The Louisiana Social Pledge

We pledge our allegiance to Louisiana. We will embrace what makes us and our state unique. Louisiana will be recognized as a leader and innovator of the New South. Many great leaders of the future will come from this state. And we will show both the media and politicians that we are smarter than them. We will no longer have our resources exhausted and our people used and left behind. We will work hard and play hard. We will protect each other. We will support each other. We pledge that we will do whatever we can to get these things in motion right now. We will no longer wait for a path to be cleared for us. We will clear the path ourselves. And we ain’t giving up easily. We will socialize in the real world just as well as we do on the internet…in hopes to organize ourselves effectively.


Wednesday, July 31, 2013

One’s Precious Chance (Marlon D. Bourque- Lafayette, LA)


As I lay peering into the darkness of uncertainty ahead,
many thoughts of Why? Could-haves? Should-haves? race unceasing.
Yearnings of wellness, future plans, an equal solitude,
like those memories of times past frequently enter my senses.

I now see myself as an outcast, outsider from my own body,
as I view healthy persons in my perceptive eye as uncaring or inhuman in action.
Feelings of inadequacy, shame, or anger surface as I hear media spew stories of,
hate, rejection stigma because of the virus that found it’s way into my body. 


Where greed and indifference vie as a form of success in the democratic society,
expressions of concern abound at creative solutions of which to fulfill my remaining quality of life.
Ironically it has taken a conversation with death,
to experience the anger to want to live. 

This very threat to my health has given me willingness to get in touch with my inner feelings,
to share in my love of music, art, and writing openly without reserve.
All trivial, superficial mind games and material possessions ,
give way to trying to reach a higher spiritual path by being truly honest with myself. 

For each change in my roller-coaster life’s path is now viewed,
as a unique challenge toward a dream or ultimately a fulfilled goal.
Though I may never know an extended freedom to live,
but shall begin to appreciate the tiniest quality to life time has to offer. 

I may never know Why I stare at mortality so soon?,
yet the choices I embrace now can help me continue to love life.




Practice What You Preach (Adam Schexnayder- Crowley, LA)

     You can go to confession and be absolved from the "sins" you commit. You can go to mass to appear to live the Christian life. You can even go to Sunday school to learn the teaching of a book that was written thousands of years ago (you'll forget it anyway, most likely). But my so called "sin" is unforgivable. And it's an abomination. Well I have one request. If my "lifestyle" upsets you so much, why don't you just forgive me?!


Please Let Me Show You Love (Madison Elizabeth- Lafayette, LA)

A bleeding heart beats inside my chest
I want to fix you, hold you gently
If only I had the ability to help you the way you need
I could save you from yourself
Stay with you, take care of you
You may not even realize who I am
But I love you and care about you
Once in my not-so-distant past
I learned what it was to be completely alone
And to feel like no one understood
Or could help me
Maybe now you see why I want to help
I know the way you feel
Maybe not the exact emotion
But I understand the depth of your pain
I have scars like you do
Maybe not as deep
But they are still etched into my wounded heart
So please
Let me be there for you
If only to hold you while you cry
Tell you that it's gonna be okay
Because even though you can't see the light now
Doesn't mean it isn't coming
And if it's alright with you
I'll stay and keep you company until then
Wait with you until you realize
That no matter how alone you feel
I will always love you.


Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Us > Everyone Else (Madison Elizabeth Holland-Lafayette, LA)


How many ways can I say I love you?
I'm running out of words For once To describe to you the depths of my feelings The endless promises of my soul You and I more than anyone Have been through hell and back We know what it is to think we've lost everything Just so we could start anew You have hurt me more than I've ever thought possible And brought me more joy than I could ever have imagined When we met no one could ever have predicted How this story would go A good girl meets a bad boy But now We are only Ourselves And that makes me happier each day more I am gifted to spend with you.

Monday, July 29, 2013

It’s the Beginning of a New World (And I Feel Fine) (Louis Toliver Jr-Swartz, LA)


A long time ago in the year, 2012
Some human beings once thought
That the world would meet its end
It’s nothing new to human history
Fear is commonly used to control
So making others believe in destruction
Undermines GOD’s purpose for us
Which is to create from the center
Like GOD, we share the same center
And within us is the ability to create
Or the ability to destroy, this is true
As apocalypse talk aims to enslave
The human gift of intelligence through fear
However, life does not ever, ever end
It always continues, I promise you that
It’s the beginning of a new world
At least as we don’t know it, yet
But those after us will know what this world
Overcame to become a planet of global allies
I feel good to know that tangible human
Enlightenment is on the rise and I feel fine

Nature’s Serenity, Selfish Humankind (Marlon D. Bourque-Lafayette, LA)



Amidst majestic mountains of morn,
lay meandering trails covered in dew.
Skies dawning bright amber forelorn,
winds whisping evergreens moments through.

Maturity experiencing time go by,
foundling wildlife yet to rear.
Waiting till precious eagles fly,
sensing approaching winter season near.

Gentle calming tides ebbing flow,
revealing seas natural watery scene.
Great rivers winding far below,
among deepest valley’s so serene.

Prideful humankind boasts to kill,
against poor natures helpless will.

Saturday, July 27, 2013

The Masochist Crown (Matthew Talbot- Iowa, LA)

You only love me when the sun's down

The words to explain escape me

But give me the masochist crown

How can I show you the pain?

The hurt that makes me come back 

Even with nothing gain

The love I have has no slack

Give me the masochist crown

And say you'll stay around


Friday, July 26, 2013

Reconstruction (Louis Toliver Jr-Swartz, LA)



We can make ourselves
Anything that we want to be.
All it takes is the time and craft
To learn your mind and body.

If the way you think isn’t working,
Meaning you feel trapped or
Your mind can’t get out its box,
Reconstruct yourself to live.

Hung by the Tongue, ….. A Painfilled Lesson (Marlon D. Bourque-Lafayette, LA)


Amidst our diverse sub-cultured society,
lurks those irresponsible few jesters.
Often unaware the pain caused by perceived superiority,
of which sarcasm egotistically applied will fester.

In moderation, can be taken as humor if one please,
yet vies of selfish attention-seeking power needs beckon strong.
Uncontrolled, ignorantly based grudges unleashed,
often creating hate vendettas that do not belong.

Lending to unhealthy negative reactions ,
left unchallenged, will sacrifice mature growth changes.
This artificial bubble of superiority action,
Will lend to loss of trust by others so strange.

Suddenly one emerges from temporary sense of false gratification,
as realization emerges that tests the true rewards of ones folly.
Knowledge of truth of ones actions arises as a cold sensation of loneliness,
once friend ones entertained audience becomes foe.

Overwhelming feelings of indifference, hurt, melancholy,
ultimately surface as one seeks others to ease the pain away.
Meanwhile others realize that lost souls plea,
then suddenly connect that hurt with ones unjust way.

One retreats in loneliness, untrusting, bitter asking “Why?”,
“When might ones spoken words cause pain enough to cry?’
As seeds of ignorantly posed hate filled words spew in preconceived jest,
One but has to be reminded the void of love and compassion felt at best.

An only key to unlock hate filled actions, discontent, strife,
is understanding , compassion, forgiveness, thus quality to life.

New Author: Marlon D. Bourque

We met Marlon D. Bourque at Tonic for Words open mic event. Marlon has created 
some of his varied experiences thru poetry writings. Most are derived
from journals while enlisted in US Navy 1980-1985 that he drew upon my
love of nature at satire of selfish human interest toward nature. AIDS
Quilt/caregiverfor friends in Houston 1989-2000. Gay Mens Chorus of
Houston GMCH now a mixed chorale of women & men known as Bayou City
Chorale ...sang from 1989-1994, hiatus for grad school then rejoined
2004-2008. Marlon looks forward to advocating in his home town.  
We welcome him to the Louisiana Words family!

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Transition Ambition (Cara Anne Overgaard- Lafayette, LA)

I collided with the sky 
I am suffocating in a cloud of bliss 
To return is to die 
To find purchase is fear 

Yet I must rise above
 I must see the father 
Mother moon to soothe 

Thank you mother for your blessings 
Forgive me 
Father grant me my old strength 
Forgive me

So let it be 

A prayer from a modern white two-spirit 


New Author: Cara Anne Overgaard

    "Cara Anne Overgaard is a wonderful new edition to the Louisiana Words family. She is one of the newest voices representing Acadiana's transgender community. Cara is one of the most passionate, intelligent sweethearts and she is currently a Director-At-Large for the Acadiana PRIDE Festival. You can expect to see her using her voice in leading the movement to give others the confidence in being themselves." — Louis Toliver Jr.

"I’m Sorry” Is All I Needed to Hear (Louis Toliver Jr-Swartz, LA)


Shhh…you don’t have to cry
No need for us to visit the past
You’ve become the one who forgets
I’ve become the man who forgives
Wipe up your face and show me a smile
‘Cause we’re different people now

Hate is the biggest of burdens
Smashing you down into isolation
Spiritually destined to hell on earth
What good is a day on earth alone?
No way, no how, I don’t want that life
Life is short and can’t be spent angry

As long as we live in the present
Our faith is renewed in our future
I will always let you grow into you
I’m not here to watch you suffer
You don’t have to shed a tear
“I’m sorry” is all I needed to hear



Louisiana Words: The Series

Every 1st Tuesday of the month only at Tonic Lafayette. Click the Facebook event and come see our community using their voices!


Louisiana Words: The Series

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Messy Cute (Adam John Shexnayder-Crowley, LA)

It felt a bit odd to see him. I watched as he eloquently placed groceries into his basket as the woman held on to his arm. I had only ever seen him behind closed doors. In the dark usually. But I knew he was beautiful. But I had no idea he was the beautiful. It was like a demigod that had never realized his full potential. And all I could really focus on was her. Her hair tied back, tight, as if she was trying to build a migraine. And those jogging pants as if she didn't know they were going in public (but she knew). That messy cute that only seemed to be messy on her. I had a right mind to talk to him. Go right up to him and remind him who he really loved. But as I squatted behind a display of ferns, I could only think of where had all my dignity gone? When did I sacrifice myself for "love". Cause "love" sure wasn't sacrificing anything for me. 

A few days later I turned on the news at ten pm. As I brought the volume to 100% I heard the reporter. Her messy cute was really cute and her words put a infinite smile on my face. 

"In other news, a local woman finds her husband tied to the bed at his hands and feet. She didn't bother to call the authorities because of the note she found. The authorities were finally notified by the housemaid during her weekly visit. The note said, "Tell her who you really love. Tell her what you are putting me through because I will no longer hide behind plants or closed doors.  Oh, and tell her the messy cute is just plain messy.  Love, 'man of your dreams'"

Almost Every Man's Dream (Bryan Hinojosa, Lafayette, LA)


There is an island in the South Pacific called Mau’lai’i that lies about fifty knots southeast of the five Finger Islands in Micronesia.  It had remained a secret to the rest of the world for over three centuries, completely cut off, because the only people who knew about it, other than its inhabitants and the natives of the Finger Islands. And they kept it a secret because they feared that the white man would conquer it and ruin it if he ever found out about it, which is exactly what happened. 
At any given time on Mau’lai’i, there are about seven hundred women and maybe one or two men.  Whenever a male is born on the island, it is immediately cast into the sea, as an offering.  The women grow up, knowing only other women, until they are deemed strong enough to give birth, when they are then taken to one of the stud males on the island to be inseminated.  Men serve only this function and are completely provided for. 
            Not just any man can become a drone for the Mau’lai’ians, though.  In order to promote strong women, only the worthiest of foreign men are allowed to become studs.   In order to become a breeder, one had to make the three-day journey by boat from the Finger Islands to Mau’lai’i, over rough seas and craggy reefs.  Then, as soon as any man steps on the beach, he's immediately challenged to hand-to-hand combat by one of the native women.  If he can make her submit, he becomes a stud.  If he is submitted, he is slaughtered as a sacrifice.

            The Mau’lai’ians spend most of their free time in dancing, mock-fighting and love-making.  Their dances, frantic and uninhibited, were rumored to be able to hypnotize any man.  They were skilled grapplers, and their fighting style was said to be one of the most brutal forms of martial arts on earth.  Their beauty, dreamt about by every man on the Finger Islands, was said to be unrivaled.  Even though few men survived the trip to the island and fewer still won the fight, there was a continuous stream of young men who heaved off in their canoes, destined to either be dashed upon the reefs, physically deposed by a siren, or, if they were deemed worthy, enter into a blissful life of nonstop humping.
            I knew all this before I ever arrived.  While working on my master's degree in Anthropology, I became friends with a man named Poree-Poo, a math major from the Finger Islands.  Everyday he would tell me stories of Mau’lai’i, or legends as I saw them.  He constantly spoke of going back and attempting the challenge, knowing that his determination and training ensured his success.  Personally, I thought he was crazy.
            When Poree-Poo's father showed up to visit in the spring, I asked him about Mau’lai’i, at which point he promptly pummeled his son, which was no easy task, and told him never to speak of it to any person again.  I was amazed.  Was all of it true? I couldn't believe that such a place existed on earth.  An island like this is every anthropologist's dream.
            Shortly after, I asked Poree-Poo if he would be my guide to Mau'lai'i; he agreed immediately, saying it was destiny.  After his divorce was finalized, we set out.
            Initially, I was concerned for my safety.  I didn't want to die for this.  I was going to study, as a scholar, an academic, not to fiddle around with the natives.  Poree-Poo and I talked, and we came up with a plan.  With any luck, I would be the first non-Pacific Islander to ever set foot on Mau'lai'i.  Then I would study the culture, publish a career-defining book, and return to much acclaim in the academic community.  It was a brilliant plan.
            When we arrived on the fourth Finger Island, Ringo as I call it, Poree-Poo's family met us with curses and threats.  The islanders were not pleased that Poree-Poo had spoken about Mau’lai’i to an outsider and we had to embark that night, for fear of attack.  We snuck down to the beach after dark and stole a canoe.  I was forced to leave most of my belongings, but I was still able to bring along my massive key chain, with its flashlight, bottle-opener, emergency condom, and lucky rabbit's foot, all of which seemed pretty useless, but still somehow reassuring.              
            The boat ride was horrid.  Our small canoe was tossed about on massive waves.  We were buffeted by driving winds.  Sharks shadowed our boat, lest one of us should fall.  When we encountered the reef on the third day, we were forced to land the craft, get out, and carry the boat over the living wall to the lagoon.  Our feet were shredded by the end of it.   On Poree-Poo's suggestion, we waited in the boat for a night and allowed ourselves to rest and heal after the trepidatious trek.
            On the dawn of the next day, we set out for the beach.  A group of native women, seeing us in the lagoon, gathered and awaited our arrival.  When we landed, Poree-Poo leapt out and immediately assumed a fighting stance. I, dressed in drag, giving my best rendition of a nonthreatening native woman, waited in the canoe.
            When Poree-Poo first arrived in America on scholarship, one of the first things he did was learn how to fight.  At first, he just picked fights with local roughs, often getting beaten, but always learning.  Then, when he had income, he studied Karate, and later Judo.  He had had eight years of martial arts training by the time we left for Mau’lai’i. He was a match for most men.
            Poree-Poo stood there in the surf, ready for combat, as a native woman strolled up to him, grinning wickedly.   He swung at her; she ducked out of the way, dodging the blow, with obvious ease.  She grabbed his arm, yanked him off balance, and pounced on his back, wrapping him up.   Poree-Poo flailed, helpless.  The assailer grasped his head in her muscular arms, pivoted her entire torso around, and twisted her hapless victim's neck in a way God never intended. It made a horrid snapping sound.  He gurgled, dropped, lifeless.  Before his body hit the ground, his attacker lithely leapt off, landed daintily, and turned to smile that same wicked grin at me. The women approached. Using the few broken phrases that Poree-Poo had taught me on the flight over, I tried to explain the situation.  They failed to understand.
            I jumped out of the boat and fled.  The ladies followed.  They cut me off, ringed me in.  A woman charged.  She leapt, flying at me in some type of dragon-kick.  I screamed, braced myself, and struck out blindly.  She slammed into me, knocking the wind from my lungs, hurling me back.  I lay there in the surf, stunned, for at least half a minute.             
            But, my pursuer left me alone.  The other women left me alone.  I sat up and looked around.  The women were collected around the native who had attacked me.  She was on the ground, holding her face.  She was severely cut, bleeding from her eye. I'm guessing I caught her cornea with my fingernail or something; I don't really know. It was all luck, or a  miracle. After tending to her, a few of the women came over and congratulated me.  I had just become the newest stud of the Mau’lai’ians.
            My days proceeded in this manner for the next several months: I would awaken.  If I were erect, I was ridden.  If I was flaccid, I was fed, washed, and given my stud-drink.  This stud-drink is quite alcoholic, and spiced with a bitter herb native to the island called puerco puerco that, for most of the day, left my member as hard as a graduate-level astrophysics problem.  I was then led around the village, by a collar, to all who were seeking my seed.  I would have to rut with whomever needed my services, and then I was allowed to rest for entirely too short a time before my next customer came a-knocking. 
            The women of Mau’lai’i saw me as a beast of burden, a tool.  Maybe some of the friendlier ones considered me a pet.  But, certainly none of them saw me as the object of true, deep love.  These women loved other women.  Many women.  Cut free from the restraints of heterosexual monogamous relationships, these women lived in a constant state of sisterly love, maternal pampering, and lesbian sex.  The women would dance their sultry dances, grapple for hours, feast, all nude of course, and then collapse into a drunken orgy. I witnessed this. All day and all night long. 
            I would stumble around, drunk as a sailor on shore-leave, being used as a source of DNA and nothing else.  And, as long as I was able, which was most of the time thanks to the puerco puerco drink, I was forced to pound.  I was led up to some gorgeous woman as she presented her oiled and scented nethers, and I was made to pound. And pound and pound and pound and pound.  And pound again.  And pound some more.  
            And make no mistake, these women detested my touch.  They were so frightened of what my penis would do to them.  It often took the coaxing and caressing of other women to keep the more timid ones calm during the rutting session.  So, it was not an odd occurrence for me to be pounding some woman while two or three others rubbed her down, and rubbed themselves on her, in order to keep the process flowing smoothly.  Still other women couldn't stand the insult of being in a situation controlled by a male, so they got on top, often as other women lustily writhed all over me, with complete and total disregard for my personal comfort.
            Sounds great, right?  Almost every man's dream. Unfortunately for me, I am, as they say, as gay as a maiden in June. 
            Have you ever had a dream where you were naked and didn't have your homework or something like that?  Imagine living that way.  It was like the most awkward moments from high school being played over and over and over again.  But this time, there were no excuses or tears or faking a cramp or anything like that.  I—he, I should say, him down there—was always hard.  Always.  And I always had to use him, regardless of what I felt like. I was revolted. Relentlessly.  
            Still, I managed, somehow.  I'd just shut my eyes tight and tried to think of Connery as Bond, Brosnan as Bond, Craig as Bond, Tim McGraw, Usher, Capt. Picard, whomever.  But it was hard to ignore it: that singular feeling, the dank gushiness, the grasping nature of it.  No one could ignore it.  It was quite disconcerting and humiliating, to say the least.
            And I suffered for months. But, one day, I conceived of an idea.  The next morning, I raised a commotion, waking up the entire village with my shrieking, as bloodcurdling as I could manage.  A group of ladies ran into my hut to investigate.
            And then, I unveiled it: my erect penis, wrapped up by my emergency condom.  It was bright neon yellow, and all nubbly. The women, having never ever conceived of such a thing as prophylactics, freaked the fuck out.  I stood up, screaming at them, Cursed!  Cursed!  Death!  Sickness! I approached. They ran. I gulped down a large cup of the stud-drink, and charged.  I chased the terrified ladies around the village for the better part of the morning.  It was glorious.  I felt like a Mongol riding down a flock of Hungarian peasants. 
            Eventually, after I tired, the women grabbed their spears and chased me back to the boat. But not before I was able to grab my prize. I shoved off, paddled with all my might past the reef and promptly passed out.  I woke up in the boat I don't know how many days later, faint and in pain, with a group of Finger Island children staring down at me.  Some of the Fingerlings ran off to find help, and one of them gave me some water. A man came up, looked at me, parched, burnt, nude, clenching my fist, and with a bright yellow condom still draped about my dangler, and he just shook his head.  I smiled at him, and tightened my grip, holding in my hand a number of seeds from the puerco puerco plant.

            All of this happened over a decade ago, and, as a former anthropologist, it pains me, fills me with deep regret, to think of the complete and total annihilation of the Mai'lai'ian culture, which was largely my fault. But, as the billionaire founder and CEO of VitaBev, producer of Stud-Drink, which is currently the third-most imbibed beverage on the planet, I usually sleep well at night.   

Monday, July 22, 2013

Life Lessons (Samuel Jones-Bastrop, LA)


When I learned to be open,
I was taken advantage of.
When I learned to be careful,
I missed out.
When I learned to be assertive,
I seemed mean.
And when I learned to speak up,
I came off as rude.
I crawled back then,
But now I walk.
I walk when I love from a distance.
I walk when I make sound judgement.
I walk when I stand my ground.
And I walk when I simply make a good point.
Learning to walk is the hardest part;
Running is comparatively easy.

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Cardiokleptomania (Samuel Jones- Bastrop, LA)

We've all known one:
A cardiokleptomaniac.
They steal hearts 
Uncontrollably.

They can't help it.
But the least they could do,
Is give them back.

Saturday, July 20, 2013

Awake (Samuel Jones- Bastrop, LA)

I once read that everything is conscious on some level,
Even inanimate objects.
But why are they inanimate?
Due to their conscious, are they immobilized by perpetual indecision?
We as humans may make mistakes, but at least we move forward.

Untitled II (Matthew Talbot- Iowa, LA)

the joy i feel
the joy is real
the sun shines bright
with all its might
to show the world how I feel

Friday, July 19, 2013

All of Me (Samuel Jones-Bastrop, LA)


I'm afraid to show people
All of myself
Because I don't believe
They can handle that responsibility.
My Guard is up and she shouts,
"Do you have the password?"
("I love you.")
"Do you have a key?"
(Kindness, honesty, respect)
"Do you know someone on the inside?"
(My personal thoughts and feelings)
If not, the only back door is Trust.

New Author: Elizabeth Jenkins

From Louis Toliver Jr:

I had the recent opportunity to meet Lizzy through working with the Acadiana P.R.I.D.E. Festival. I have started building a strong relationship with Lizzy and her partner DJ (Donna Jean) by being a member of Louisiana Trans Advocates. What I am coming to realize through people like Lizzy, I meet, is that Louisiana is full of compassionate, loving, artistic talent and should take pride in such a unique, diverse pool of individuals representing this wonderful state. I welcome Elizabeth Jenkins to the Louisiana Words family and hope that she continues to use her voice in anyway she pleases.

Sometimes I Feel the Fool (Elizabeth Jenkins-New Orleans, LA)



What I am I am – what I be I be
About the world most times as me
But sometimes I feel the fool
Yes sometimes so feel the fool

Times is times is times most times
And fools is fools most all the times
So why do I whom I feel is smart
Oft feel this fool within my heart

A freak a fool a person wrong
Sing my simple transition song
No fool I feel tis only truth
Yet those around seem me forsooth

Am I wrong to think I'm wrong
Sing my song and think it's wrong
Or right to right and think I'm right
A foolish wrong I need to right

THEREBY

What I am I am – what I be I be
About the world most times as me
But sometimes I feel the fool
Yes sometimes so feel the fool

I try to say of what I am
Yet none see me as I am
Sometimes I really cannot know
What I feel others need to know

Am I the fool for not giving up
Trying to make points carefully
Or is it others who listen not
To what I feel I need to say

When does it go too far I think
When do I quit and just walk away
Is that a failure upon my part
Or rather something I missed in them

A flaw whereby they cannot perceive
The words they cannot believe
So am I a fool for feeling sad
Or am I sad they act the fool

Lizzy

Partially borrowed from myself,and yet
Sometimes I feel the fool
and sometimes the fool is that person who will not hear

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Switchblade Words (Louis Toliver Jr- Swartz, LA)


It seems the observation of the times is
That those men who identify themselves
As “str8” men to adhere to society
Not because that is how they truly feel
But to participate in bullying human beings…
Should spend some time in what has
Come to be called the “gay” family.
See “str8’ men are not emotionally adapted
To handle the decisions of the times alone
And thus it should be of the family interest
Of this so called “str8” man that has evolved
That he consider spending time with his gay family
So that he would toughen up to the cutting
That societal words can sometimes achieve.
Exposing the insecurity he tries to hide in himself
This unstable man has come to see only…fear
Let this “str8” man come learn from his “gay” family
So they can educate him on switchblade words
The ones, that have come to make the “str8” man weak

Simplicidad (Simplicity) (Rachel Jackson- Lafayette, LA)

Creo sinceramente                                          I believe quite sincerely
que a veces es mejor                                       that at time it feels better
hablar un idioma                                               to speak in a language
que no sea tuyo.                                               that isn't yours.

A mí me cuesta más trabajo.                           It is harder for me.
El resultado es más simple.                            The result is simpler.
Pero las palabras que salgan                          But the words that come out
son sinceras, naturales.                                   are sincere, natural.

Sin palabras tan complejas                             Without complex words
Se tranquilizan mis ideas.                                My ideas become calmer.
Saben que lo complicado                                They know those too complicated 
Simplemente no diré                                         I simply won't say.

Digo lo sencillo.                                                I say simple things.
Lo digo sin decorarlo.                                       I say them without decoration.
Hablo como un niño,                                         I speak like a child,
como un niño muy listo.                                    like a very clever child.

Love Is Love (Samuel Jones- Bastrop, LA)

People try to treat love like a solid.
I'm guilty of that, myself.
Even if originated from different sources,
If you put all of it together, it will remain separated.

But now I say, "No,"
"Love is like a liquid."
No matter where it comes from,
If you put it all together, it becomes one.

It may be poured from different vessels.
It may come in different temperatures.

But regardless, love is all the same love.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

New Author: Jason Myers

Here's a personal Introduction form Jason Myers:

"I go by calvin the kid, im from new Orleans, I started rapping about 2 years ago, I started writing rap cause I couldn't sing, it takes talent to sing, it takes practice and I heard everyone rapping about the same thing so I put myself into my music so people hear how I feel."

Let's welcome "Calvin the Kid" to the Louisiana Words family!

5:10 (Jason Myers-Breaux Bridge, LA)


As I lay in bed 
wishing I was dead 
but instead 
I'm thinking about you 
and i know your not thinkin of me 
so why am I think about what could be 
what could of happened 
I don't talk about my feelings 
I mask them 
practice what I'd say to you
 right now I don't know who I'm talking to 
I left you a couples voicemails
I was pretty high
 two days later
still no reply.
 Now I wish I never sent em. 
Never brake my rule
 so you bent them like Beckham. 
Texted you at 9, 
keep checkin my phone again. 
Try not to think about it, 
now its 5:10

Tired of trying to get back to the past
samuri jack. 
Should have seen this coming when you said we should take a break 
and let things run their course
 I didn't mean to play games when I got your number, 
contact sports
 I say I'm over you,
 looking at your Facebook and instagram 
just to see if you found or hangin out with a new man.
 I just want you to walk by when I'm with a girl or friends.
 Even if it just pretend.
 I want you to see without you I'm so happy.
 Say I'm over you, then why i thinking about this. 
Why haven't I deleted your pics.
 Bitch.
 With so many people, how do I feel so alone,
 I shouldn't have made my favorite song your ringtone.
 I can't hear it without feeling sick. 
Bitch.

 I can't say I don't care. 
If we were a fruit, we'd be a pair.
 I'm failing because of you. 
I was trying to study, 
you just wanted to smoke my weed and listen to kid cudi.
 I have a text that says fuck you, 
that ill never send. 
Trying to fall asleep,
 its already 5:10.

 Feeling kind of empty,
 cause i gave you part of me. 
You can keep it,
 i dont give a fuck what you do with it. 
Lose it.
 Ill send you a pack of bubble gum and a picture of my dick
chew on this. 
Bitch. 
Cut your writs wont stop shit, 
i dont need you now, 
might be the aclohol talkin, 
but I like the way it sounds. 
it makes sense. 
Im telling you the truth
no offence, 
wait offence. 
You deserve whats coming, 
ill go find you and say it to your face so you dont have to wonder. 
You made me feel like 500 days of summer. 
So ill give you 1000 days in hell,
 swell,
 I'm a homosexual if writing your feeling down is gay
we had puppy love
well you were a bitch anyways. 
Now your calling,
 i should answer it, 
nope. 
I was here, 
now gone, 
ghost. 
Never know what you have til its gone. 
Now your just trying to make me look in the wrong. 
Like you were just waitin for something to fall apart so you would have an excuse.
 So you could drop me like a duece. 
When will the bullshit end.
 It better end soon 
cause its 5:10 .
bitch. fuck you
 i already did, 
get yo shit together cause your trippin, acid.
 Lost kid, waited forever, ghost nation. 
Calvin say it again
 5:10 bitch