survivalofthefitted:

Phenomenal lady.

I’ve always postulated how improbable it was that I would be allowed the honor of calling you baby.

Maybe it was the first time I looked intently into your iris.

And by that I mean your real eyes.

Realize I’m nothing like these guys who lack the self control to stray from deep implicit conversations with your breasts, as they simultaneously fantasize about what lies between your thighs, they claim to be impressed with your intellectual finesse; but in actuality, you wouldn’t be far off to second guess whether their intentions were for your mind or the treasures that you would be wise to keep hidden up under that dress.

Staring with affection into your eyes I could see my reflection, myself on both sides.

In retrospect, I realize how much ironic humor this yields.

Because who would of guessed when I see you now, in all your grace, it feels as if I’m staring at half of me in the face.

My better half in 6 inch heels. My soulmate.

My baby. My phenomenal lady.

You drive me crazy.

(via survivalofthefitted)

survivalofthefitted:

Phenomenal lady.

I’ve always postulated how improbable it was that I would be allowed the honor of calling you baby.

Maybe it was the first time I looked intently into your iris.

And by that I mean your real eyes.

Realize I’m nothing like these guys who lack the self control to stray from deep implicit conversations with your breasts, as they simultaneously fantasize about what lies between your thighs, they claim to be impressed with your intellectual finesse; but in actuality, you wouldn’t be far off to second guess whether their intentions were for your mind or the treasures that you would be wise to keep hidden up under that dress.

Staring with affection into your eyes I could see my reflection, myself on both sides.

In retrospect, I realize how much ironic humor this yields.

Because who would of guessed when I see you now, in all your grace, it feels as if I’m staring at half of me in the face.

My better half in 6 inch heels. My soulmate.

My baby. My phenomenal lady.

You drive me crazy.

Phenomenal lady.

I’ve always postulated how improbable it was that I would be allowed the honor of calling you baby.

Maybe it was the first time I looked intently into your iris.

And by that I mean your real eyes.

Realize I’m nothing like these guys who lack the self control to stray from deep implicit conversations with your breasts, as they simultaneously fantasize about what lies between your thighs, they claim to be impressed with your intellectual finesse; but in actuality, you wouldn’t be far off to second guess whether their intentions were for your mind or the treasures that you would be wise to keep hidden up under that dress.

Staring with affection into your eyes I could see my reflection, myself on both sides.

In retrospect, I realize how much ironic humor this yields.

Because who would of guessed when I see you now, in all your grace, it feels as if I’m staring at half of me in the face.

My better half in 6 inch heels. My soulmate.

My baby. My phenomenal lady.

You drive me crazy.

(Source: survivalofthefitted)

survivalofthefitted:

Spontaneously providing the extraneous in the hope to brighten your radiance.

I prefer to insure that your happiness is always secure, not just when things aren’t running smoothly and you need a little maintenance.

Ferrero Rocher, Dove, Toblerone. I bought extra endorphins just in case I’m not enough chocolate for mi corazon.

Phone blown up from silly texts, random “I love you’s” just to keep things fresh. You’ll never know what’s coming next.

I object to disconnect from the simplest of actions. Constantly giving the effort to elevate your interest and attraction.

Actions speak louder than words do. I will love you, let me show you.

Because, you see, love is a verb boo.

This should’ve been longer.

Spontaneously providing the extraneous in the hope to brighten your radiance.

I prefer to insure that your happiness is always secure, not just when things aren’t running smoothly and you need a little maintenance.

Ferrero Rocher, Dove, Toblerone. I bought extra endorphins just in case I’m not enough chocolate for mi corazon.

Phone blown up from silly texts, random “I love you’s” just to keep things fresh. You’ll never know what’s coming next.

I object to disconnect from the simplest of actions. Constantly giving the effort to elevate your interest and attraction.

Actions speak louder than words do. I will love you, let me show you.

Because, you see, love is a verb boo.

(Source: survivalofthefitted)

There you are.

You stand there with your lipstick, coral.

And your blouse is floral.

I used to say “I”, now my pronouns are plural.

We have plans. We’re doing fine.

Behind every good man there’s a woman like you by his side.

So I put my pride aside for what we have. Can’t let you get away.

I tried on my kneepads and to God I pray, that you stay.

Won’t you stay?

(Source: survivalofthefitted)

No. If you’ve found someone you love, go get them. Don’t sit back and stand idle by as if fate will have you two brought together miraculously. Successful relationships aren’t a result of spontaneous combustion. You must set yourself on fire. God has already done His part by allowing you two to cross paths. When opportunity has knocked, you still have to get your ass up and answer the damn door.

(Source: survivalofthefitted)

survivalofthefitted:

They say beauty is in the eyes of The Beholder.

So behold her.

Perfection.

Minus the misdirection of society’s projection of a beautiful complexion.

Correction.

The girls on the cover of Glamour don’t even look like the girls on the cover of Glamour.

You see, I’m the kind of man who likes a natural woman; who’s ass doesn’t need to be altered and ran through a scanner.

Don’t you know your flaws make you unique?

Don’t you know that every individual detail of your natural physique heightens your mystique?

My fellow men, only the weak seek to tweak their lady.

You mistreat your lady.

Widows peaks, stretch marks, a little cellulite, and blemishes.

None of that diminishes the intoxicating images my mind develops when I think about your beauty.

I promise I’m not all talk either. I’m a man of action.

And it gives me so much satisfaction to compliment the very flaws you’ve been brainwashed into believing takes away from the attraction.

So I caress your love handles, kiss you gently on your birthmark, and run my fingers through your hair with the split ends.

To reassure you I’m far from thinking about splittin’.

I only ask that next time you look in the mirror’s direction, we do it together alright?

So that while I’m standing next to perfection, you get a glimpse of what forever looks like.

I’m not going anywhere.

F*** society’s standard of what’s beautiful and embrace your flaws.

After all, they make you special.

I can’t wait to perform this.

(via survivalofthefitted)

survivalofthefitted:

I remember it so clearly. Funny how time flies. It was a thursday night, I’m nervous as hell, standing in front of the stove with a towel tucked over my cardigan so I don’t spill spaghetti sauce on it. Garlic bread is in the oven. The table is set. Dinner is ready. Now I wait. Had to of been the longest 10 minutes of my life. 7:30 came quick, next thing you know I hear a knock on the door. I yell for my roommates to clear out, check my breath, hair, swag, I must’ve done that about 100 times. Shit, it took me over an hour to pick an outfit. “Is this too fancy? Should I wear a hat? Should I dress casual? What is she wearing? Am I overdressed or underdressed?”. I asked my neighbors for advice. I mean, they’re girls, they’ll know. They all speak the universal language of “womanese”.

When I opened the door..

Wait, I want to paint you a picture of this moment. It is literally embedded in my brain. It’s almost completely dark out but there’s just enough light to reveal every detail of her beautiful face. Hold up, no. Beautiful doesn’t do her justice. I mean yeah, God designed each and everyone one of us, but she had this “unf” about her that was so very different. She stands there in this bright red dress with small pearl colored buttons on the front, hair curled and looking right. Nails look freshly manicured and painted a mustard yellow. Make-up is done with perfection. Her beauty is so natural that make-up is not a necessity but it made her eyes pop out like Shaq at a damn midget convention. From head to toe homegirl was looking GOOD. She smiles and says, “Hi.” Oh God, her smile. Lawd have mercy, her smile. Her smile reveals this big dimple on the left side of her cheek. I don’t know what it is about that dimple…

Butterflies. So many of them I feel sick. I don’t know how I ate that spaghetti. She finished eating before me. She was nice and told me it was good. Maybe she did like it. That food was nasty. My roommate was supposed to open a can of sauce for me, forgot, and so I burned some of it. We played two truths and a lie. I was so nervous that this date would be awkward, that we’d run out of things to talk about, but it was going perfect. That “unf”, I described earlier. I realize what it is, her personality. There’s a lot of beautiful girls out there, but pretty fades. This girl was intelligent, carried herself with so much swag, had a great sense of humor, and that dimple. Man I love her smile.

Damn..this was like 14 months ago. What’s even crazier is I still feel the same to this day. She still makes my knees weak, I still get knots in my stomach, I still stress about being fresh. Love is crazy right?

Love is..

damn, love.

Still relevant <3

It’s as if it was encoded in my genes for you to be the one to unzip my jeans. 


That by no means, means I’m only interested in a quick fling. 


You’re far from just another “wham, bam, thank you ma’am”.


I’ll be damned if I think with my little head and allow you to slip through my 
hands.


That being said, I am only a man. 


A man who feels like a hot and bothered astronaut in your presence. 


The very essence of your beauty lies much deeper than the surface. 


And that said beauty has my insides feeling like a furnace.


Excuse me miss, but your thick hips, soft lips, and French tips have me burning 
in desire for your kiss. 


But your ambition, in addition to your entire internal composition, makes me 
fantasize and envision us making love in all kinds of different positions. 


Of course, with your permission.


I realize that admission into your garden won’t be easy. 


They hit it once and ran away.


So I understand if you second guess me when I say, “I’m here to stay”. 


Because while a man like me thinks with the head on his shoulders,

the boys who came before me let the one between their legs get in the way.

(Source: survivalofthefitted)

survivalofthefitted:

They say beauty is in the eyes of The Beholder.

So behold her.

Perfection.

Minus the misdirection of society’s projection of a beautiful complexion.

Correction.

The girls on the cover of Glamour don’t even look like the girls on the cover of Glamour.

You see, I’m the kind of man who likes a natural woman; who’s ass doesn’t need to be altered and ran through a scanner.

Don’t you know your flaws make you unique?

Don’t you know that every individual detail of your natural physique heightens your mystique?

My fellow men, only the weak seek to tweak their lady.

You mistreat your lady.

Widows peaks, stretch marks, a little cellulite, and blemishes.

None of that diminishes the intoxicating images my mind develops when I think about your beauty.

I promise I’m not all talk either. I’m a man of action.

And it gives me so much satisfaction to compliment the very flaws you’ve been brainwashed into believing takes away from the attraction.

So I caress your love handles, kiss you gently on your birthmark, and run my fingers through your hair with the split ends.

To reassure you I’m far from thinking about splittin’.

I only ask that next time you look in the mirror’s direction, we do it together alright?

So that while I’m standing next to perfection, you get a glimpse of what forever looks like.

I’m not going anywhere.

F*** society’s standard of what’s beautiful and embrace your flaws.

After all, they make you special.

I’m going with this one.

survivalofthefitted:

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

I’ll open the car door, front door, back door, side door. If it has a handle, don’t bother, I got it.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

I know this is 2012 and you’re on your independent swag and everything but I’d love to pull out your chair for you before I take my seat. It’s just how I was raised.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

I respect my elders. I acknowledge the fact that for the most part, with age comes wisdom; I’d love to learn from those wiser than me.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

Instead of using foul, vulgar language to defend myself verbally against my enemies I’d rather make them look foolish with my intelligence. It’s classy and shows that you have the necessary vocabulary to express your thoughts appropriately.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

There will be a cold day in hell before I let a woman stay standing while I have a seat. Stop frontin’, I know those heels are murdering your feet girl.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

When we’re out and about, walking the streets of wherever, you’ll never walk closest to incoming traffic. No, I don’t think I’m Superman but I’ll sure feel like a hero if some idiot hits me instead of you my lovely.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

When I’m taking you out to eat, whether it’s La Coupole in Paris or our local McDonald’s with a Playplace included, I’d like to sit facing the nearest entrance so that if anything pops off I can do whatever it takes to keep you safe.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

I’ll always say, “please” and “thank you”. It’s the little things that go a long way in showing other human beings your appreciation. And I genuinely appreciate all of the little things.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

I’m a lover, not a fighter. But if some douchebag is talking down to my woman you can bet I’ll go Super Saiyan in a heartbeat for her. Even Cupid is strapped.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

I’ll never call you out of your name. The word, “bitch” offends me. It should offend you too. You call yourselves bitches and men think it’s okay to do the same. Cut it out.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

If I’m showing you interest romantically, you can wholeheartedly believe you are the only girl in the picture. I like to think of myself as my lady’s man rather than a ladies man.

Hi. I’m a gentleman, not an alien.

In this crazy world we live in where chivalry has taken a backseat and the old school manners our parents have taught us make a man who practices them “bitchmade”, I continue to utilize this increasingly extinct concept.

Call me old school, call me bitchmade, call me lame, but they used to call me “gentleman”.

Peep the notes doe <3

They say beauty is in the eyes of The Beholder.

So behold her.

Perfection.

Minus the misdirection of society’s projection of a beautiful complexion.

Correction.

The girls on the cover of Glamour don’t even look like the girls on the cover of Glamour.

You see, I’m the kind of man who likes a natural woman; who’s ass doesn’t need to be altered and ran through a scanner.

Don’t you know your flaws make you unique?

Don’t you know that every individual detail of your natural physique heightens your mystique?

My fellow men, only the weak seek to tweak their lady.

You mistreat your lady.

Widows peaks, stretch marks, a little cellulite, and blemishes.

None of that diminishes the intoxicating images my mind develops when I think about your beauty.

I promise I’m not all talk either. I’m a man of action.

And it gives me so much satisfaction to compliment the very flaws you’ve been brainwashed into believing takes away from the attraction.

So I caress your love handles, kiss you gently on your birthmark, and run my fingers through your hair with the split ends.

To reassure you I’m far from thinking about splittin’.

I only ask that next time you look in the mirror’s direction, we do it together alright?

So that while I’m standing next to perfection, you get a glimpse of what forever looks like.

I’m not going anywhere.

F*** society’s standard of what’s beautiful and embrace your flaws.

After all, they make you special.

(Source: survivalofthefitted)

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

I’ll open the car door, front door, back door, side door. If it has a handle, don’t bother, I got it.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

I know this is 2012 and you’re on your independent swag and everything but I’d love to pull out your chair for you before I take my seat. It’s just how I was raised.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

I respect my elders. I acknowledge the fact that for the most part, with age comes wisdom; I’d love to learn from those wiser than me.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

Instead of using foul, vulgar language to defend myself verbally against my enemies I’d rather make them look foolish with my intelligence. It’s classy and shows that you have the necessary vocabulary to express your thoughts appropriately.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

There will be a cold day in hell before I let a woman stay standing while I have a seat. Stop frontin’, I know those heels are murdering your feet girl.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

When we’re out and about, walking the streets of wherever, you’ll never walk closest to incoming traffic. No, I don’t think I’m Superman but I’ll sure feel like a hero if some idiot hits me instead of you my lovely.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

When I’m taking you out to eat, whether it’s La Coupole in Paris or our local McDonald’s with a Playplace included, I’d like to sit facing the nearest entrance so that if anything pops off I can do whatever it takes to keep you safe.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

I’ll always say, “please” and “thank you”. It’s the little things that go a long way in showing other human beings your appreciation. And I genuinely appreciate all of the little things.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

I’m a lover, not a fighter. But if some douchebag is talking down to my woman you can bet I’ll go Super Saiyan in a heartbeat for her. Even Cupid is strapped.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

I’ll never call you out of your name. The word, “bitch” offends me. It should offend you too. You call yourselves bitches and men think it’s okay to do the same. Cut it out.

Hi. I’m a gentleman.

If I’m showing you interest romantically, you can wholeheartedly believe you are the only girl in the picture. I like to think of myself as my lady’s man rather than a ladies man.

Hi. I’m a gentleman, not an alien.

In this crazy world we live in where chivalry has taken a backseat and the old school manners our parents have taught us make a man who practices them “bitchmade”, I continue to utilize this increasingly extinct concept.

Call me old school, call me bitchmade, call me lame, but they used to call me “gentleman”.

(Source: survivalofthefitted)

Let’s say I was handicapped. Now there’s a variety of different things that could be wrong with me; but you got me looking at the glass half-full lately girl. So I’m cool with that.

Let’s say I was blind. I would never have the pleasure of seeing the beauty that oh so captivates me every day; but the thing about possessing interior beauty is you don’t need a pair of eyes to see what’s on the inside. I’m cool with that.

Let’s say I could never walk. Who needs legs when I’ve got a walking, talking can of Red Bull by my side? You’ve seen the commercials. I’m cool with that.

Let’s say I was deaf. I would never experience the feeling of hearing your voice; the warmth inside of me. I cook from the inside out like a damn microwave. Funny how your voice can be so soft and inviting but your words seem to send a tremor that gets my knees acting like an earthquake occurs every time you speak. It’s a good thing the words you write are just as extraordinary as the words that come out of your mouth. Your intelligence and sophistication is delightfully impressive. I’m cool with that.

Let’s say I was dumb. Well then I wouldn’t stutter so much when I talk to you without rehearsing what I want to say over and over again in my mind. The love I feel for you inspires me poetically. I could write you a love note every day for the rest of our lives. I’m cool with that.

One day, let’s say, “I do”.

I’m cool with that.

(Source: survivalofthefitted)