My Colors in Baltimore

Like a stone cast

Across a river in cascading

Blues and yellows, I shine

And reflect the eloquence

Of the world around me.

With each skip, pop, and skate

My eyes radiate in your tender

Turquoise and reflect your gentle

Trees that furrow under my feet.

In faded greens that are the veins

Carrying my heartbeat, my fingers

Intertwine and lashes dance.

The fluidity of blonde and peach

In an array of sunbeams.

A simplistic dream

As a girl in the city sleeps.

 

There is no solace

Found under the night

Sun of streetlamps.

The abundance of metal

And concrete is not

The result of human nature,

But is the nature

Of a species that

Can never stop, think.

The air that moves does not

Flow like the river in their bodies.

The madness of their minds

Only reflects on their walk home,

Through blood ridden alleys, drug

Induced slumbers, slouching slanted

Sinister sidewalks, dressed like

Your last midnight battle.

 

She is the one who daydreams

Deep into the night, carrying

Her life in a backpack, holding herself

Together with duct tape and iron

On patches. Cracked skin, re-stitched

Seams, and abandoned apartments.

Summer in her eyes, autumn in her hair,

Spring in her smile, winter on her breath.

A momentous serenade of a mosaic life

When all the broken pieces come together

Beautifully.

The Crow Girl and Darkened Dreams

The crow girl sits on the balcony

And coos her voice in a rattling song.

Her feathers lay low, her neck hunched,

And her being the midnight’s songbird.

 

Twisted wings like twigs laying along the railing,

Killing the night-walkers in an enemy’s

Voyage into the deep sanctuary that is her home.

 

Tethered strings; there is nothing more beautiful

As they lay along the metal guard

And loosely lean with the wind.

 

Deep blue and dainty shreds of a fine lady’s dress

That’s seams have fallen and followed behind her.

A new ghostly member of the nighttime parade.

 

A darkness hangs over the city

But nothing darker than the exasperated

Flame in the grow girl’s eyes. Don’t blink.

Forget her mark and carry yourself towards day.

 

Nothing will be new tomorrow, everything is laid

Before you today. Grasp your own midnight

And let it sing. It will thank you and your

True side will finally be free.

Dizzy is an Emotion

Goodness, how long its been since I’ve last posted on here. As a way to kind of resurrect this blog I will post a poem below that I wrote for my poetry class last semester. This assignment entailed using a chosen word 26 times throughout the poem in varying ways as to sound lyrical instead of redundant. I’ve since edited this poem to where it sounds a tad more fluid despite the urgency the poem possesses, however, you will certainly be able to pick out the word I chose to repeat.
This poetry class through which this poem was brought to life, was one that I consider as a turning point for my writing. If you have read any of my previous work that I posted on this blog, you might agree that they were either bland or extremely similar and typical. My professor whom I absolutely love, gave me some great advice: poetry does not need to be beautiful, have a message, or leave a satisfying taste in your mouth. Sometimes ugly poetry is what we best relate to. Poetry that steps out of bounds and uses words in ways that leaves you confused, but in that confusion somehow we find understanding.

Without further ado, my crazy, cooky poem:

Dizzy is an Emotion

What’s in a mind?
An old cassette wheel
Winding and rewinding
The faults and tragedies
Of our past?
A cloud hovering in white
Space as static
Churns and binds
Scratching for
Release?

This mind is a game of
Sudoku I can never win.
It’s a child holding
A bottle of pop
He has shaken.
With a desire to ease
His thirst, he only
Holds the bottle and refrains
From twisting the cap
With his chubby fingers
Slick with fry grease.

It’s a blue sky kind of mind.
A black bird in a world of doves
As the trees echo through their branches:
“Blackbird, fly.”
But fly this mind does not.
It’s a wooden rocking chair
Bolted to the ground
From which an old woman
In tattered clothes sits.

This mind is a stale reject.
A rose dress screaming
At a wall because it’s yellow.
This mind destroys life
And creates nonsense.
Like waves, but never the ocean.
Like a clear mind your fingers
Have smudged.

Three guys and a girl
Walk into a bar.
How fuzzy is your mind?
Drugs and laughter
Expand the mind
But alcohol and gossip
Restrict its flow
Because this is a
Dripping stream
Next to a river
Kind of mind.
Which does this mind prefer?

They see the outer shell
Of this mind.
A pale orange,
Light blue,
Peachy, thunderstorm
And earthquake
Kind of mind.
With pages and pages
Torn, rewritten, erased,
Scribbled out, burned,
And sent through a shredder
But only to still remain
On the shelf you’ve last
Set them. Next
To the vase and window.

It’s a cut and dripping blood
Kind of mind. Blonde curls
On the floor next to an idea
Mind, but only a voiceless exhale.
Mind over reality.
Does it have a mind?
A bisexual, torn skin,
Screaming lungs,
Laughing eyes,
Twirling dress,
One day at a time
Kind of mind?

What’s in a mind?
Nonsense and disorder,
For this mind. A paint
Your reality and fuck the tradition
Kind of mind. A mind of sun-
Flowers and summer rain.
A quilted bed of snow mind.
A hushed midnight sigh mind.
A mind at ease.

A Mind at Ease

What’s in a mind?

An old cassette wheel

Winding and rewinding 

The faults and tragedies 

Of our past? 

A cloud hovering in 

White space as 

Static churns 

And binds scratching 

For release. 
This mind is a game of 

Sudoku I can never win. 

It’s a child holding a bottle

Of pop he has shaken. 

With a desire to ease his thirst,

He only holds the bottle

And refrains from twisting the cap 

With his chubby fingers 

Slick with fry grease. 

It’s a blue sky kind of mind, 

A black bird in a world of doves

As the trees echo through their branches: 

“Blackbird fly.” 

But fly this mind does not. 

It’s a wooden rocking chair 

Bolted to the ground

From which an old woman 

In tattered cloth sits. 

This mind is a stale reject.

A Rose dress screaming 

At a wall because it’s yellow. 

This mind creates life

And destroys nonsense. 

Like waves but never the ocean,

Like a clear mind your fingers

Have smudged. 

Three guys and a girl

Walk into a bar, 

How fuzzy is your mind? 

Drugs and laughter 

Expand the mind

But alcohol and gossip 

Restrict its flow. 

Which does this mind prefer? 

They see the outer shell

Of this mind. 

A pale orange, 

Light blue, 

Peachy, thunder storm

And earthquakes 

kind of mind.

With pages and pages 

Torn, rewritten, erased, 

Scribbled out, burned, 

And sent through a shredder

But only to still remain on 

The shelf you’ve last 

Set them. Next 

To the vase and the window. 

It’s a cut and dripping blood

Kind of mind. Blonde curls

On the floor with an idea

Mind but a voiceless exhale. 

Mind over reality. 

What is reality. 

Does it have a mind?

A bisexual, torn skin, 

Screaming lungs, 

Laughing eyes, 

Twirling dress,

One day driven 

Kind of mind?

What’s in a mind? 

Nonsense and disorder, 

For this mind. A create your

Reality and fuck the tradition 

Kind of mind. A mind of 

Sunflowers and summer rain. 

A quilted bed of snow mind. 

A hushed midnight sigh mind. 

A mind at ease. 

Lost People and False Realties

Travis found another bottle of lighter fluid in the back seat of his Jeep and clumsily tossed it over to Marcus, a guy in a black hoodie who then drenched the remaining branches and tossed them into the fire. The world around us didn’t matter in this moment. Before, we all piled into trucks, jeeps, and a Rav4 and managed to remain conspicuous while trespassing on private property. We pulled over on the highway, turned off our headlights, waited till what seemed like the last car rolled passed, then pulled in between a few trees where a path had been created, not normally seen while passing on the road rolling at 70 miles per hour, that is unless you scoped it out a day ahead of time.

This path must have been created by kids with motorbikes or four-wheelers. With twenty-some people crammed into a Dodge, Chevy, Jeep, and a crappy Toyota the stutters left bruises on each other’s heads and the tight quarters to awkward small talk. The guys in the trucks slowly rolled over every whoop as the rest of us in the Jeep and Rav4 took the risk and skipped over every jump and crashed down into the pits until our entire vehicle’s bright red and steal blue body was coated in a thick layer of mud.

At the end of the trail the scenery opened to where we could see the crescent moon gleaming against the river. The trucks were parked along the edge of the river to block the sight of the houses that lay across the water. It was somewhere between one and two in the morning when we first pulled off the highway, but when we were here time didn’t matter to us. We were in the age of invincibility and may as well have worn “F You” across our foreheads. To me this was my family, the twenty some group of people with whom I hung out with after school but wouldn’t dare acknowledge in the hallways. This was our group, our army of weirdos, popular kids, jocks, and drop-outs that could no longer stand the cold breathe of conformity, so instead we lit the world on fire.

From behind the two trucks could easily be seen a community; mansions owned by the rich with their opaque outer shells that cover up dysfunction and lose their allure at night. In front of the two trucks was a blustering fire, lit with rage, and fueled by lighter fluid and excess gasoline poured into glass bottles and launched into the flames. We fed off of the sound of breaking glass and the appeal of an erupting fire, a gust so strong there is no doubt it grew higher than the truck barricade hiding the pearly houses.

We drank, we yelled, and we smoked. We sank deeper than the pits we drove into but screamed the entire way. Together we were falling, a clan of overly emotional and angry kids that saw nothing but the hatred that blinded them and the overwhelming heat of flames. Our minds were dazed and fuzzy but that was a feeling we embraced.

Travis stood on top of a dirt pile and yelled obscenities with no real meaning, however, the message was all too clear. In response we yelled back, a strange sound along the lines of animals roaring and chanting, mixed with the revving and grind of four-wheelers that were brought along in the beds of the two trucks.

Nothing in that moment made sense and that was more or less the point. We all carried so much stress from attending or formerly attending a prestigious high school, living in a community with the weight of normalcy pulling us down, fighting to find common ground with our desires and reality, and facing the day with a fake smile when all we really wanted to do is run away and never look back. When we were all together and as far away from being sober as possible is when we felt that we had finally made our escape, but what we didn’t know is that eventually one day we would be forced to face reality with nothing to show but the hatred behind our eyes and the mud stuck in the treads of our shoes.

Eventually this day came and we had to make our decisions. A few found their realities in jail, some in college, one continues to run, and one saw facing their reality all too much. For me, I continue to write and rewrite my reality, taking control of what I am instead of leaving fate with all the power. And in my reality, I found that none of my friends from our adventures deep into the night, surrounded by nothing by trees, flames, and beer bottles had a place.

The Weirdo is EVOLVING

The world is falling apart!! A weirdo couldn’t possibly possess the ability to become even more unique and weird? And self-driven? Mother of God! She has completely lost it!

Welp… The weirdo just got weirder (according to some). I have embraced my strangeness and followed the path less traveled by conformity junkies and have somehow landed myself in the process of creating an equality based clothing company while sporting my newly shaved head. Well, at least the back of my head.

The company is still being sorted out and altered; however, I am more than determined to have it come to life. The idea for the company came to be when I realized all of the different pages I was following on social media, many are only directed to a single group of people: gays, lesbians, bisexuals, the disabled, and so on. All of these pages were highly successful in empowering and otherwise raising money towards these individual groups. Many times tee shirts or other clothing needs were sold to generate profit and sported catchy slogans and presented a powerful message towards their cause.

My desire is t create a company that will somehow represent and appeal to all people, no matter size, race, gender, sexuality, disability, or any other factor. The clothing will be available for alterations to suit needs, as well as create a fun and uplifting vibe that will unite all of those that wear the clothing instead of trying to shove them in completely different corners of the room.

In the end we are all humans, no matter the circumstances or desires of our society. The clothing will be sized in both male and female sizes. In other words, anyone can purchase a tight or loose fitting tee shirt despite the overwhelming need for other companies to have them separated int eh category of male and female apparel.

The company is still extremely new and still tumbling around in my mind, but no matter what I know for a fact this company will soon come to life. Stay tuned!

August 15, 2016

“You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months over-analyzing a situation; trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could’ve, would’ve happened… or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on.” – Tupac Shakur

 

Recently I have been feeling stuck. I reply situations or scenarios in my head and try to justify in some sense that what I did was originally wrong and could have been better. There’s instances where I reanalyze situations that have happened weeks ago, and yet their presence is still potent like a rancid tv dinner left in the fridge.

I’ve spend nights dreaming about issues that should no longer affect me. I get nervous around people with whom I think I have made a fool of myself in front of, but I bet they have already forgotten about the whole incident.

My new goal is to learn to move forwards and to release all negative tension that I unconsciously allow to sink into my brain. These thoughts are too much like drugs. I feel that I cannot be a better person unless I have these thoughts to keep myself in line; however, I’ve finally reached a point of realizing how dangerous thinking abo9ut the past is for me. Now it’s time to forgive myself and free myself from the figurative ropes that have been tying myself back from reaching happiness.

Oh, To Be A Woman

A woman: a strong and powerful creature that is resilient, intelligent, and whatever the hell else they wanna be. But in the eyes of a few less gracious creatures, women are a sign of sex, submission, and objects. Today was a reminder for me that women are still far behind in reaching equality alongside males.

While watching the Olympics, anyone can hear the objectivism formed behind the announcers word choice. Female Olympic athletes’ success is given to their boyfriends, husbands, or coaches, instead of given directly to the amazing athlete who beat out majority of the world with their impeccable skills. Meanwhile, male athletes are given all of the praise for their hard work towards their skills and barely an ounce of praise is given to their coaches.

While walking on the streets this morning I was an object in the eyes of male gaze. Because of the heat advisory, this morning I decided to wear shorts… yuh know, the pants that attract male attention because of how they cover a female butt and yet reveal our legs (those obscenely sexy things that connect to a females’ naked body. Oh the horror). Okay, in all seriousness, it is expected to reach 100 degrees today and I didn’t feel like sweating it out in jeans and an oversized tee shirt.

As soon as I walked out of my apartment and saw myself in the reflection of a window, I was bombarded with an overwhelming feeling of regret. ‘I should have worn something different. There will be too much attention drawn towards me because of my washed out, high waisted shorts.’ Then I realized I was objectifying myself. I looked at my body and thought that too much of it was showing. ‘Maybe my shorts are too short and reveal too much of my jiggly thighs. Maybe my cropped shirt will blow in the wind and my navel will show. Maybe the black combat boots I’m wearing are too counterintuitive to the rest of my outfit that it will lead passerbyers to stare at me.’

I was appalled by very own reaction to what I was wearing. Just because I have decided to step out of my comfort zone and wear shorts does not mean I am breaking some figurative rule that will suddenly subject me to harassment on the street. But it did.

As I walked through the city, instantly I was facing catcalls and obscene remarks. As men drove by in their cars they honked, called out, or whistled. When I entered a cafe for breakfast, a man approached me and apologized for staring, all because I was wearing shorts. When I wore jeans and a tee shirt I experienced limited calls; however, this morning I put myself in a position that allowed men to view me as a object. A position that should not even exist. A position too many women are placed into just because they have a body and wear whatever the F…. they want.

It saddened me to know I almost reentered my apartment to change after noticing my reflection. The way someone dresses does not limit their value, and yet, while walking along the street my value diminishes to where it’s almost non-existent.

 

Living With Sham in a World of Greatness

We all strive for greatness,

but in my greatness

I am shameful.

Shame,

the drug my body

has fallen upon

and has lived.

In shame

I dream.

I dream of a better tomorrow,

I work and rework

my inner self,

and pretend my life

can get better.

Greatness,

what I may have achieved

but refuse to see,

the chalkboard

whipped clean

when it was already beautiful.

I, many times

have earned my right

to be happy. Every day.

But I won’t let myself see it.

So, what is greatness.

How do the ones

who never allow themselves

to see it,

earn it?