Wednesday, July 28, 2010

discoveries about men

1. Men like to listen to things at elevated volumes: By elevated, I really mean that shit is too goddamn loud, can't you hear? For some reason, surround sound to men is like pouting-without-announcing-when-you're-mad to women. The opposing sex doesn't understand it, and it generally results in pissing often aforementioned opposing sex.

2. Men leave shit... EVERYWHERE: nothing more to articulate.

3. Men watch Sportscenter, and everything related to sports, way too fucking often: I took for granted being around a man who browsed the sports news, but definitely could care less.* I don't understand what's so fucking entertaining about sports news, all day, all the time. I don't care. Really, I really don't care.

4. Did I mention I can't hear the news right now because a guy is listening to sports stuff on his computer with the surround sound speakers plugged in?

I rest my case. I don't think I can go on, I might get upset even further.

*--okay, so maybe it's impossible for a man to care less... but he did skip the Super Bowl one year to stay in bed with me. Just saying.


and the truth is

i'd crawl across the sky

to hear you say

what i've been thinking

all these hours





need to make a deal

on the whim of the uncertain future

so that i may be allowed

to drown

in the certainty


your gasoline lips


my matchstick tongue

sure to level the world

in our heady


Tuesday, July 27, 2010

better than I could have ever explained

I finally saw with my own two eyes that the moon does not rise into the sky, but simply hangs, suspended in invisible air.

I felt what a cool summer breeze is like.

I walked through the J.F.K. Presidential Library.

I stood near the water the Kennedys laid claim to.

I sensed the calm on hollowed ground, and felt my organs move within me in seeing clips of JFK and realizing the already known fact that he was real and existed in a time that seems flexible in my head, but concretely existed before me.

I walked around the Harvard University.

I met a hero.

I made new friends.

I cried in public.

I took criticism and accepted it.

I strengthened bonds with new friends.

I changed.

I went to Jamaica Plain.

I almost retched a shot of Patron while taking it.

I witnessed the theft of a piece of chicken.

I ate an entire meatball sub in ten minutes in the middle of the night in a convenience store.

I was stopped on the street by a white female who told me she loved my hair and wished she could cut hers and get it like mine.

I wore Timberland boots.

I played.

I learned.

I rode the train.

I ate an orange and slept with the peel near my head to clear my sinuses--and it worked.

I had many meaningful conversations with people I'd never met before.

I saw a sunset while flying above the clouds.

I practically wore one pair of pants all week.

I found out that I am because you are; that my humanity is directly tied to your humanity.

I grew.

I changed.

I was in Boston, Massachusetts.

I was at City Year Summer Academy 2010.

I am a City Year Senior Corps Member.

I am AmeriCorps.

I am blessed.

this ain't about nothing you know/explosion

Sometimes, I sincerely forget what he did to me.

Rather, I never forget what he did to me. My body's internal regulator will not allow it. It's the reason why I have problems being friends with guys without thinking about them in that way, and it's the reason why I have problems being friends with some girls without thinking about them in that way. (Well, that may be strictly curiosity from before the what occurred.) It's the reason why sometimes I experience weird figurative twinges that resemble the feeling of my organs switching places inside my body. Up and down and round and round.

I can never, and will never, forget.

But sometimes, I forget the realistic destruction it caused for me. Like right now, I'm writing this very real shit that you have no idea about, and it's not emotional like I thought it would be. Like many other things I write, I had the urge to write it, and so I removed myself into my semi-quiet room and here we are now, together, here.

I am detached.

Probably because I'm not that girl anymore, not that girl who things happened to. That girl who used to let life happen to her. That girl who used to be afraid to let people know.

Somewhere in time, that girl got stuck and this girl who is this woman emerged, mouth wide open. Sometimes, it's hard to shut it. Usually, I don't want to. I am honest at all times. There is no such thing as TMI with me. I talk about my vagina as freely as my sex, as freely as I would a peanut butter sandwich at a lunch table.

Because I'm not that girl anymore.

I will never forget what happened, but sometimes, I forget that it happened. Sometimes, I am normal, have always been normal, always on a linear, uninterrupted path. But those short times only remind me that no one is truly normal. Because I am all but normal.

I embrace this abnormality, though I speak of it still in whispers and hushes; in muted colors halfway masked in shadow. It is not ready to be as plain as a summer white wall. Not yet. I don't know when it will fully be ready. But it's approaching. It's been a long, a long time coming...

Sometimes, I sincerely forget what he did to me.

And those are the moments that let me know that my healing is processing. Not fast, not slow, but steady. And steady will win this marathon.

cell phone chronicles, pt. II

Just got back from a week away. I'll tell you about that later.

Mon, Jul 26 8:24 pm

The sky above the clouds at dusk's dawn appears like the imaginary flight to Heaven--a line of blue above patches of peach and swirls of purple gray--looks like we're flying through space to an unreachable destination of forever tranquility.

Mon, Jul 26 8:30 pm

In the sky I am saddened because I am not on the side of the plane where the sun sets, until I witness a milky orange white mushroom cap suspended in the now fuchsia blue sky. As it develops, I realize it to be the moon, rising in all its mystery. I am no longer saddened by my position, for as I strain my neck to look down out my window, I realize myself to be watching the same orange yellow moon I've loved from my window for years rise over the coast that is my home. What I have done in this lifetime or the past, or the next to deserve wrenching such beauty out of a mundane flight from Boston back to Miami, I'm not sure I'll ever be sure of. But I today am blessed, forever and always, and divinely, I smile at His moon, made just for me, as I soar over the illuminated coast.


I wish I could show you what I saw, and transmit directly to you how it made me feel. Hopefully the imagery can transmit the emotion to you, but the visual glory, I'm afraid, remains only in my eyes' memory.

Friday, July 16, 2010


I'm going to say it.

If you know me, it's not like it's something you don't know; it's not like it is something you can't pick up from the wistful way I say maybe some day...

Or, maybe you don't know it. Maybe it's not something you can pick up by the way I sigh. Maybe I'm doing a good job at hiding it.

I want a guy. Well, excuse me. I don't just want any ol' guy. I want a man. I don't want an old man, and I don't want a little boy who thinks he's a man. I want a man, securely about my age. I want a man who isn't shy about liking me as a person, one who isn't shy about loving everything about me, from the birthmark on my right thigh, to the way I rub my eyes in circles when I wake up. I want a man who doesn't shy away from me expressing the way I feel about him, someone who doesn't tell me my emotions occur too quickly, or too intensely, or that I shouldn't write letters to him. I want someone who likes to go places... who travels, domestic + international. I want a man who teaches me things, but never makes me feel silly for not knowing that which he might. I want a man who is receptive to that which I teach him. I want a man who knows that a simple hand-written card will make me smile and tear up at the same time. I want a man who is not afraid by the fact that I can't wait to have kids, and who conversely understands that I'm not trying to have them tomorrow.

I want a man whom I want to know everything about, every nuance, every hurt, every scar. I want a man who wants to know everything about me, every nuance, every hurt, every scar. I want a man who will understand my fierce love for Al Pacino, Frank Sinatra, Charlie Brown, and singing out loud. A man who will get me different types of flowers on different types of days, just because he wants to say hi. A consummate romantic. A man who does not fear uncontrollable tears, but understands that sometimes, they just happen. A man who does not tell me that Prince is gay, but can appreciate his artistry and watch Purple Rain with me and crack up at the 80s of it all.

I want a man whom I love through all space, time, and dimension. Time has already shown that this is not a difficult feat for me. But for once, I'd like him to love me through all space, time, and dimension as well. I want him to prove to me that all the bullshit theories and articles don't mean shit in the face of real love. I don't want me to be out of sight, out of mind for him, and I don't want one of us to have to love less than the other*. I don't want us to not have to have sex for a certain number of days, weeks, hours, years to prove our relationship to be real and strong, and I don't want us to have to go on a certain number of dates, have a certain number of conversations, or share a certain number of significant facts about the other to solidify how we feel. I want to be able to follow my heart and my intuition, and I want him to do the same.

I want a man who prays, for himself, for me, and for others. I want a man who will pray with me. I want a man who's not afraid to cry in front of me, a man who doesn't make me feel like a child when I cry in front of him. I want a man who holds my hand. I want a man who kisses me for no reason. A man who stares at me just because.


Purge over.

Regardless of wanting all this, I still don't know if I'm ready. Clearly, I'm not ready, because I'm still questioning myself and whether what I want is viable, or even "right."

*Sigh* maybe one day...

*--Ignore the article (unless you want to read it), but I didn't screen it for likeness to my own views. I just linked it because it had the definition of the principle I happened to read my Freshman year of college, while browsing my Human Sexuality and Culture book, sitting in the computer lab near a man who clearly loved me much, much less than I loved him.

Monday, July 12, 2010

thoughts on: living with boys, ahem, men

I wonder if I should tell them goodnight from my doorway, instead of walking out into the living room to do so. But I have to check to see if the door is locked before I go to sleep, so staying in my doorway isn't an option. But I don't have on a bra, and my nipples are quite noticeable in this shirt. Or any shirt. Maybe if I walk with my arm slightly across my chest, this will alleviate the problem. Actually, that will only exacerbate the problem, because then they will notice that I have my arm awkwardly draped across my chest, my hand waiting in the air for some instruction as to what to do, and then they will certainly notice my nipples. Besides, one arm would only cover one breast, unless I was completely conspicuous and walked with my arms folded across my chest.

I could just put on a bra, but I never wear a bra when I'm going to sleep. I hope they don't think I'm trying to entice them with my happy nipples. Someone once told me more than once that I always tried to entice them because I came down the stairs to greet them with shirt, but without bra. But that was different. That was a deliberate decision inspired by the fact that it would be a waste of time to put on a bra that would be removed five minutes later when we had sex. But I'm not having sex with my roommates, thus, not trying to entice them. I hope they don't think I'm trying to entice them.

I could just put on a bra...

What the fuck. They know I have breasts. I doubt they care about my excited nipples. In fact, if I stop thinking about this situation, I bet my nipples will cease to appear. In fact, I have now spent more time thinking about this situation than it takes me to walk to the door, check the lock, say goodnight, and go back in my room.

I'll just walk with my arm draped across my chest.

133 days

...and counting.


My bare feet connected with the temperate floor when I rose from where I'd slept, still rubbing my eyes furiously. (He always told me to stop when he saw me doing this. I guess he figured I'd pop one of my eyes out of its socket.)

I had to move quickly; I didn't want to be seen. There was nothing shameful in what I had to do, but it was certainly clandestine; something extremely personal.

I tugged my cloth shorts down and back about my hips the right way as I made my way to the balcony door. I unlocked it and stepped quickly out into the clean early morning air. Three flights up, I stared across the landscape at the mountains kissing the bottom of the sun. I stared at the huge white figure sitting atop a grassy mountain peak and was reminded of my secret task.

I walked to the corner of the balcony, looking out upon the sky, and with permission of my heart,



Sunday, July 11, 2010

Sunday afternoon

I look out at the familiar buildings marking the unfamiliar landscape

when something that feels like despair washes over my face

and I realize, simply

that I miss you.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

cell phone chronicles

Dag... I didn't even write on my birthday this year.

Oh well. It was yesterday. (*bows* Thank you for the belated wishes :)

So yeah, I owe you an update... still. The one on Tennessee you can probably forget... I'll probably document that experience at some later point in a poemthought. The one on Miami... I'm not sure when that will happen.

I guess I could do it now. Eh, no thanks.

Instead, I'm bringing you something called the cell phone chronicles, a cute little name for poemthoughts I wrote on my phone during times when grabbing a piece of paper and pen would have probably spoiled the immediacy of the thought. (And probably the moment as well.)

(all these poemthoughts are typed verbatim, as they would be seen if you were looking at my phone, though we know you would never, ever do that.)

Mon, Jun 28 8:57 am
I am chained to his bed, though his hands remain at his sides, dormant and tanned. He breathes imperceptibly, the whisper of slumber and I stare into his spirit, impossible to part with him for the most mundane teeth brushing, or existing too far away from his fragrant warmth.

(I was at work, and I'd had the opening third of the first sentence in my head while I was driving to get to work. Once I got there, I tried paper and pen but it didn't work, and I couldn't tune out the kids around me, but the phone in my hand did the trick, though it never went as far as I wanted it to.)

Sat, Jul 3 1:21 am
The world stops when he talks to me, even in a crowded club drunk as fuck, my hips stop swirling and my attention is lost on the hood music, because all I can see are his needs, all I need is his touch, all I want is him. I don't give a fuck about what I look like with my face in my phone's screen, all that matters is him, just like the night I met him here and my lips were stuck to his like a bee to the most delectable honey. The songs fly by, the people go to and fro, the grinding to the air is lost to my love for him, formed way before we ever became friends, lovers, or homies.

(I was inebriated, in the club, texting and writing into my phone. I'd completely stopped dancing and lost all interest in the music at hand. I'm pretty impressed--I'd remembered that I had spent time writing something, but I hadn't read it until this minute.)

Sun, Jul 4 11:13 am
All those chances to photograph him, I know why I didn't. Because I wanted him to always be in the now, living in my mind's eye in the many ways I remember him, not trapped inside one particular frame on some specific day.

(I was right next to him, thinking about why I never take pictures of him, when this thought came to mind. This is probably my favorite one.)

Sun, Jul 4 6:00 pm
He says he will definitely have sex in my absence from the everyday life we've created in one another, and he states that I will too--it's not an if but a when. I don't flinch at this fact, but laugh at his practicality. He's right--we will both have sex with people who aren't the other. This is reality. This is something I can deal with. But when he starts giving those excited eyes to someone else and makes his comforter smell like someone else's sex, that's when I will hold my breath and pray that the prayer for my heart actually went through. One of these days she's going to find she forgot how to exhale.

(I lied, this is probably my favorite because of the ending line. I wrote this on the way to Miami... while I was driving. #dontjudgeme [and don't judge me for finally employing the wonders of this hashtag foolishness from Twitter] Yeah, this is my favorite.)

Thursday, July 1, 2010

It's the best time of the year...

I promise, I promise, I promise, I haven't forgot about all the things I'm supposed to talk about. I'm still supposed to write about Tennessee and the mountains. Sigh. I've got a lot on my plate right now, so you'll have to forgive the fact that I've neglected you for a minute.

The reason I'm awake right now is because it's my birthday month! (Well, that's not why I'm awake, but I digress...) July has officially arrived, and it's my favorite month out of the year. It's the month when the sun sparkles the brightest; when I feel the most alive. It must be because my planets are aligned... or something like that.

It's my birthday month! Yay!

I've already got plenty on the schedule for this month and the beginning of my 23rd year of life, so I promise I will get to it all. Soon.

You know I loves ya, baby :)

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