Mama, Dada, No and Mine

Words first learned
Words first used
Words so simple
Words held power
Words achieved recognition
Words took possession
Words got you loved
Words got you fed
Words expressed mind
Words expressed emotion
Words added over time
Words told to censor
Words could hurt
Words can’t be selfish
Words taught to be used proper
Words aplenty in arsenal
Words lost power
Words held a forgotten secret
Words it seems just the guns
Words bullets are heart and mind
Words need to be loaded
Words assure personal power


My HipHop/Rap Alter Ego Is White Venom

Recently, I have developed a new obsession. My obsession is HipHop/Rap. I spend hours on YouTube listening to whatever I come across or is suggested. I eat it all up. Including the comments section reading how others respond and how they act. I have come to learn so much! I impress myself by using the lingo unique to this genre and subculture at times.

It is an odd obsession to develop considering I’m almost 40, a woman, raised in a small town, and never cared for it much growing up. My obsession originally started because I made a few new friends who were HipHop/Rap enthusiasts. They appreciated my opinions on lyrics presented. I feel cooler now than I felt my entire life.

Not to brag, but a little verse I wrote and performed is going to be used as a drop on a friend’s soon to be released mixtape. I am sorry, I pride myself on being real so have to admit telling you the above was all brag. I am very proud of that accomplishment. Another great pride of mine, after using Google, is being told I’m trill.

Please don’t think my recent obsession has created any radical changes in me. People on YouTube, who don’t know me, make fun of my long detailed critiques I comment. I still dress age appropriate and have no desire to emerge my whole identity into the subculture. However, I can’t deny allure of it all.

I want to write more about my recent obsession in the future. I hope my posts are well received by all, regardless of their background. I believe some of my observations of the subculture’s underground and mainstream will be found more interesting than you expect.

In conclusion, going to include my own attempts at writing verse. Not the best, I am well aware. Perfection was not my goal when writing. Rather, my goal was to never say I did not give it a shot….probably why I’m trill when so many others are not.

“Mama’s Math”

All men rate me a perfect ten
Shit! What a pain this has been
Had to do some Facebook weeding
Nixing 5 what I was needing
I try to be a classy woman
But never forget I got venom
I’ll do what I gotta to thrive
Seconds given to mourn was 5
I never fear having nothing left
Forcing me to commit a theft
My hair is as dark as a raven
My darkness assures breaking even
You asking how I dare
I’ll indulge you and share
Let mama give you a lesson bath
Using the soap called math
5 plus 5 is always me
Not gonna settle for a common he
So don’t try knocking on my door
Thinking I’ll greet ya like a whore
Bitch who you think you be?
You will never be worthy of me
I’ll only be wifed by a real man
Try to be one if you can
I gleefully await that day
Till then fucking go away
Cause I don’t need a hero
Damn! 5 minus 5 is you a zero

“Zombie Apocalypse”

Too many voices saying nothing worth hearing/my ears are bleeding/I need to hear something smart/something from a heart/don’t know why y’all worried about a zombie apocalypse/zombies are fucking everywhere/I’m not afraid to admit I’m scared as hell/somebody please ring the bell/we gotta take action/put are forces in motion/raise your voices to work/this is not the time to lurk/come out of hiding/use your pens for fighting/zombies are afraid of light/shine your brilliance with all your might/let’s back them into the corners of society/it’s time for the mentally strong to quit speaking politely/let’s unleash an atomic shout/so brainless zombies get the fuck out

The End For Now….White Venom Is Out

A Writer’s Letter Goodbye

Taking my dreams and putting them away.
Emotions plead; rest is what I need.
My mind has softened with all this wordplay.
The little workers inside my head are frenzied;
feeling need to spend time with families instead
Takes a lot effort not to have my intentions misread
My production has been done with a serious face.
The good I have achieve I don’t want to debase.
However, a few lines in explanation won’t hurt.
Don’t want anybody to say I left without a trace.
I take pride that I send my words out doing a sashay
and command them, in the end, to be sure they curtsied.
On their lapel and backs, I check for clichés.
Despite demand, always required another proofread.
Even then, errors are found widespread.
therefore, my efforts to be candid were stymied.
Worse or all, I am seen as a braincase.
Now when I write, I can’t stop using the backspace.
With this admission, further damage I hope to divert.
Don’t want anybody to say I left without a trace.
My adult life has always been somewhat blase.
Out of fear, I faced each given day with much heed.
Otherwise, I felt like my next moment would be doomsday.
Those free from the shackles of feelings like these I envied.
Sadly, feeling like this is how I was bred.
yes, lacking in many areas but the fine art of fear I’m purebred.
My pedigree makes me encased in disgrace.
Don’t remember when I was not looking for a crawl space.
With words, I hoped my fears I could finally erase.
Sadly, I learned my fear was so grimy I can not culvert.
Don’t want anybody to say I left without a trace.

Praise! For the Gift of Writing

I started a poem today
today I wanted to give you praise
praise for all you give
give to those in need of aid
aid you only are able to give
I started a poem today
today I was ashamed
ashamed the praise that was my intention
intention turned to questions about your aid
aid you only are able to give
I started a poem today
today I threw it away
away I wanted to run
run in shame from your aid
aid you only are able to give
I started a poem today
today I wrote what was in my heart
heart was full of pain
pain from being in need for your constant aid
aid you only are able to give
I started a poem today
today I am humbled
humbled by the gift you gave
gave as a way to give aid
aid you only are able to give

Skill Of Silence

Silence is a skill

a writer, by design, lacks.

That’s why men fight windmills

and poor France has Hunchbacks.


A writer, by design, lacks

desire to go downhill.

And would rather make tracks,

despite pain, uphill


That’s why men fight windmills.

When writers smell lilacs

Passion fills their quill,

loves glories they wax.


And poor France has Hunchbacks

who bravely claim freewill.

After this, how can we be lax?

Soul’s void they refill.


Silence is a skill.






My Angel is a Poetic Pirate (Tony Haynes)

Since my Poetic Pirate Angel (Tony Haynes) has inspired many emotional written responses from me, this being the most recent, our relationship demands an introduction. 

Tony Haynes, otherwise known as my Poetic Pirate, has become a major motivator for me. He not only motivates the part which is obsessed with words and desires to master the craft of presenting them in a way that delights people visually, lyrically, intellectually, and emotionally, he also motivates the part which fights to keep hidden because it fears rejection from those it knows and from those who it meets for the first time. I could go on and on about how great the Angel Pirate is in my eyes. However, I thought I would do this by using a different approach.

Me, aka The Eye, first met the Angel Pirate through a mutual friend who shares our passion for writing. We, who were just strangers in a group, offered our words from our heart risking being torn apart by all the other members who also fancied themselves writers. With every post we made, Tony earned his special spot in my heart. Here is the most recent of our actual Facebook interactions that will show you how great he is and why The Eye sees him as her Angel. Please keep in mind, what I show you is friendly interaction. As such, spelling and grammar errors will be been not only because auto correct is a joke but also because talking with friends, form always takes a back seat to content. As you read, please remember any of my personal commentary will be in bold.


“For Every Breakdown, There’s A Breakthrough”

For every breakdown there’s a breakthrough
Over to the sunny side
Life will take down – but
Love will take you
On to pastures green & wide
With every breakdown there’s a breakthrough God provides

Growth lays its stake down and remakes you
On the milk & honey side
Does its shakedown – won’t forsake you
So growth is never satisfied

For every breakdown there’s a breakthrough
On the “tears-get-runny-side”
Oh what aches now?
This may hurt you
Still once the saddest tear has dried
The happy ones you haven’t cried
Evoke the joys personified
Proving the ride is worth the price when you ‘make do’
So for every breakdown, there’s a break through

From my book: “This Has Everything To Do With My Life”

Here is my response….

How true! I had a Breakdown and had the Breakthrough that Father was just a title that I did not have to honor if he was not deserving of the title. I had a Breakdown and had the Breakthrough that my words were denied their power to heal my essence if I did not release them from that secret hiding place in my mind. As always, my Angel Pirate, you inspire me! HUG! I have your permission to share this on my blog, giving you credit of course, along with my response?

His response to my request shows his wonderful sense of humor. ♥

you get no arrrrghumment from me, share my swashbuckling friend by all means share!


Just by chance?

A fellow blogger who posted “I LOVE YOU” to all his readers. He also expressed that his childhood lessons never included how to express his love in ways that were healthy like verbally and hugging. To prove his sincerity he revealed his real name. This is my response as it was sent with no spell check or editing. 

I came by to pay you a visit and I discovered THIS. Some would call THIS a post. Doing so, would not be technically incorrect. However, giving THIS any one single name would be horribly wrong in so many ways. THIS is your heart. THIS is your pain. THIS is your wish. THIS is your confession. THIS is your end. THIS is your start. THIS is your past. THIS is our future. THIS is your connection. THIS is even more than you and I can mention.

I know THIS was hard to give the world. For that reason, I want to show you that the world that your fear will treat you the same as the man who had the title of Father in your life; is actually very loving if you are aware of its acts of tender care. While it would be easy to just dismiss the meeting of us as chance. Perhaps it is. But my desire to believe that all the forces of evil I have encountered in my life must have a force in place to balance it out makes me believe us meeting was not just chance. I will give some evidence to support my belief.

I started my very first blog just a little over a month ago. By chance, I came across a post the_Lunatic made that impressed me so much I introduced myself. By chance, she told me the reason for her blog was to be honest with herself and the world so she could hopefully get some power over her demons. By chance, I share her mission. By chance, the good impression she made on me made me to read her blog regular when most of the times I just allow the reader decide which blog will get my attention. By chance, I came across you through her blog. By chance, I decided to check out what you offered. By chance, I loved what I saw. By chance, On May 5th I posted the following on Facebook, “Billie Ann Howell-Zahir – One of the saddest things I ever had to admit to another person was the sad fact I did not know how to hug. Sure, I knew the mechanics of the process but my insecurities and fears made the act more painful than enjoyable. Recently, I’ve practiced more while letting go of my fears and insecurities. Now….I wonder how I survived without them. :) By chance, you posted this on May 7th. By chance, today one of my followers told me they found you through me and was highly impressed. By chance, I decided to check in with you. By chance, I found THIS. By chance, while so many others shared pain similar to yours as a child, it is me who KNOWS the shame and burden not knowing how to be hugged and hug. By chance, I know from experience the constant torture I endure being a person who is so full of love for others it often overflows and looks silly yet I fear hugs still despite the efforts I made to embrace the act of hugging.

I might be wrong…but what are the chances of all these chances happening to put me in place to write this to you in hopes to comfort?

Thank you so much for offering THIS. THIS gives you more of an identity than any name given or chosen could. But to keep things easy…I will call you any name you feel is best.

LOVE from me to you….

Introduction to a new series…Responses from the heart

On April 2, 2013 I started this blog. I never had a blog before because I was afraid nobody would read what I offered.

I know the, “What if I have a party and nobody shows up,” fear is very common. However, with much delight, people did show up to my party. Each person who gave me that honor, I can not express the amount of appreciation I have for you.

When I was a child, the writing that I loved had to be kept hidden away. You see, I came from a family that believed in secrets and one of the secrets they believed I should never tell was how I felt. Since I did not know how to write anything I liked without expressing them I would have to take a chance and find a hiding place for my treasured displays of being human. More than once, my hiding places were found and I had to watch them be burned. To some, the pain that I felt because of that seems silly. However, I am almost 40 and have learned I don’t HAVE to care what you think about my feelings and I don’t HAVE to hide them. That being said, as with any child-hood trauma, a person develops some internal fears which they can’t seem to ever shake. Those sticky fears is why I chose poetry as my chosen writing for the blog. I believe poetry is a backdoor method of expression of personal emotion. I felt, if I expressed with strangers my feelings this way and they looked down at me for how I felt…I had an out. I would always lie and say what I offered was done because I had literary license. Last night I realized…I was still hiding my feelings I have written. After that realization hit me….I vowed to myself now, who is grown, and the me as a child that I would no longer deny them the right to have feelings.

Don’t get me wrong. I will still write poetry and post it here on my blog. However, I will be making some additions as well. One of which, is a series titled “Responses from the heart.” The inspiration for the series came when I wrote some responses to posts from people I have social contact with online. It struck me how much beauty my responses had when they were produced from the heart and not thinking. I saw a natural lyrical quality that even when I really try I can’t reproduce when I make an effort to write poetry. Most of all…I loved how my emotions were never hidden.

With that introduction I will soon be posting those first two in the series. It stands to reason, because the way they come about can not be planned or thought out I will not be able to promise when you will see the next one. All I can say with assuridy…is you will someday.

Billie A Zahir ♥


Right To Write

Won gunfight…My life I indite
Pissed poisoned pen poised for payback
Heroes and Villains I’ll incite
Won gunfight…My life I indite
With delight good/bad I handwrite
When on bookrack I will kickback
Won gunfight…My life I indite
Pissed poisoned pen poised for payback




I LOVE when I my clever side comes out….

While doing some grunt work, to fulfill my eventual literary goals, I am amusing myself with sharing my impromptu fiction (others call them lies) to amuse myself during the process. The lesson of this post? Words may mean the same thing but each word has its own unique power and personality. So care is needed when making your selection. 🙂

Emotion’s Roost (Line Messaging)

A life is judged by a person’s actions

and guided by notions.

However, don’t forget, ugly emotions.

No matter how good the intentions, emotions efface.

Causing a  possible fall from grace.

The mission of a person is to find a special place.

A place emotions can feel at ease roosting

where their existence does not have to be proven with shouting

This place, where they can glimmer, can be found only  in writing.


Time to reflect and explain,,,

Today I played around with other ways to express my poetic voice. As a person who hates being put on a leash, I was surprised my writing day felt like no other day of writing in my life. One of my biggest fears was not being able to reflect who I was if writing within guidelines. However, if anything, the boundaries allowed me to express even more then I ever did before. I believe I was forced to to come to the point I wanted to make and my writing was more topic and emotion focused in its delivery. Another fear that made me afraid to attempt this was the fear of losing my unique voice as a writer. With a smile on my face, I see me in everything I posted. What a good day it has been for me the writer and me as a person. I invite you all to take a look if you can find the time. After all, sharing was my intention when I created this blog.

Best wishes in your personal and writing lives. 🙂

First step has been attempted….

I was advised, the following was the first step for writing a memoir, “Exactly what story I wanted to tell.  After all, I have had a full life and could probably mine several books out of it.  To focus on one particular story, I took the advice of an instructor and wrote a one sentence description of my story.  It wasn’t a Faulknerian sentence either.  Just one concise sentence that sums up what my book is about.”

Anybody who knows me can attest to the fact that keeping something short and sweet is not something I’m good at. lol

What I have decided is to give myself 3 options for what my story is about and ask any who dares to venture an opinion to let me know which one they believe would make the best story.

  1. A reflective look back at how having a Step-Father who cared for growing up has had a positive impact on who I am today.
  2. How my artistic side has always been something I would use to help with my Manic and Depression episodes even before I knew I was Bipolar.
  3. A detailed account of my multiple stays in Mental Health facilities that will have humor mixed with self-revelations.

Ok…those are the choices.

I welcome any feedback you want to give and I will work on a short intro on each giving an example of the direction and feel each one would have if made my final decision.

Wish me luck! lol

The List You Need to Write a Memoir

Going to make an all out effort to write a memoir. Going to track my progress here for all to see. First thing I am going to work on is the #1 found here.


Luanne Castle's Writer Site

I started working on my memoir an embarrassingly long time ago. When I started I thought I knew what a memoir was–after all, I’d read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. It’s the story of Maya Angelou’s childhood.  OK, I could do that.  I didn’t have a similar experience–not even close–but I had my own events to write about.

What I didn’t realize when I started was that a memoir isn’t just telling what happened to me in chronological order.  The story is all in how you slice it, according to Tristine Rainer (I’ve written about her great advice several times).

In order to write a memoir I had to figure these things out:

  1. Exactly what story I wanted to tell.  After all, I have had a full life and could probably mine several books out of it.  To focus on one particular story, I took the advice of…

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