Sorry

I want to apologize for my absence. I’ve been working on some new things and will be posting some new poems for all of you who stuck around and for those of you who will.

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February Lovers the Essay


“February Lovers”
For shame
they say that lovers
are blind, but we
only choose to see each other.
The warmth of your ___ is what smothers
me and causes the
cold heat of February lovers.
If only we were 
still ignorant as
when we were
babes just months ago with our rebirth.
As you were born
and I were born
on this grand day
known as the -anniversary.
It is not my fault
that I am so selfish
you have given me your
 all
and I have never had to share
so why should I start now
I would cry as you would cry
lack of normality and my soul leaks it’s blood
through my eyes
I bleed for you. (February 2008)

We trudge along the cold streets of Brooklyn, NY hands intertwined. We have dated for a little over a year and are now high school freshmen. Separate schools cannot keep us apart. Tuesdays and Thursdays we leave our homes early and meet at the train station near my school. It is February in New York and it is probably twenty or below. My fingernails are purple but he is here and I am warm.

We clasp hands and I shove them into his pocket. His hands were and still are double the size of mine. They are rough and could probably palm my head but in my hands they are pliable; soft, warm; they are protective; they are supportive. We troop through the Jewish neighborhood, past their kosher stores and beautiful two story homes and well-manicured lawns, but their beauty is easily ignored for we are deep in conversation. We converse about life, where we want to be, who we have been, philosophy, morals, jokes, videos. We share almost every thought and ask almost every question. We are peeling off each other’s soul skins and digging our teeth into the rich fruit beneath. We are devouring each other’s very essence.

We have talked for what seemed like an eternity if an eternity was twenty minutes. My school looms in the distance and we are quickly approaching it. Footsteps get weary and my chest tightens. I will not see him for another day. We reach the bus stop, thankfully it is right in front of my school doors. We wait, still in animated chatter accessorized with pokes and sometimes squeezes of the hand.  The bus is across the street and now our conversation is rushed trying to wrap the latest topic of discussion up. “Goodbyes”, “I love you’s” and “have a good days” roll off our tongues without a second thought, with ease. Another squeeze of the hand, a hug and he is gone I must face another day alone.

If you had asked me in February of 2005 if I would ever walk for blocks in the blistering cold just for some witty conversation with him I would have looked at you as if you were on cocaine. It is amazing to see the difference a year makes. The weeks go by but our ritual does not change. Snow disappears, as do the blistering winds. The gray streets of New York come to life. We are no longer lonely lovers stealing secret moment. Trees begin to flower, the morning joggers creep out from their winter caves and we have witnessed the change. The heat starts to creep in and some mornings he bring me breakfast from home, eggs, pancakes, bagels with cheese. He nourishes me body and soul through the winter and the cold.

It is our first college Christmas vacation and I am strewn over his couch head on his chest and he is breathing.  It is the single most relaxing sound I have ever heard. Like a lullaby it soothes my soul. My usually tense muscles relax and my defensive layers melt away. I have always told him that he smells like home and that has not changed. He draws circles in my palms and I listen to him breath. The television is on but the time together is more valuable than all the gold in the world. Soon our responsibilities to our families and ourselves will rip us apart but for now we are perfectly content ignoring the world. The tv is mute I am too busy listening to his heartbeat strum to pay attention to the words. His body sings a song to me and mine dances to it. The strumming of his heart has harmonized with his breathing to hypnotize me completely. I have no other option. He is mine and I am his.

We trudge along the bitter streets of Manhattan souls intertwined. We have dated for a little over five years and are now college freshmen. Separate schools cannot separate us. We have walked for what seems like a lifetime. The Megabus looms in the distance an omen predicting the lonely weeks that are to come. He waits in line with me patiently, patiently pretending in pleasant denial that we will board the same bus to the same destination. We play pretend as we bathe in each other’s essence. We kiss, tainting each other’s souls enough to last ‘til next we meet. I sit and exhale and watch him go through the window and reluctantly realize I must face the next few months alone.

If you had asked me in February of 2011 if I’d ever imagine standing in the blistering cold waiting for a bus to leave him I would have laughed in disbelief. It is appalling to see the difference a year makes. The weeks go by but our ritual does not change; he is the first person to text me when I wake up; the last person to text me before I go to sleep. Snow disappears, and the blistering winds of Connecticut ease slightly. We are lonely lovers now more than ever, imprisoned by distance but nourished by hope. Trees begin to blossom and so does the knowledge that I will soon know the blessing of his warmth daily. We both can sense the change as hope creeps in with the heat, painting everyday as a day less to wait. He fortifies me when I am close to breaking. He nourishes me mind and soul through the winter and the blistering cold.

It is February 2012 and he is miles away. College has placed him away in Philadelphia- no more morning walks in the cold. No more fingers intertwined despite the blistering winds. But I still love him and he is mine. We talk through android phones minds intertwined. Morning walks have been replaced with morning calls.  Text messages and video chats allow our rituals to survive.  Deep conversations and declarations of love have not faded with the years as with many other couples. “You are young,” they all said “you won’t make it through high school.” Didn’t we prove them wrong? “You are young,” they still say “You won’t make it through 
college,” don’t we intent to prove them wrong?

-Revised

Bag of blues


When do you realize that you are depressed? Do you wake up one morning and you do not smile? Do you know when you wake up with no hopes? Do you back track searching for that thing that tipped you over the edge? When did your fuse grow so short and your hope dwindled to no fucks being given. Was it last week or last month? You don’t even know …. don’t even remember when you started moving in this emotional slush.

You are being dragged down by life. You communicate with others like an empty shell  in short curt comments and responses… there is no real reason to speak. So more often than not you sit there and stare and completely lose focus. Your attention is pathetic …. you doze  off and zone out and don’t even care to remember where you are. You struggle to be happy. You struggle to be whole.

Music is your savior for it can alter your mood, even if it’s just for a little while. It’s the only drug you need there’s no need for anything more extreme. It rushes through your veins, pounds on your soul and takes you on a ride. It allows you to be someone else or feel something else no matter how faint for a little while.

You do not cry. Crying is for people who feel. You don’t feel. You just are. A walking contradiction because although you are alive you do not feel like you are living. Something inside you is fighting. The flame that you think is dead flickers and every now and then you feel it but it is quickly eclipsed by the smothering dark that is your current situation. You don’t even put up a fight and you love a good fight.

You are alone. You, your books, and your music. Although you feel like quitting you know that something good is coming…. you hope. You are holding out because if you don’t believe that things will get better you would have nothing else. If you don’t have a little faith you have nothing else but a shell of a body and a bag of blues.

For those who hide in plain sight.

Have you ever really watched people? I don’t mean creepy stalker watching. I’m speaking observing them. Have you ever seen the one with the loud laugh and the bright smile and realized it doesn’t quite reach their eyes. Have you peered a little closer and seen a sadness so deep it made you want to cry and when you ask their walls raised so quickly and they closed up just as fast. Those are the ones who hide in plain site.

They hide behind extravagance and false joy because it is easier to get by day to day on a lie than have to explain the truth to anyone. Would you like to hear that everything is wrong? That they are so completely and devastatingly alone no matter how surrounded they are by people. These people do not understand them nor do they make an attempt to for if they really did they would notice the pain. The glimpses of despair that every once in a while slip out of their carefully crafted chains and dance around the eyes and pull their brows a little closer together before they are wrestled back into submission.

They hide behind laughter so deep it quakes the soul but if you really paid attention you would smell the hints of melancholy that echo in their silence. If you really paid attention you would feel the dark shriek shrouded beneath those loud bells of laughter. These are the ones who hide in plain sight. No one ever knows because no one really cares and EVERYONE would much rather deal with fake joy than a broken being who has already decided that they are far from salvation. No one wants to put in the effort of healing torn souls.

This is for those who hide in plain plain sight. I see you. You are not alone. I spot the cracks in your carefully constructed masks, with your elegant displays of perfect content, and I see that your eyes don’t shine as bright and your joy doesn’t run as deep as everyone else thinks. This for those who hide in plain sight as an attempt just to function because you believe that if you pretend enough it will become real but in reality all you get is the ghosts of things you used to feel or should feel. This is for those who bury things deep and pray that they do not reach from their graves and pull you down into the dark abys. I see you…. you are not alone.

Educate Yourself or Silence Yourself

So i’ve watched patiently as the rage and war against racism has riled up a few of you on here rather most of you on here are so surprised “my golly racism exists”!! Well here’s some facts for you, black people are the minority, and no that does not give them the right to be bullied but it is life and it happens. You live in a majority black neighborhood and due to your lack of incentive to read or learn about anything else have deluded yourself into thinking that when you step out of your bubble all the same rules apply outside. You’re wrong. You’ll 99% have to work twice as hard just to even be noticed or praised and I’m not talking about athletics. If you want another perspective here are some things you can read
1.The Color blind Emporer Has no clothes”
2.”White Privilege and Male Privilege”*
*educate yourself or silence yourself

Broken things and broken limbs

Today I woke up and did not break down. Today I put my foot off of my bed and it hurt today. Today I can not run and everything I have worked so hard for… blood, sweat, time, and tears is put on break. Today I woke up and was not the same.

To understand the magnitude of my dilemma place yourself in my shoes. Shoes that trek across campus all day long but after classes do not return directly to their dorm. Instead these shoes tread into the field house where there exchanged for running shoes and pounds the ground in search of speed. These shoes support me when I lift, when I stretch, when I run and yes even when I sit in need of rest from the strenuous activity of a approximately three hour practice.

“My shin hurts” I mutter repeatedly under my breathe but there is no rest for the weary and no excuse for a division 1 athelete. For months my shin has plagued me on and off it has disappeared and reappeared like any celebrity turned addict in and out of rehab but this time it stayed. The pain crept up on me bit in an refused to let go like an animal gone rogue. It pounded and struck up my inner right shin. It shocked me. It made me cringe to put pressure on the ball of my foot and what’s a sprinter who can’t run on the ball of her foot? Out of commission that’s what.

A day passed and nothing has changed and ice has not numbed the pain. I stand and cringe. I get dressed and find my way to help. His hands are meaty and warm and gives mine a shake enthusiastically. “How are you” he asks and nods as I answer his queries and describe my predicament. “Possible stress fracture” he says and I do not blink nor break for I have prepared myself for this possibilty. X-ray today he presses and MRI tomorrow “No running until I have the results pool and biking only.”  I take my slip and smile because of the two options that’s the most respectable, and based on your view the braver and stronger thing to do.

I march or a pathetic attempt at one into the field house. I trudge about looking at my teammates dressed and ready to train. I am an outsider today and I’m seeing things differently. My coach instructs me to go into the pool. I do not protest. I quickly change and walk back and forth in the chlorine pit and 20 minutes run by. I exit silently to attend to the next matter of business.

My usual gait wide and confident has been tainted my an ugly limp. It changes every few steps to accommodate the pain. My x-ray goes on incident free after of course being asked a billion times if I was pregnant, the favorite question of any medical staff to a female patient. I retire to my room to brood with Netflix and a Butterfinger in an attempt to drag myself from the pit I have sunk into. Self- pity was never my thing.

Another day passes and I wake and to no relief at all. I soon find myself in the hospital a place that I have always detested. We twist and turn until we finally find ourselves in Radiology department. Where we wait patiently and make conversation to pass the time and in my case fight off any negative thoughts lest my body reacts to my thoughts. The man is tall and nice as far as I can tell. “Where does it hurt?” he asks and I point to the spot. He places a yellow liquid filled sticker on it and I lay down head on a bed of pillows. “It will be about twenty minutes” he states before he leaves the room and leaves me with my thoughts.

The machine is huge and loud. Black ear muffs cover my ears and I am not allowed to move. The machine devours me I move deeper in as it shouts and yells rather offensively at me sounds that are hard to inscribe but varied and sometimes sound rather techno. The timer on the machine flickers on and off in it’s green lettering and I close my eyes to help it fly by more quickly. I do not panic. I am not claustrophobic.

It is over and I receive a disc. Now all thats left is to wait to have a the results read in a few days. There is nothing worse than not knowing the imagination has a strange way of running wild and tormenting you with possibilities. So I sit here distracting myself from all the sick possibilities with the help of itunes, facebook, netflix, homework -__-, and yes you wordpress.

p.s I’m going to see Hunger Games tonight!!

update: I indeed have a stress fracture. I’m in this boot for approximately two weeks.

Hearts of Cold

When we are young we put it out there. We share, we love, we hug… until something or someone cracks our faith and trust. The next time around we are less willing to do the previously mentioned. We love a little less and grow a little colder- we develop hearts of cold.

Of course not everyone gets the heart cold but most of you know exactly what I’m talking about. When was the last time you had a heart to heart with someone you knew.Why is it so hard to trust those you know and so easy to trust strangers? Judgement. A stranger knows nothing about your past and you can therefore present yourself as you want to be viewed. It is a lot harder to pull wool over the eyes of those who know your actions and therefore know your pattern of behavior.

It is not to say that when you meet someone new you lie or skew who you really are it is more of a presenting who you are at the moment or who you want to be. Who’s to say that by acting like who you want to be you don’t in the process of repeating the actions, make them habit and indeed become who you want to be? The problem with the people you know is that they are less reluctant to let you become who you want. They are so used to the pattern that is that anything that goes of that path they expect nature to drive it back. There is no better way to break a bad habit than by replacing it with a good one. So here are a few ways to kill the heart cold (get out your pen and paper… or ipad/iphone/android).

1. Crack a smile
I have been told countless times that I am unapproachable or cold because I never smile. I’m not saying to go around smiling like bozo the clown but every now and then cracking a smile could be the difference between a good day and a bad day if not for you then for the stranger you’ve smiled at.

2.Forgive.
It is very hard to change your path if you’re carrying a ton of emotional baggage. If you intend to tread a new path dispose of all garbage before you set foot on your path to heart health :). Wouldn’t you like to start your new journey with no bags arms swinging at your side?

3.Go somewhere new.
How can you expect to change if you’re visiting the same places. The same places lead to the same actions and the same actions will NOT lead to a change.

4.Express yourself.
Holding things in is dangerous. You don’t have to express yourself for others and you definitely don’t have to make it public. Expressing yourself could be as simple as how you dress, what songs you sing when you are alone, writing, or drawing in a private book. If and only if you feel comfortable sharing it with others then and only then should you. Why let dirt and grime build up in you don’t you clean your fish tank or empty out your pet’s litterbox on a regular basis (for all you anti pet people don’t you clear your phone’s memory or delete the cookies on your computer)… why not do the same for your soul?

-Please feel free to give suggestions of your own