By:Lanoir Rollins
I am every man’s dream I am every mans dream. Pin-up, critical, political, and visionary. Tall girl, call girl, telephone candy. That bitch in the corner looking real fly. I am a Nubian princess. The re-incarnation of Aphrodite the Greek goddess. Life recreating and if you fuck with me then Hades will be awaiting. Romance perfectionist, the lust before that baby, supreme being, hard clitted, carefree chilling in my garden with my snakes on my planet Venus. I am Rome— I am Italy. I am sturdy —rocking my hips to the beat in my headphones , while you licking your lips. I am every man’s dream. The freakiest, dirtiest, flirtiest. I am a native Taurus, born on May 10th. I walk into a room and you can feel my warmth and tenderness, the sweet smell of marshmallows, rose petals, and cotton candy from my perfume scent. My skin so creamy and chocolately brown, looking like a Hershey’s kiss. I am a diva. I am an artist. I am a poet.. I am a songwriter, I am a songstress. I am the mistress of the night. I am the black clouds in surrounding the moon in the sky. I am the young girl running in the woods being chased by the wolves. I am a mean old witch making potions and concoctions in my cottage, holding men hostage. I am Count Dracula’s beloved Mina. I am that bass booming loud in a car full of hot boys. I am a sister, a daughter, a niece. I am a lover. One day I’ll be mother. One day I’ll be a wife. I am the sunrise. I am every man’s dream.
To Kallejah, my best friend and favorite sister. I know we have many more great moments to cherish in this journey of life‌
Tea by Lanoir Rollins I want attention I want to dance, act, perform, paint, model. I want to sing. I want to fight. I want today. I want tonight. I want to do what I want to do, when I want to do, where and how I want to without a “no” from him, her, them, or you. What you gonna do when Icome out and make my move, my groove. I walk into the room and you feelin the smoothness. I want to dance like I’ve never danced before Hip-hop, salsa, meringue, samba, cha-cha, ballroom, tango, ballet. Sweating, I want to be sweating. Music so loud my ears ring. Attend a class, a session with nothing but music blasting Janet Jackson, Michael Jackson, Sergio Mendes, Missy Elliot, Christina Aguilara, Madonna, Daft Punk, MGMT, Rihanna, and Azealia Banks whatever genre of music you put on, it doesn’t matter to me!
I want to be in a room with mirrors on every wall and even on the ceilings! I want to be worked, jerked, and twerked into shape. That’s all I want to do is dance, because it gets everything out… these frustrations of mine being around people with energy and liveliness in a drought. The concentration of perfecting a move, it just excites me. I want be physically and mentally put to the test because at this moment I am ready for the next challenge. Because I have an open mind and heart. I’ve got the time. Put your cards on the table because I am willing and able to sing like I’ve never singed before. Open up my voice, my soul like a door. I’m ready to step to the greats. Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone, Billie Holiday Eartha Kitt, Amy Winehouse, Mariah Carey, and Beyonce. Put me on to it. I know I can do it. Because I believe it, the thought of me being a star has already penetrated my brain since I was a little chick. I can sing like R&B, Rock, Country, Pop, and The Blues, so what it do? I can make it do what it do. I can do it. Can’t you see? Give me a chance, please someone, just give me a chance!
Give me! I’ll make sure to make my voice heard and listened to. With an inspiring message that will run light years into the future. Time for this sweat to be smelled. This art that swims through me like a mermaid in the sea‌to be felt. I am 19 years old and soon to be 20, time to make connects and get respect. Everything is so fresh and new to me, so many opportunities. And the Isis Goddess helping me stand on my two feet.
Time to stop just chilling, smoking weed, and watching t.v. Tired of doing the same old things. I’m ready to set, run, jump, and shoot off into clouds of dreams. I’ve got the passion. The twinkle in my eye. The Talent. I know what the world is ready for and it’s boiling within me. I got it right here in my kettle and I’m ready to serve the world this delicious tea. I know what you need. I don’t got the soda, the juice, or the sweets. Just this tea.
Beacon Hill Beacon Hill is where the 36 route runs and rules. I lived on Beacon Hill in some of my childhood. Red Apple Grocery, infinite skies, cheap nail fills, Jarritos & churros; Mexican delicacies, and the Delite Bakery. I’ve been going there since I was like 12 or 13? Filipino treats and Filipino sweets. Filipino dinner at Inay’s Cuisine. Filipino honeys walking down the street with long hair of natural jet black and maybe sometimes dyed in the colors of auburns, rouge, copper, and gold bleached. Friday night break dancing at Jefferson where the b boys and b girls sweating and kids will be crushing. There is nothing in this city better than riding in your bike or driving in your car down Beacon Avenue. I remember cruising down the sidewalk on my sparkling cherry red fat tire bicycle, feeling like a G. I was raised in my grandma Virginia’s little house of the color peach on Beacon. I remember she would pack us lunch to go to Mt. Baker beach. All of my mom’s sides holidays and family celebrations were held at that little house. All of us packed in there like sardines eating lumpias with soy sauce, drinking Pepsi, and watching the Super Bowl on TV. I remember finding my Uncle Jeff’s hustlers in the back shed and showing my siblings. Oh Beacon Hill, your fairytale like back roads and green light allies. Open and welcoming front yards and backyards secluded with mystery. I walked the Jose Rizal Bridge to go to China Town and yelled “I’m the queen of the world!” Because standing there in the spring with the sun shining on the city and me, the smooth wind going through my cotton shirt just feels very royal to me. I’m sitting here on this 36 bus and I see the short baby faced old Asian ladies sit up in the front. Their soft curly gray afros, warm hearts, and strong lingo. Their unforgiving loudness and excitement and simple swag just makes me smile. They speak in a language I cannot comprehend but it feels comfortable and it feels like home.
My old black shoes for crews. They were given to me when I started working at Chipotle Mexican Grill. I wore them every day to work. Slip-free slip-on Chuck Taylor knock offs. I wore them every night on my way back to the shelter, I wore them to the rap show and didn’t mind if they were thrashed, I wore them at a party, I wore them at the function. Shoes specifically made for people working in environments around food. Then I lost my housing. These were the only shoes I had to wear, the only sneakers in my storage space. I wore them to go spend a night at a friend’s house, I wore these shoes to go look for jobs, and I wore these shoes when I got the jobs. Leather black size 12 chuck Taylor knock offs. I wore these shoes for 3 months straight and I have scored the coolest job at Hard Rock Café. Yet I still have to wear with these damn shoes. Impressionable, money making motherfucking shoes. I’ve became so used to them, they’ve became my little good luck charms. Damn shoes have been holding on strong to my fabulous hardworking feet, getting me to where I need to be. Now they’re all ran down and when I walk they squeak. But no matter how many pairs I buy, these shoes are surely neat.
In Loving memory of my father Frederick Jr.Rollins 1966-2011