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.

City Street’s Symphony

Listen:

If I wanted to be called

Beautiful from your roaring,

Pouring mouth I would have

Carried a canoe and a paddle

As I walked along the street.

The words forming between

Your cracked, bristle hovering lips

Are not enticing to me.

I do not swim in your

Lake of lackluster;

Conversations begin with hello

Not “What’s up, sexy”.

Don’t look at me with

That smirk and those twisted

Eyes, this slab of meat is

Too rare and ready to poison.

Fuck your crossed lines

That bring you to graze your fingers

Along my jean back-pockets.

I do not desire the touch of a stranger,

Neither on the street or in the bar.

Your willingness to invade me

Is revolting. Respect is a jagged line

That you tiptoe over without hesitation.

I, for one, wish that line

To be repaired and thickened

So people like you can clearly see

The trails of their mistakes.

Another Statistic: The Ignored Culture

Dark midnight streets

Caught in a firestorm

In the middle of the day.

Gliding parachutes in fearful rays;

Colors falling from the sky

That retreated from the sun

That burned them to shreds.

Eighteen blue threads in mix-matched

And unforgiving reds. The loudmouth

Without vocal cords, but a terrifying

And thrusting body. Covered yourself

The sun is on the run. Twist and shove.

Scratch and rip but remain quiet

Or you’ll become to sun’s second wind.

It’s hands hurt you. They push against you

And inside you a knife tears out

Your womanhood and leaves you full.

Whisper the sun a plead, a fight

Of your tipsy army leaning in the wrong direction.

Just lay where you are the soon it will be over.

Soon is a thousand mile race while balancing

Champagne glasses on your head. From this

You’ll be a pro at standing still. Your body

Forever silent.

Glucose Guardian

Hey, so I’m Rachel and I’m a girl. Cool? Cool! And you are (insert name) and you’re a (insert whatever here). Ah, righteous. Glad we got that out of the way…

But in all seriousness I never realized how uncomfortable and angry many groups of people are when it comes to nonconforming genders. Is it really that challenging to simply accept and continuing living when someone mentions that they prefer they/their pronouns as opposed to he/him or she/her? Oh Lord, they be tryin’a get rid of the binaries that been round forever! Well, no. We’re just trying to include all people without forcing them to be what society decides.

It’s simple, really. I’m a female and wish to be addressed as such, however, that doesn’t mean that the being next to me is in the same boat. We may dress the same, look the same, smell the same, and enjoy the same Netflix shows but that does not mean they are a female. Likewise, someone can choose to identify as something other than female or male: non binary.

Lets not go through the whole bathroom thing again. People are people and everyone deserves the right to express themselves, be who they are, choose who they are, and live a life as happily as possible, without strange people yelling in their faces about how vaginas and penises are gender determining while ranting about a man they pray to at their bedside and follow a book that somehow will lead them to a mythical place of winged people and puffy marshmallow clouds…. but that’s none of my business.

Instead let’s think about how we can be better ourselves as people, rather than staring at your next door neighbor through your cotton doily window curtains and ponder if they’re female or male, cause bigonnet, they better be one! But seriously, there’s world hunger, global warming, obesity, and apparently One Direction is getting back together. Move on!

And incase you’re wondering why this blog post is titled “Glucose Guardian” a friend of mine came up with the term to be the non binary replacement for sugar daddy. Which I thoroughly enjoy.

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?

Like a Child Learning to Ride a Bike

Remember that time you bought me flowers? It was the first time you ever expressed your admiration towards me. Every flower petal was perfectly in place and you said it was no big deal and I deserve it. You told me you loved me and I believed you. Your heart shined through your light blue button-down and your smile softened as you waited for my reply. Like a child standing in front of their class, butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I stuttered through my response. A response that lead you to cradle me in your arms and kiss me with lips as soft as silk.

Remember that time you told me you wanted to marry me? We were laying side by side when you took off your necklace and put it in my hands. Your eyes slowly glided from my hands to my face, undressing my body in an imaginative gaze until their found their place, sinking into my green eyes. A valley of wonder and promise. You spoke with tender words, as your hand tightened around mine with the necklace tangled in my fingers, then told me you loved me. You waited for some kind of reply, and like a child dancing in the rain, I gave my response. A response that lead you to cradle me in your arms and kiss me with lips as soft as steam.

Remember that time we sat for hours in your car? You remained motionless, your palms tightly clasped in your lap with your face lowered and eyes streaming with anger. Maybe it was something I said. Something you said. Something we both didn’t say. I left you car with eyes swollen and bloodshot, but later that night you texted me and said you loved me. You waited over an hour for me to reply, and like a child talking to its mother, I gave my response. A response that lead you to buy me flowers, with petals tender yet torn, you cradled me in your arms and kissed me with lips as soft as morning light.

Remember that time when the bed felt cold? Words were sharp and emotions were tender. You were resting beside me, body heavy as stone as an ocean churned between us. I rolled over to face you, and with your back as your barrier, you formed a wall to keep me out and my sorries away. I closed me eyes and wished this would disappear, but when they reopened your room was a blur, distorted between a watery haze. I whispered “I love you” and waited for your reply, but like a child lost in the woods, the tree did not respond. No longer would I be cradled in your arms and kissed with soft and tender lips. I got up to leave that night and you didn’t even stir. Your body remained motionless, breath steady, and eyes hazy. I turned to face you as I stood holding my jacket when the ocean sent a wave of clarity to wipe away my tears. You may once have told me you loved me, but the flowers you have given me have since wilted and died, and much like a child baring cuts and bruises, I learn from my mistakes and decided to move forward.

An Answer to the Bullies

I just posted a blog post as a kind of answer to the bullies I faced in high school on The Girl in the Boots and I truly surprised myself.

High school was not “the time of my life” as some have told me before. “Embrace these years because you’re gonna miss it.” Lies. All of it.

High school was much like the experience dolphins have in the aquarium. I was on display to be judged and all did judge me. I was forced to preform tasks outside the normal academic routine, I was laughed at, judged by my superiors, and then left alone until it was time to be on display again.

What I have since gathered from all of this is that the comments about my size, hair, voice, and body shape have been received and remain within me; however, I rose above them.

The damage they have caused can still be seen on my body today, but in the end the figurative ghost created by their taunts has diminished.

The girl who was displayed for so much judgment let the words crash with her spirit, but in the end, my spirit has only grown stronger.

Step Two: Remove the Bandaid

Hello readers! Due to a recent turn of events (actually, quite a few of them) I have been unable and unwilling to write on my blog. Emotions have eaten me alive that last few weeks and I did not want that to show through my blog posts which sometimes tend to be somewhat depressive already. Anywho, I am proud to announce that step two of my Ten Steps to Getting your Sh*t Together has gone into effect!!

In case you have absolutely no clue what I am talking about, my Ten Steps list is a previous post I created that is supposed to help me get out of this rut I’ve been in for years. Now that I have realized that I am able to create myself and that I deserve all the happiness in the world, I have began a journey of enlightening myself even further to get this sad girl out in the world as a new self made and happy being.

Step two of my list was one i knew I needed to get done fast because of how easily I can reason with storing things I no longer need. I wouldn’t call myself a hoarder but clothes horse seems reasonable. I’m the person that will go shopping as a way to cover up emotions. When I feel sad or depressed I go to shopping centers and wander around. There’s something about being surrounded by colorful and fun fabrics that brings a smile to my face, and being able to buy them and call them mine, it’s like I am purchasing my own bit of happiness. After a recent breakdown, I realized these clothes I have accumulated are a kind of bandaid that has been covering up a much deeper wound, and the only way to get this wound to heal is to rip off the bandaid and let it breathe.

In the beginning, going through my clothes was easy and kind of fun. I went through one by one and easily tossed them into piles to either donate or keep. The donation pile grew and grew and I became skeptical that this was even going to help, but later as I began to get into my other clothing stashes, it hit me.

clothing 4.JPG

I looked at the gigantic pile of clothing on my bed and felt sick. This bandaid was larger than I thought and must have been there covering this deep wound for years. There were clothes in that pile that I have never seen before and many of them still had the tags on, and although I was ready to get rid of this pile of nonsense, I began to feel emotional from this sudden wave of vulnerability. These clothes have covered up the fact that on the inside my body is dressed in black and dark blue, a swirling mixture like a storm brewing in the sky. On the outside I am able to cover myself in bright outfits and a smile and a perky, glowing girl will shine through. getting rid of 50% of my closet means I would have less ways to hide.

clothing 6t

I will admit, I feel as though I should have donated more clothing than I did, but the mission of this journey is to allow myself to learn independence and grow, not completely lose myself in the process. My goal is to go back through these clothes and notice what I have not warn and get rid of it (especially those shoes… who wears that many pairs of shoes?!). There is no need to keep things for a make believe value when in reality they are just taking up space.

Once the clothes I have been piled up and placed in bags, I took them to a GoodWill and donated them. I took three large bags and one small bag overflowing with bright colors and gently worn fabrics. Seeing them go was easy, easier than putting them in piles at least. Once I had it in  my head that someone else can wear these clothes that I never paid too much time to, it made me feel proud of myself, but I’m still not done. Although I have let go of half of my closet, I still don’t feel like I have accomplished enough to be satisfied with myself. So, I will continue working through this list and see what I am capable of.

Let’s get this sad girl happy again and create her along the way.