The Beautiful

Transparent

I am an American
so they say
My colorful cloths and braided hair
suggest that I am an oddity
A victim of a self-righteous odyssey
I'm not those people
I'm an American

I'm an American
though I speak a different language
A barrier that creates intense anguish
Despite my people's supposed animosity
towards society
I love my American
I am American

I am an American
I probably don't look like you
Do I have to validate the truth?
I come from the other side of the world
Where I am not appreciated as a girl
I stared death down
and now I wear the crown
of freedom
of equality
of America

I am an American
in trial and in triumph
I am an American
in hatred and in ridicule
I am an American
through thick and through thin

I am an American
without and within

Now, I digress.

(I don't know where that sudden spark of patriotism came from or where my persistent desire to write poetry is coming from.)

It's Been a Weak

You can't hurt me. You can't take away my pride. I'll lock up my dignity and hide before you take away my sanity. You can't hurt me. You can't tease me and call me outside of my name. I'll label you a heathen and strip you of your self-confidence. I'll spread harsh rumors simultaneously and call it coincidence. You can't tease me and call me outside of my name. You can't invalidate the sanctity of my body and take away my temple. The devil in you isn't welcome to worship in this sanctuary. When you're searching for the soothing taste of my oasis, you'll have to go to some other estuary. You can't take away that house of refuge. You can't kiss me. You can't hold me. Please, just don't touch me. I told you already. I'm off limits. I'm off the beaten path. Please, take your business elsewhere. You can't stay here. It's really not safe here. I might mess or up, or you might say the wrong thing. I might be too mean, and you might leave. I could possibly push you too far, and you'll throw in the towel. Go now so I don't have to cope with your absence later. When you caress me and whisper in my ear, you initiate the fear. My only fear is failure don't poison my mind with that nonsense. Let me keep on my journey to success, and you remain on your expedition on the other side. The other side is not where I want to be. The other side hurt me. It stripped me of my dignity. He called me names and stole my frame. He's not coming back and neither is it.

You can't love me. You don't have a license . . . to love me, to feel me, to care for me, to stay with me. You won't stay with me. You won't love me. You'll just utter those coined and cliche phrases, and then, leave me in history with them. You'll give me the power and then take it away. You'll prey on prowess and then pray on this goddess. A goddess I'll be to you but never God. Therefore, I'll never be good enough. Therefore, it's inevitable that you'll find God in that other girl, and then, I'll be the last girl which might as well be no girl because I won't matter. You can't love me, because I'll push you away. I'll call you names and tell you that you're not worthy. You'll keep going and mistake it for flirting. I'll mingle with the other ones, and you'll display your man by wrapping your arms around my waist. I'm not going to waste my waist. I'll strip you of your masculine conceitedness and see where things go. You'll try to prove it to me, and I'll pretend like I don't know. I'll keep pushing until you walk away. I'll make you turn around, but I know you'll never stay. You can't love me. You're not that strong. You can't love me. You don't have the will. You can't love me. You'll always be wrong. You can't love me. You don't have the skill. You can't love me. You know it's true. You can't love me, because I won't let you.

Now, I digress.

Can't Touch This

This one came to me partially in a dream. I hope that it turns out to be at least satisfactory, because it was really just a shot in the dark. I'm warning you ahead of time that poetry is really not my forte.



Feel.

Hearts pumping blood
through the pulsating veins
of infatuation

Glands yearning to release
the liquids of intensity

Tongues struggling
to bring bodies into submission

For once,
please
let this be
good
let this be
serendipitous
let this be
right

Falls.

Legs shaken by
the shock of increased pressure

Toes grasping what is
left of reality

Water cooling the fire of passion,
and salt exciting and encouraging
the senses

Die.

Heart stands still
while waiting to be ignited
once more

Tongues unable to form the
language that
ignites the magic that
produces the passion that
formed the tragic

Ending.



Now, I digress.

The Blood

" . . . Right all of my wrongs; what's done I can't redo. I'm just looking in my rearview . . . "

Yet again, I've succumb to pop culture and modern day society, and I created another social networking account: Facebook. *cues spooky action thriller music* My natural voyeuristic instinct told me to start adding all of the people I don't necessarily like or care for but whose lives I would like to know more about. Number one on that fateful list is a person who is near and dear to my heart in the most impractical and unfortunate of ways. Reason being, he could care less about me as long as he knows I don't "belong" to anyone else. He is the motivation for the blog but hardly the main idea.

This blog is about a quest for love. A love that I'm sure that I've found.

Brace yourselves . . . actually, brace yourselves Darnell and Tiara and Robert. You're the only ones who read these God forsaken things anyway :)

The Past:

A young girl with a heart of gold and a desire to be loved more than anything found herself in the most unlikely of places: Altamonte Springs, FL (Orlando, FL Network--> add me on Facebook) lmao. I had to do it. OK, serious again. It was unlike any place she had ever been before. Every other place she had lived in was place no one cared to live in or visit. This was Orlando. The mecca of tourism and popularly associated with parasitic, pompous partygoers with money growing on non-existent citrus trees grown by hopeless parentals. (That was extensive, but I like it.) No more rambling. She wasn't ready for what she was about to learn, receive, and/or explore.

Her first year was acceptable. She was the nerdy little freshman that everyone expected her to be. She did her work except for Brody's class. She stayed out of trouble but only because she couldn't find trouble. She had her love. She had her phone. She had her pictures. She had her videos. She had her mistakes. They didn't seem like mistakes at the time, but they were. The year passed as they all do, and in the end she lost her phone. She lost her pictures. She lost her videos. And she gained her mistakes. The mistakes she lived with for quite some time.

She had love too but not for herself. She loved this boy...these boys with all of her heart. They didn't love her, but that didn't matter. They molded her into whatever it was that they wanted for the moment and like clay she eventually hardened. The soft shell she had created to be pleased became the biting topcoat she stumbled upon to please.

She was looking for love and she had it in particularly noteworthy abundance from a young man who also did not love himself. In short, it failed like all of her relationship, but she learned a valuable lesson: Love is hard to find, but it's even harder to sustain . . .

End.

She cooled off in the love department and moved onto much better experiences. She moved onto what she thought were bigger and better things and lived to regret them. She was a beautiful little thing. Well, maybe not so little, and she used that to her advantage. Hair from the Newland, skin from the Homeland, and a body so supple and firm from the collarbone to each and every one of her phalanges. She played all of the parts too: the lover, the fighter, the pleaser, the teaser, the teacher, and the student. She played all of her roles so well, and her fans stood in awe and were always in need of an encore. They worshipped her, or so she thought, and she naiively came back every night for an encore performance. Still not enough, though . . .

End.

It didn't really matter what was good enough in her mind at this point. Her mother had come to the conclusion that it was time for an intervention. This intervention came in the form of a woman with the proper certifications to make her feel better. The only problem was she didn't feel better, so she found a way to ease the pain. She found Girl.

She felt strange. The hormones that raged in her earlier years when she saw a female suddenly came oozing out when she fell in love with Girl. Every desire she ever had to control her life was fulfilled by her ability to control Girl. Every desire she ever had to be loved was fulfilled by Girl's undying love for her. Every desire she ever had to be different and controversial and racy was fulfilled by her relationship with Girl. And, just as quickly as she thought she had been healed her open wounds were drenched in the salt of infidelity. A second chance was in order but it didn't last very long.

End.

So, there she was: broken and battered, confused and used, dirty and disgusting, nothing and everything . . . all at the same time. She figured at this point in her life it was about time she started living for herself. She got counseling but not for her mother or her father or God or her raging hormones. She attended counseling for self-improvement and that she received. She started living her life according to the Scripture and seeking assistance from Christ above all other beings or objects.

...

Today she's OK. She loves herself. She's loved. She knows how to love. Feelings of anger, resentment, jealousy, and frustration frequently pass through her mind and her heart, but they know that they are not welcome and quickly depart. Now, when she's says she's fine, she really is fine.

Beginning :)

Now, I digress.

Suffix -less

I never promised you a rose garden...or anything else in that case.

(I was just about to write an extensive blog about how much I hate my relationship with my mother, but then I changed my mind. Besides, nothing gets people's attention like bullet points with parallel structure.)

I love the fact that my mom accuses me of being without etiquette when I'm one of the most polite teenagers I'VE ever met.

I love the fact that my mom's definition of being "smart mouth" involves me disagreeing with her.

I love the fact that all of my immediate family members left us on our own and neither of them give a damn about us.

I love the fact that they left my mom with all of this pain, and I have to deal with it everyday.

I love the fact that I sound like the most stereotypical troubled teenage girl right now.

I love the fact that I feel like no matter what I say nothing gets through to her.

I love the fact that I've grown into such a confident young lady, and somehow this woman still manages to make me feel the way I did at my lowest of lows.

I love the fact that I have to be so strong emotionally that I sometimes have to remind myself that I'm human and it's OK to cry.

I love the fact that I have every avenue in the world to do "bad things," and I choose not to take them because I care so damn much about what they think, especially her.

I love the fact that I miss my sister more than anything in the world, and she won't just pick up the DAMN phone and call me.

I love the fact that every time I see a father and daughter together I get teary-eyed because it's not me and my dad.

I love the fact that every time I hear one of those cheesy "father daughter dance songs" I break down because it reminds me of everything I'm missing everyday.

I love the fact that my dad is all the way in Japan for what? for an iPhone, for Emory, for Belize, for me to be alone.

I love the fact that all of this pain and frustration and resentment and anger won't just go away.

I love the fact that my mom probably feels the same way about all of these topics, and we can't just talk it out because everything is a fucking argument.

I love the fact that I hate all of these facts.

Now, I digress.

Yawn City-->Population: 1

I don't know where this blog is going to end up, but a few things are certain:

1)I'm not about to ramble on about societal issues.
2)People of the lowest degree of "EQ" would understand (If you don't know what that is, please look it up. It'll make you think; I promise.)
3)It's more about me than anything else :)

1. Why is it that I constantly find myself in relationships that end abruptly, but sooner than later that same person is begging to be with me again? Is it really that hard to recognize my shining qualities or do they merely intimidate the imbeciles that I attract? (This is not at all some sort of cry out for help and/or attention. I'm just genuinely curious.)


2. Second Question: Why don't more people appreciate the quality of humor that the show "The Golden Girls" offers? Granted, it is a show about a group of over-the-hill single women looking for love and sometimes one-night-stands. But, it does beat "Flavor of Love" or whatever the hell you kids watch nowadays ;) Who am I kidding? People my age are not going to understand half of the jokes and the fact that it was recorded in the late 80s and 90s is going to be a complete turn off to most. Oh well...

3. I really hate the news. Oddly enough, I found myself reading USA Today because, oddly enough, I found myself accidentally in the American Mosaic classroom AGAIN. Thankfully, the newspaper is a little less sensationalistic and does present more positive and uplifting news than news on TV and on the radio. Nevertheless, it sucks. I read about the economy: bad. I read about the war and the amount of dead Americans: worse. I read about gay marriage: no comment. I read about President Barack Obama: black. I could go on, but then I might be forced to take action or something. That is obviously not my job. I'm just a blogger. A very annoying one at that. Therefore, I don't have time to be productive. I have an entire group of spoiled, unappreciative brats/Americans to represent. Did I ever mention how much I love the United States of America?

4. American Idol. Let. It. Go. It sucks. Everybody who is anybody knows that if you want to be famous for making good music commercialization is not exactly the most promising direction to go in. This show is so dumb I have nothing else to say. End.

5. And finally, the FDA. It sucks, too. Anybody who trusts the Food and Drug Administration or the federal government in general has lost my respect. You'd be better off snorting lines of coke before interviewing for a job as CEO of JP Morgan than believing that the FDA has your best interests in mind. I'm not going to pretend like I eat organic, and I'm some sort of Kevin Trudeau-maniac. I eat like a potentially obese person, and I'm not okay with that. However, I know what's in the food I eat. I know why it's in there. And, I know what the right things to eat are. Does that make me ignorant? Sure. Does that make me an American who is overly confident in the federal government and its organizations? Absolutely not.

I probably haven't told you how much I love America. I really do, though. I just don't like Americans.

Read Eats, Shoots and Leaves, by the way. It will change your life.

Now, I digress.

'Tines

OK, I've been sitting in this class for way too long. Too many distracting posters. Too many depictions of the All American White Family. (Whatever that means) And, too many disapproving glares from this baby boomer, probably racist, overly stereotypical old lady. So, once again, I figure what better time than now to write about the current race relations in America. Specifically, black culture and just how much and at the same time how little it contributes to American culture as a whole. What a coincidence! I'm accidentally in the American Mosaic classroom. Brace yourself for another bumpy ride filled with racial slurs, extreme compassion for minorities, and usage of the English language not ordinarily associated with black females in pop culture.

If he/she walks like a nigger, talks like a nigger, and acts like a nigger, he/she is probably not black...

So, here we are in the great United States of America in 2009 and racism and socioeconomic-ism (That's a Winkler word.) haven't ceased to exist. The songs of freedom sung by slaves still ringing in our ears. The dreams of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. still echoing in our brains. Yet, our society has, for the most part, subconsciously decided that it's okay to be divided and that within said divisions it's okay to degrade or mock opposing divisions of people. I bring to the forefront of this issue the age-old topic of the ever-popular black culture versus the supposed mosaic that is American society.

For hundreds of years black people have been degraded, ridiculed, and tortured for purposes of labor, economic advancement and superiority, and unfortunately, increased white supremacy. (There can never be too much of that.) Now, after achieving what is popularly assumed to be freedom, we have yet to emancipate ourselves from social, economic, and mental slavery.

As a high school student, I am overwhelmingly familiar with stereotypes. Asians are smart. Whites are either rich and preppy, poor and redneck-ish, or just plain weird. Blacks are ghetto, loud, and ignorant. Hispanics have bad attitudes and are even louder than the blacks. Naturally, there are a few errors with these generic classifications, but these flaws are detrimental to categorizing people. Again, my purpose is to support black America, so I'll say this. Each and everyday I attend school fully aware of these stereotypes and I'm reminded by the second of them by the members of the cliques who worship these labels faithfully. Somehow, though, in each and everyone of these groups you hear the term "nigga" used freely and openly or someone mocking an overly popular rap "song." Or, someone in the group is mocking the way stereotypical blacks supposedly speak. And of course, I am disappointed in these behaviors because I love my race, and I want more than anything for its people to be respected. Then, I look at the black cliques and I am sullenly reminded that the reason they think black people behave in such ignorant ways is because the majority of them do! I know for a fact that as a whole the black population is not entirely ignorant, but for impressionable teenagers who live in a predominantly white society it's hard to make such an assumption when all they see contradicts that notion. The vicious cycle continues, because this idea of blacks is carried on throughout their entire lives.

WARNING!

The next paragraph is even more sinister than the ones that have preceded it. Proceed with caution...

I've already established that everyone wants to be black when it's convenient or funny or both, but for some reason, I have found that these same people who obsess over black culture also degrade and insult blacks. Just when they think nobody is listening and they are comfortably surrounded by their friends of the same color they begin expressing expletives that are insulting to blacks. Nigger, I think, is their favorite. How is it that black culture has managed to become the driving force in pop culture and at the same time, it is the most hated and disgraceful race? Everyone wants full lips and hips. Everyone wants to know the words to the latest rap songs. Everyone wants to dance like the black girls and boys. Everyone wants to talk like the blacks, but no one wants the history of 200 years of physical slavery and another 200 years of a struggle for racial independence and mental emancipation. Funny? Hardly.

These days I try really hard to represent my race in the most remarkable way. I do relatively well in school. I respect my elders. I’m obviously not ignorant. I try to accept and get along with several types of people. I communicate in an effective way that can be comprehended by people who speak English and even some Spanish speakers. I aspire to be greater than those before me, and I’m doing much of what is in my power to get there. I don’t feel like I’m personally bearing the burden of advancing my race on my shoulders, but I definitely don’t feel a mass movement of people on my side. I know they’re out there somewhere. I know there are more people out there like me. I know that my race can one day be what it is capable of being. I just wish that we could speed up the process. Besides, we’ve been in this country for four hundred years now.

I wish my people would love themselves as much as I do and everyone else pretends to.

Now, I digress.