpieces created with her own fingertips, with the passion found within the lesions of the past. Work inspired by pain, art inspired by beauty, blended together into an 8 by 10 1/2 spiral notebook. Persistent as the four seasons.
The Storybook, she’d titled it.
Signed and dated.
Serving as the physical proof of her revelation—She made it.
“Ignorance is Bliss” | Original Spoken Word Piece by caseybee
Featuring Kendrick Lamar’s Ignorance is Bliss (Instrumental)
“I see you, girl.
Covering up your insecurities with this cowardly confidence; the facade of a bad bitch to conceal your hesitance. Impressive… yet the cracks in your foundation are so tragically evident. You may have different mediums at hand to create such a misleading mask but I can see right through you. A lot of people do.
You see, you do this dance with false confidence, imagining yourself on a pedestal that doesn’t exist. You’ve got the right face, the long legs and the luscious lips to prove it. Putting yourself above the little people, those that “ain’t worth it” when in reality, you’re at the same exact level as them.
There shouldn’t have to be levels, but you don’t understand. These levels are so engraved into your mind that you’re never satisfied; always wanting to one-up the next one, have the upper hand.
By thinking of yourself so highly, you bring yourself down. Reckless with your words, you don’t care who you hurt… but ultimately, you’re wounding yourself. Your reputation suffers through your ruthless berserk, all because your confidence has turned to cockiness. This facade you’ve created for yourself has turned into self-destructiveness. Only time will tell when you lose your sense of your consciousness, completely lost in the abyss that is yourself.
The further you get lost in yourself, your reflection, people’s perceptions, the more you lose the true you—the beautiful soul behind the shell of an arrogant bombshell.
Stay true to you, not the distorted perceptions of you. Why be a dime, two-faced, when you could be a diamond? Multifaceted and shining, wherever the light hits.
That, is true beauty.”
“He Sees Me” | Original Spoken Word Piece by caseybee
(Featuring Kendrick Lamar’s She Needs Me (Instrumental) as background music)
“Through the looking glass, many males prefer to see me as the “thing” instigating the rock in their pants, fantasizing my figure in a g-string. The type that likes it rough and will pair up Jordan’s with lingerie accompanied by a pair of hand cuffs.
He sees me in his mind in a white lace dress on a fine day of spring. Bare faced, sandals and beach sand. A human being.
Many males approach me with ill intent, hoping that their hollow compliments come off as great eloquence.
He entices me with his common sense, with the beating artery behind his sweater vest.
Most males want all things physical, attracted to me because of my eyeliner and my well-kept cuticles. Rock them heels, girl. I like those legs long. False eyelashes and butterfly kisses, preferably packaged sexily in a thong.
He sees my soul. Looks deeply into my eyes, forgiving any past mistakes and takes down my walls… not by force, but by trust and all things wonderful.
They talk to me. He converses. They spit pick-up lines, he flows with verses.
They want sexy and grown. He just wants a lover, someone to come home to.
He sees me. Not in a sense where he captures my image with his naked eye, another red-lipped focal point. He truly sees me. My heart, my soul—not just the naked body underneath my clothes or the pouted lips, prim and language, prose.
He sees the girl underneath the makeup instead of the mask with bedroom eyes, more enticed by my mind than my inner thigh.
That is why I love him.”
Through the looking glass, many males prefer to see me as the “thing” instigating the rock in their pants, fantasizing my figure in a g-string. The type that likes it rough and will pair up Jordan’s with lingerie accompanied by a pair of hand cuffs.
He sees me in his mind in a white lace dress on a fine day of spring. Bare faced, sandals and beach sand. A human being.
Many males approach me with ill intent, hoping that their hollow compliments come off as great eloquence.
He entices me with his common sense, with the beating artery behind his sweater vest.
Most males want all things physical, attracted to me because of my eyeliner and my well-kept cuticles. Rock them heels, girl. I like those legs long. False eyelashes and butterfly kisses, preferably packaged sexily in a thong.
He sees my soul. Looks deeply into my eyes, forgiving any past mistakes and takes down my walls… not by force, but by trust and all things wonderful.
They talk to me. He converses. They spit pick-up lines, he flows with verses.
They want sexy and grown. He just wants a lover, someone to come home to.
He sees me. Not in a sense where he captures my image with his naked eye, another red-lipped focal point. He truly sees me. My heart, my soul—not just the naked body underneath my clothes or the pouted lips, prim and language, prose.
He sees the girl underneath the makeup instead of the mask with bedroom eyes, more enticed by my mind than my inner thigh.
That is why I love him.
I see you, girl.
Covering up your insecurities with this cowardly confidence; the facade of a bad bitch to conceal your hesitance. Impressive… yet the cracks in your foundation are so tragically evident. You may have different mediums at hand to create such a misleading mask but I can see right through you. A lot of people do.
You see, you do this dance with false confidence, imagining yourself on a pedestal that doesn’t exist. You’ve got the right face, the long legs and the luscious lips to prove it. Putting yourself above the little people, those that “ain’t worth it” when in reality, you’re at the same exact level as them.
There shouldn’t have to be levels, but you don’t understand. These levels are so engraved into your mind that you’re never satisfied; always wanting to one-up the next one, have the upper hand.
By thinking of yourself so highly, you bring yourself down. Reckless with your words, you don’t care who you hurt… but ultimately, you’re wounding yourself. Your reputation suffers through your ruthless berserk, all because your confidence has turned to cockiness. This facade you’ve created for yourself has turned into self-destructiveness. Only time will tell when you lose your sense of your consciousness, completely lost in the abyss that is yourself.
The further you get lost in yourself, your reflection, people’s perceptions, the more you lose the true you—the beautiful soul behind the shell of an arrogant bombshell.
Stay true to you, not the distorted perceptions of you. Why be a dime, two-faced, when you could be a diamond? Multifaceted and shining, wherever the light hits.
That, is true beauty.
I see you’re quite eloquent, targeting girls of innocence and using your verbal sense to capture their interest.
I see you telling them that they are beautiful, not just in a physical sense but you are also supposedly referring to their “soul,” even though you hardly even know her yet.
I see you complimenting their features, tellin’ her she’s pretty in every single way yet you’re looking right through her.
Mr. Smooth Talker, “Goodnight” texter, cute voicemails sender.
Your words are as empty as your heart.
No room in there for anyone in particular, yet you reserve just enough space to get inside of her. Then you lie to her, and your words are so beautiful and convincing that she perceives it as a valid excuse as to why you “have” to leave.
You wrote on her heart with pen, and now the pages are soaked with her tears. You walk away fast to avoid watching the ink bleed.
You’re not a gentleman. Just another guy looking to satiate his bottomless hunger for the inner thigh.
Aching (Original) | Spoken word (alright, more like spoken story) inspired by true events and the infamous failure of relationships we’ve all had in the past, you already know. Decided to make a short track on it thanks to all the feedback. :) This is the last piece I’ll be posting to my tumblr for a while. If y’all are interested in more, check out my YouTube. (Again, featuring Drake’s Doing It Wrong Instrumental as the background music)
Check out the original post here. Hope you guys enjoy. :)
*BEFORE YOU LISTEN/READ*
I have a counter piece to this one, a “Part II” if you will. I wanted to make a track on it but I figured it’d be more enjoyable a gentleman behind the mic. If any of you charismatic gentleman are interested in doing a collab with me using my other piece, please let me know. :)
I remember that night so clearly…
It was 2AM on a weekday. I was still sleeping. My phone went off in the dark room, it’s blue light swallowing the walls with an ominous blue.
Saw his name appear on the screen.
Disoriented and startled, I picked up on the third ring. Voice thick with sleep; we hadn’t spoken to each other in three days.
“Come outside,” he said. “We need to talk.”
My voice caught in my throat. I threw on a sweater, brushed my hair to take the sleepy waves that had formed near my crown and went downstairs. My PJs… not exactly how I’d wanted my boyfriend to see me for the first time in three days. Especially not after an argument that was left unresolved aside from the bitter silence that lasted seventy two hours.
Opened the door, walked out into the warm nighttime air. Not too hot, but cool enough to bear a sweater. It was still summer vacation for me; couldn’t say the same for him, though. We belonged to different school districts. He was already back in school.
This reminded me that it was a weeknight. He had school in the morning. I asked him why he came by so late.
The solemn expression in his face, drowning in his eyes made me regret ever opening my mouth.
We need to talk.
A repetition of the four words I was dreading.
And so the accusations began.
I was selfish because I always wanted to be close to him. I was reckless because when we argued, I never bothered to watch what I said. I was a handful; too much to handle, actually. Too high-maintenance. I expected too much from him.
I thought about what he said for a moment as he stood just two feet away from me. It was 2:17AM; I awkwardly checked my phone, hoping my parents didn’t realize that I’d snuck out of the house to see this boy on my front yard at such an early hour.
I swallowed my pride, staring into his face. I deeply apologized. Told him that I loved him too much to continue to upset him.
I would change.
He held me close, then, and wiped the stray tears away from my cheeks. Told me he came with intentions of leaving, but now he simply couldn’t. Not after seeing me in the flesh, physically. It immediately changed his mind.
He told me that seeing my face for the first time in three days made him realize how much we’d actually been through together in the time we’d known each other. Ride-or-die.
I sighed, relieved.
My first serious relationship, saved just in time.
I told him I would try my best to be a better girlfriend. I was inspired. I would be good for him; better than I ever was before.
“I need to tell you something.”
His words rang in my head. My heart stopped for a split second, nearly melting with the anticipation of his I love you. I braced myself for the wonderful wave of forgiveness to crash down on me.
“I cheated…”
And that’s when I felt my heart being ripped from my chest and thrown onto the concrete.
Tears. Anger. Disappointment.
I couldn’t organize my feelings so I simply turned around without a word.
I felt his fingers coil around my wrist followed by a slur of words—but I wasn’t listening anymore. His frantic flurry of apologies or what sounded like apologies sounded utterly desperate. I kept walking.
How could you?
I didn’t notice that I was thinking out loud until he fancied my question with a response. Over and over, another “sorry.” Another desperate attempt to pick up the shattered pieces that were my heart, laying scattered around his feet and all over the sidewalk in front of my house… and every step he took toward me was another crunch of the fragments.
His fingers, his disgusting, unfaithful fingers were still firmly grasping my wrist. Pulling, tugging. Pleading.
My heart yearned from the floor but my mind viciously refused.
Broken.
Trust, relationships, this so called “love” that I naively believed in.
Lost.
My heart ached, every shattered bit of it that laid before me. My chest burned from the empty hole behind my ribcage.
The day I found out that I wasn’t “the one,” because I wasn’t the only one.
This is for You (Original) | Dedicated to my babycakes, my boyfriend. My love. And all the girls out there that have a man that makes them feel the same way, or at least similar. :) Enjoy.
(Featuring Look What You’ve Done Instrumental by Drake as background music)
When we first met, I couldn’t even picture attending high school dances with you nor did I figure a relationship between us actually had any chances. I mean, we were thrown together under typical friendly circumstances and we started off with short conversations and awkward glances. But you proved me wrong. Got to know me like a perfect gentleman, presented me with roses and the possibilities of romance. Had me entranced with your gentleman approach, but mostly with the dimple carved near your lip that you know I love so much. What can I say? You had me enchanted.
I remember those chilly nights when we first got to know each other last winter; remember how some other guy left me scarred and how you carefully picked out the splinters. I was weak and vulnerable but you were so perfect and held the capability to turn the tables. You were wonderful. I remember those nights when we took long walks down dark streets and how your presence made my heart beat so hard, fluttering in my chest like a flock of doves vibin’ to some hardcore rap, sixteen bars. Until you’d stepped into the loneliest time of my life, everything before you had seemed so sub par. I had just endured one of my biggest internal wars when you stepped in, and there you were all of a sudden, holding my hand afterward, welcoming me back and kissing my battle scars.
This is for the times when you bid me goodnight and kept a smile on my face from when I slept to when I awoke, blessing me with sweet dreams simply with the words you spoke.
This is for the cold nights that you kept me warm and kept me safe even when my mind was stormin’ up something to destroy me, but you kept me at peace with just the mental image of your face.
This is for the nights that you held me in your arms and brushed the hair away from my face when I cried to you about my past, for forgiving me for all of my mistakes I’d made before you, for loving me regardless and showing me that you loved me, too.
This is for you coming into my life and showing me that there are better things, for teaching me how to live right and for taking care of me and showing me the true happiness that love brings.
Baby, this is for you.
I’m so mesmerized by everything that you do, because I’d never met a man that could make me feel quite like you… and I never wanna do you wrong, so I wanted to give you a little reminder that, well, I love you. So, thank you.
-caseybee
Poetry (Original) | Another spoken word piece done by yours truly; a track I worked on alongside “Farewell to Arms” but didn’t plan on posting. Consider it a “bonus track,” haha. Inspired by all of the eloquent perfect gentlemen out there, y’all know who you are. Thanks so much for all of your support, it means the world to me. :)
The thing I loved most about him was his smile. Physical aspect, yes, but the aesthetic value of his smile alone was worth far more than the purest of ores. Mentally, his mind was golden. I constantly pondered how he was able to keep his brain from exploding due to the frequent overload of bright ideas. He was insightful, delightful, wonderful, and a thousand of other -ful’s used with positive connotation(but of course). His perspectives shifted mine by the means of simple suggestions. His words were soothing, calming. Erasing all traces of stress and worry and replacing the creases in my brow with a glowing curve of the lip. The very sounds that emanated from his vocal cords and formed what we humans perceive as “language” always sounded like sweet milk; that is, if sweet milk ever had a sound. Everything about his very being, his very essence fascinated me. I still question what made me crave him more: his absence, or his presence? Whenever he spoke to me, the words that escaped from his lips not only caressed my fancy with a sense of enticement but sounded as if they were kissed by eloquence. I do not say these things in attempts to be poetic; he simply inspires me to speak beautifully, like the soul incorporated with his body. If only I could articulately speak as naturally as he; to recite the world lyrically and seduce others with nothing but the mind and soul.
He is poetry.
-caseybee
Farewell to Arms (Original) | Spoken word piece by yours truly, caseybee.
(featuring Drake’s The Resistance (Instrumental) in the background.)
Excuse the sloppy editing, I’m kind of new to this (ahah). I’ll save the rest of the excuses for later. Hope y’all enjoy, because I sure as hell ain’t ballsy enough to make a spoken word video. ;)
He was sweet.
Built a castle for me and brought down the bridge. I crossed with caution but I never went in. He planted rose bushes around my throne, beautiful but adorned with thorns. Just like his efforts to plant something beautiful between us, gardening this love on this infertile soil left his fingers battered and sore. His heart was pregnant with love and he waited nine long months for something between us to be born… but it was all in vain. The sunshine never broke through the clouds of my exterior: there was only rain, and no matter how heavy the floods came, they were never enough to wash away his pain. I wished I could stay, but I sailed away on the boat that was my silent escape: my excuses.
I’m sorry, and that’s from the bottom of my heart but my sympathy wasn’t enough to build him an arc for this river that flooded the bridge between us. Couldn’t deliver him to happiness. And all the while I was tearing myself free from the commitment that I was afraid of, he was still lost in the senselessness of an aborted relationship. Two players were required to play the game but I’d gone M.I.A. and had no intentions of saving it, so I jumped ship.
The castle that was in his arms slowly crumbled with age. As time went on, he simply couldn’t wait. So he left. But whenever I see him, I can see the ruins of what he made for me. I can see his army that has grown brittle and weak, and his search for a girl that will pick up the pieces. That girl isn’t me.
And to this day, things are still bittersweet. Like the roses he still tries to grow, beautiful but short lived… and the thorns never fail to pierce him in his failed attempts.
Well, it’s clear to see that boys aren’t the only heart breakers and girls aren’t the only love creators. We play both games, and the scars don’t stop with a douchebag of a guy, half-brained. Girls can inflict pain, too, and this is a notice to all the girls that think we are the only ones that suffer: we don’t. I hurt someone that loved me. I’m just admitting to what most girls won’t.
