i’m not being extra. 

had a beautiful cry 

like i had a blade dragged into me to remove a dormant cancer that was hidden & resting but in great magnitude. 

before this cry, i had a productive day.

i laughed and smiled.

i worked on new projects. 

i saw people who i admire.

i had endorphins flowing through my body.

i had a cry @6A after a bike ride home during a call home to my grandmother. 

it was like blockage was removed and resting pain that existed inside me exited in bulk, in the same vain of my living joy. 

i could see myself screaming as babies do when they become aware of the vast world – life replanting me from my comfort zone to one more visibly boundless.

my grandma laughed and said i’m perfect. 

i’m fine, thanks. 

who knows how to feel?

who knows how to deal?

who is made to kill?

i just reach higher.

permanent resident in the sky.

another motherfucker cannot

tell me how to be.

mother earth is dying.

there is no denying.

why am i not crying?

the spirit and quantum

makes me see higher 

than than my eyes.

i take things day to day.

pray with every breath.

prepare for a reality 

of this world with nothing left. 

i say this all with love.

are you fine?

i’m fine.

may / 

Cooler than a cucumber / Flipped the pillow though / But there’s no need / Hands shaking when you touch there / You keep going / Windows run with water drops / Eyes are the windows to the soul / It’s a sun shower / Might not have noticed / On the other side of those 4 limbs / Haven’t seen you for some time / Was only warming up.
///
He said I smelled like earth / He asked where I was from / He felt Atlanta or Harlem. 

ying|yang

I could be a conspiracy theorist.

I could say that all of this ongoing chaos is a part of some sick twisted scheme.

I could say that there are powers at be that smile at the injustices in the world.

I could say that there’s always going to be an antagonist.

I could say that there will always be war to fight and a battle to overcome.

<>

I could say that there will always be love to spread and a future to believe in.

I could say that there’s always going to be a protagonist.

I could say that there are powers in the world that smile at the progressions in the world.

I could say that all of the energy invested in rallying against trends of inequality will help bring about a paradigm shift in the universe.

I could be a dreamer ~

circa 2004

These days, life is like the summer between jr high and high school. I don’t know it all but I’ve seen some things. I’ve grown apart from people. I’ve seen things come to an end. I’ve seen sadness. Creating precious moments that are like deep secrets is a hobby. I’ve built comraderies through shared experiences. Most things inspire me. I am very expressive. I dance often. I kiss my friends. I hold their hands. I want them to feel special. Life is not sexualized. Life is pure. My male friends are my brothers. My female friends are my sisters. I’ve seen happiness. I’ve gotten into trouble. I know life is about choices. I’ve taken some risks. I’ve seen my peers do foolish things for the attention and approval of others. I enjoy inside jokes. I’ve seen the ying and yang in my elders — some bitter, some better. My heart is warm. I like to write notes, lay on my bed naked & listen to music, & give flowers to strangers. I don’t take things too seriously, although I know some of my peers do. They think that’s what the future will demand from them. I’m enjoying breaking the rules, cherishing my friendships, living for my favorite things, and having a good laugh. The tests will always be there.

When you love hard, but you’re a gypsy…

April 8, 2015

at 2:16pm, we casually strolled an open sidewalk in a latin suburb southwest of LA. with interlocked hands and synchronized steps. we walked with no destination to slow down time. any onlookers knew we were parting ways. they knew I was passing through. my bags labelled me as an international traveler with ID tags still attached to them from my previous voyage. I had placed my bags in the backseat as we loaded your car to head back to the city. I wanted to make a smooth exit with perspective that cloaked my heart. although, I wasn’t sad, detaching a bit seemed fitting. having my bags next to yours along the ride in the trunk seemed too connected. I hoped you weren’t offended by my shift in emotion on the ride back from our weekend retreat. this retreat had been a magic carpet ride with you and was either having a layover or was ending. I didn’t want to have feelings that I thought were too heavy and intense, yet I couldn’t fight their lingering presence. adjusting myself with these feelings that I had never experienced wasn’t so easy to finesse. in the moment, I knew we’d probably create more memories. it just bothered me that I didn’t know when and how they would come about. you parked, signaling a prerequisite to our final moments. I didn’t know whether to rush inside or to open my body for you again to commemorate the moment with what I’d hope would be more adventure and less awkwardness. or it could have resulted in the complete opposite. should we even commemorate at all? with my bags on my back, we kissed and I might have numbed my feelings to let logic prevail. as I crossed the street to head in, I contemplated. I didn’t want to walk away from you without looking back & making eye contact as my physical drifted away. although it seemed cliche, I wanted you to know that you were worth every second, no matter how simple it may seem. as the path got too narrow and distant, I turned around to wave. it was yet another sentiment for me, and worth the step outside of my comfort zone. once again, I had taken off my cool for you. I would go inside my cousins’ house to find it empty. my memories with you were enough to fill the room and more, but still I thought to call you, stop you before you got too far away, and invite you in to create more moments and extend time more with me. in this moment, it was the thought that counted. even after days together with laughter to tighten abdominals and sex to burn the fat, I wanted more. I liked the fact that I missed you and longed to create more priceless moments with you. my desire to give you more of me, have more of you & more of us aroused me and inspired me. it also gave me an abundance of serenity, humility, and gratitude, knowing that our connection is exactly what I had been longing for. hours later, you would message me. “come on and let me in, I’m callin'” — a lyric. it was like an omen… a song that made you think of me, as I’m thinking of you and my invitation(s).

father figures

i have this reoccurring dream of my dad. it escalates with intensity each time. i wish it was with pleasant imagery — him walking me down the aisle, like i had the pleasure of witnessing recently as a maid of honor. i wish it was something as simple as him giving me a warm embrace, kissing my forehead, and telling me that he knows i’m special and that my happiness is important to him. 

instead, my dream is painful, disturbing, and disruptive to my logical tranquillity. 

the sequence of nightmares have always involved him hunting me. sometimes i’m with a group of people. sometimes i’m alone. i’m always trying to avoid him. i’m usually prepared to defend myself verbally and physically. the most recent hunt was more dramatic and resonated the most. he had used every source of global surveillance possible to hunt me and he succeeded and i found myself startled in my sleep to see him sitting feet away from me. he was in disguise and speaking words to me that made me feel as though satan had possessed the man that aided in my birth. in my sleep, my father embodied every characteristic that was synonymous with the anti-christ. 

he hurt me. he cut my hand with the sharpest blade i had ever seen and i bled. 

i felt it in my sleep and it transcended.  

i awoke from this torment and didn’t know how to feel. for years, i’ve battled with where i stand on my relationship with my father. at times, i feel offensive and bold. my attitude is “fuck him. he can fuck off. he can die.” other times, i feel defensive and ready to protect myself but still very respective of the fact that he’s my father. i wish the best for him and hold on to the glimmer of hope. i’d humble my feelings in an attempt to embrace him, if that opportunity presented itself. yet, in both circumstances, i am always on guard.

my father is someone that i try to not think about. i try to feel numb towards him. i try to be indifferent. i try to be strong. i try to wish him well. i try to imagine what i’ll do when i see him again. i try to prepare myself for what he might say & do. i try to not cry when i think about him. it’s a constant battle that might not go away.

i wish my father respected me. i wish my father didn’t physically abuse me as a child. i wish my father didn’t verbally abuse me an young woman. i wish my memories of my father didn’t cause my emotions to whirl randomly. i wish there was a way to be over it but still human about it. i wish there was an end to the story while i’m still alive. 

i love him and that hurts me. 

i hate him and that hurts me.

i wish this father figure didn’t have the ability to taunt me anymore. figuratively or emotionally. i’m grateful in some way. this frustration and experience has caused me to become a complex person — someone who doesn’t tolerate bullshit; someone who values herself; someone who has struggled with identity; someone who can step outside herself to imagine the perspective of others; someone who is empathetic; someone who is apathetic; someone who’s not afraid to fight; someone who knows how to love hard.