some destroy, I create
I got angsty so I tweezed my eyebrows, made eyeliner out of eyeshadow, and tried a new lip look
the eyeliner especially, I had to wreck the plates to get enough color
sometimes creation takes destruction
the destruction I feel pushes me to create
rather than continue
and sometimes in the creating
I get to destroy
but in a safe way
a necessary way
a benevolent way
that’s different from the destruction driving me
I must prefer my way, I turn to it so often
8.2.2020
on to the next
the next page
the next stage
it’s like having your hair in braids for months,
it’s constrained but protected, and you can feel the new growth coming in
those lil baby curls
you play with them when you’re stressed,
daydreaming about how big your fro will be when you can finally free yourself from those chains
braids
sometimes you need help to get through them all, sometimes you have to cut them short before you start
sometimes, sometimes, everything’s so conditional
but freedom is delicious
a process, but delightful
the braids come out, but there’s still the gunk that built up at the roots
the chains come off, but there’s still the dents that dug in at your wrists
you need clarity
look at reality
look at it, really
the gunk
the dents
this is where you were before you were free
(completely unrelated, but I am so happy)
(I never write happy poems)
don’t let it scare you
you’re free now
so clarify, wash the gunk out of your roots
massage your wrists, smooth the dents out
then play with your curls
yes, use your hands
your freedom
you’re at the next stage
on the next page
on to the next
4.1.19
let’s go through Psalm 23
the Psalm I have on my wall in the room I grew up in
the Psalm I have on my heart Continue reading “happy birthday to me”
my black foot
my little black foot
I think it’s too small for my body
I’m pretty tall, and it’s pretty small
I’m pretty
my little black foot
being black is so weird
so little that does so much
I didn’t even ask to be black
I’m not complaining, not right now, but it’s so little
my little black foot
blacker in some places than others
and my sole is so light
my soul
my little black foot
with its badly painted toes
I hate when my toes aren’t perfect, when I’m not perfect
the color is cute, a shimmering pink layered over mauve, or taupe, I’m not sure
really really cute, just kinda smudged from my socks
I love my socks
socks suck though, just look at the toes on my little black foot
little foot, little toes
even my nose is little
my hands too
I’m just taking inventory at this point, all because of my little black foot
with the Birkenstock tan
I told myself I’d never get Birks
but then I did, and now I love them
they’re comfy, and they look really cute on my little black foot
especially when my toes are perfect
but even when they’re not, the Birks are still comfy
and for that I’m thankful
for my Birks
and for my little black foot
6.17.19, 8:17pm
“I can show you the world”
and that’s about it, hun
show me everything, your favorite sunset spots, the highest mountaintops, show me
bring me to the beaches in Cancun, heck, bring me to the moon
but you can’t bring it to me
you can’t give it to me
it’s not yours to give, and I know Whose it is, so don’t try to waste my time
your efforts are cute, but they’ll never match up to His
this all sounds harsh, but I don’t blame you, I just don’t need you
not saying I want to be alone, but even on my own, I have it all, because I always have Him
and if you don’t, if you can’t get that, then I really don’t need you
don’t need you trying to convince me you can give me better than I already have
don’t need you trying to make me forget just how shining, shimmering, splendid my life already is, just so you can buff it up a little
I promise, it won’t end well
I don’t need you, you’ve shown me that
so let me know when you’re ready to meet me where I’m at
5.26.19
So a few months ago, I did a Thing. I’d done it once before, but on a much smaller scale.
Well, let me rewind a bit. A few months and a year ago, I performed at a fashion show on campus, and that’s how we ended up with this post. It was a fun time, with my pre-written poems and weeks of practice, but this year, I wanted to mix it up. Well, I didn’t want to, but I felt like I needed to. A good performer keeps the people on their toes right? That’s why I did the Thing. Continue reading “am I a rapper???”
“this piece is inspired by a conversation that I had with my dear friend Mordecai
I’m probably picking and choosing and paraphrasing for poetic purposes, but he said that I make more sense when I’m on stage than I do in my day to day life
in my defense, I was very tired, so most of my mind was on the nap I was gonna take the next day
but what he said got me thinking
and I already think a lot
I seem really calm and collected right now because I sat down at 1:54 am monday morning (which should count as sunday night, in my opinion), and dumped a bunch of my thoughts on paper where I could see them
me being on stage is just me re-thinking out loud, which is why it used to be so scary
around this time last year, I was up here for the first time, re-thinking my thoughts
one of the pieces I performed was about what I do when my thoughts get too loud, which is poet for “what I do when I have a panic attack”
and now I’m back, feeling calm and collected because I have my thoughts written out
but I don’t really know what this piece is about Continue reading “re-thinking out loud”
The irony isn’t lost on me that I’d written the second piece on the 19th day of March.
19.
A prime number with little room for flexibility. The only way to multiply and get 19 is to do nothing. In the world of arithmetic, multiplying by 1 does nothing.
Tragic, right?
But if you break 19 apart into 1 and 9, the possibilities are endless increase in number.
1 + 9 = 10
9 is a perfect square, so you could break it down into little 3s.
Or, you could build it up into a big 81, and 8 + 1 = 9, plus the 1 you had leftover, that’s 10 again!
Satisfying, right?
It all depends on how you look at it.
I’ve had to look long and hard at my 19.
i got 19 in my pocket
19 points on my orgo prelim
19 points on my organic chemistry preliminary exam that i stuffed in my pocket as soon as i got it because i told myself i’d just think about it later, told myself i’d probably read it upside down or backwards or something, i’d just think about it later
i got 19 in my pocket
19 dollars
19 dollars from the 20 that i broke because food is the best way to deal with heartbreak, to heal heartbreak, and that kripsy kreme donut was looking enticing and revitalizing so i gave a dollar to theta apple pie to help fundraise their trip to uganda but now i’m scouring the ground to look for some change or maybe even another dollar because i needed that 20 to be whole
i’m scouring the ground as i walk to student agencies because i have a ticket to buy, i need a ticket to go home and i had exact change but now i don’t so i’m scouring and i’m stressing and i’m missing the sunset that would make me feel whole
i got 19 in my pocket
19 years
19 years that i’ve been on this earth, or is it 20? you know that year when you’re not really here, “my baby’s 7 months and 3.5 days old”, okay great but what does that mean? i can’t do mental math anymore, 1 + 1 always equals window but that’s all i have left
besides these 19 years in my pocket
19 years, yet i feel infinite
i feel never ending
i feel so immense and so full of depth that i cannot be contained, i cannot be constrained, i feel too free
i feel like my 19 years are full, i feel like i won’t find what i need to make 19 20
19 years means i can’t tweak my favorite love song anymore, “you are 19 going on 20” doesn’t match the melody that i wanted to sing to, that i wanted sung to me
i got 19 in my pocket
19 questions
19 thoughts that end in “i don’t know”
19 answers i don’t have
19 maps i can’t follow
19 feels so incomplete
there was so much i wanted to do at 19, by 19
was it even worth getting this far? how many sunsets did i stop to see?
it feels like i felt my 19 scouring and stressing and missing too much to make 19 20
3.19.18
out of every ten poems I write, there are two, max three, that I like
and I’ve been writing for a long time
I’m too nostalgic to delete Wattpad, so I have a poem from 2013 titled “Do Not Erase”
it starts off, “do not efface your face with eyeliner and mascara, foundation and blush”
I haven’t watched enough YouTube videos to know what shade of blush goes with my skin tone, but this NYX mascara I took from my mom is AMAZING
and then there’s another poem from 2016, it’s a sonnet actually
I wrote it for my English class
it goes,
“to love, or not to love – that is the question
whether ’tis better better to fall in love or to fall apart, this i do not know
for they are one and the same”
it’s actually a really good piece, so i’m glad I still have it
cuz there are years of prose and tears that I’ll never get back
out of the seven poems I don’t like, there are four I just can’t read
because they hurt
that’s why I started writing, because I’d hurt
I’d get hurt and I wouldn’t know what to do or who to talk to, so I’d sit in my room and I’d write
you should’ve seen me in 2011, ranting to my nonexistent confidant about all the things that couldn’t possibly be happening
but they were
and I only know this because I still have that Hello Kitty notebook
I’m too nostalgic, so I haven’t burned it
I always knew not to play with matches, but it was a warm form of catharsis to watch tearstained papers turn into ash
I’d flush away the evidence and tell myself that it was finished, but deep down I knew that wasn’t right
I don’t use periods when I write
the waves of words wax and wane where they will, but there’s no shore to contain them
they need to squeeze through cracks and soar over waterfalls, so now, when the tears fall, I let them
when the words come, I write them
still, most of my poems seem to end with a silent “to be continued”
there are three that I like, four that hurt, and two that I haven’t finished
I just can’t
these pages are a testament to the fact that sometimes, I struggle to see what I see
sometimes I can’t make sense of it
some days I’ll sit and I’ll write til I hit blocks I can’t build with
it’s like having a puzzle you can’t finish because you decided to burn half of the pieces
I can’t even blame her, the old me
she’s a part of my poetry
out of those ten poems, the estimated ratio to quantify what I’ve produced, the one that remains is who I am
who I was
and who I will be
in every piece, there is me
every time I create, I’m mimicking the Creator, trying to make sense of the creation that I am
trying to find His satisfaction, trying to find appreciation
no matter how many pieces I write, songs I sing, prelims I pass (or fail)
no matter what I do, none of that matters if I can’t find the peace in who I AM says I am
4.28.18
Vessel in the Valley 