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Showing posts from April, 2018

Post and Delete

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Love List

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I love waking up to the pink and blue skies 
I love the sound of the birds  I love dreaming about Tay as a child weird  I love the idea of getting away this summer  I love this resistance because I know it will lead to flow I love knowing that there is nothing wrong I love knowing that I am in the right place  I love passing NBCT I love passing the GRE I love venting on IG I love how my writing is getting better  I love knowing it will keep getting better  I love how people read my words  I love how people relate to my words  I love knowing I’ve been here before and I overcame then and will overcome it now.  I love my thought process  I love closing my eyes for minutes  I love sleeping  I love knowing I don’t have anything to prove to anyone  I love deleting social media  I helping others  I love writing  I love that this is driving me to figure out a better way to create  I love moving forward  I love always moving forward  I love writing my books this summer I love knowing that pushing through is my only opt…

If I had a Mom

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If I had a mom waiting for me at home I would want her to ask, “How was school today?” So I could tell her how I walked out on my class to cry in the stairwell; same safe space I would retreat to on those nights she used to kick me out the house. Something about small dark spaces. I guess they’re dark enough to let the voices in my head bicker over one another, while I fall paralyzed by their banter. They snuck up on me this morning and no matter who came to ask me if I was okay, my lips stayed cemented. If my mouth were to open, I don’t know which of them would have spoken. So I couldn’t talk. Still haven’t. Half afraid. Half content like this. Maybe I missed them. Maybe I called them in my sleep that I finally got last night after not sleeping for weeks. If I had a husband at home and he asked me “How was work?” I would tell him, my coping tool of isolating and shutting down to regain control of my emotions is still my asinine go-to because under it all I feel alone and misunderstoo…

On Dating and Being a Teacher: Balance

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In therapy, I learned, my last relationship didn’t work because I am controlling and I have trust issues out the wazoo. I was also missing my freedom while having a man, and that scared me because I never want to be disloyal but I get bored fast and ...all I am saying is I want someone who gets me—mentally, and keeps up with my constant state of evolution. What peaked my interest when we met wont be the same from week to week, I’m seriously always on to some new idea, and I need a partner with the same level of ambition and intellectual curiosity that I have. 
It’s out there, Ive had men like that but at the same time, I was always so focused on them understanding and supporting me, so stuck in my ways, that I dropped the ball on reciprocating that for them. Im guilty of neglecting others’ needs, to be honest. Not on purpose, just.. you know... the kids/school/speeches/social media/writing/reading/self-healing.. they all form clouds of importance but when I look up, I realize, my love …

7:39PM

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6:02 PM Freestyle

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Sometimes the quiet of the loneliness is so loud I can’t even concentrate.  Other times it’s soothing. Sometimes it paralyzes me. I have things to do but I can’t move from being stuck on thoughts of being with someone. You. Or someone new. I imagine myself walking down the block hand in hand or sitting on my floor reading together. Having deep conversations where we don’t argue we understand and we smile at how far we’ve come. And I fought myself for holding on to you months ago. Now, you’ve let go and I’m not ready to but I am but I’m not.  Pulitzer Prize. For these darks and shadows and just making one painting in my book always feels like an accomplishment.  I pictured myself getting high today, as a way to past time as I waited for my new love. The thought of him finding me and me having to kick an addiction made me sick to my stomach so I know I can’t smoke. And I can’t hold on to this addiction to you like I held onto my ex and that was nothing short of a mistake but we all live and I…

Different Bey

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This is not the Beyonce I grew up on.  I was in middle school when Destiny’s Child first came out and I can recount the evolution of Bey from then to now. Her ability to step outside of being “the perfect American r&b singer” to being exactly who she wants to be, today, is nothing short of inspiring. I feel like it began when she became a mom, and since then, we have been able to see more and more of her unapologetic, authentic self. From the Drunk in Love video to the Super Bowl to Lemonade to last night’s performance at #Beychella. I haven’t seen anyone talk about this aspect of the queen, yet, but “Suck on my balls!” and holding up the blood sign— no ma’am, this isn’t the Beyonce we grew up on, at all, and I love her now, more than ever for it!!!


I don’t feel pretty, I feel free.

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Never had a big butt or boobs. All I really had was a “pretty face” and my granny told me when I was as young as I can remember, “You cute but it’s always going to be prettier girls than you. And you got it hard but its always somebody that got it harder than you, so don’t think your looks or what you go through gon’ get you far. It’s your heart. You got to be humble.” And now, without my hair I don’t feel pretty at all. A friend told me I need to beat my face everyday so I can “still show how bad” I am and I considered it but for what? I am comfortable with my acne scars, my wild eyebrows, and invisible top lip. I know I’m not pretty anymore. Someone else may still think I am but I don’t. I don’t feel pretty at all! I feel free. And freedom feels better than any thing I’ve ever known. Not saying one needs to cut their hair to achieve this liberty. What needs to be cut are false notions and attachments to frills that have nothing to do with who you want to be.





Really? Really.

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I didn’t hire a cleaning lady. She was sent by my building’s manager. After a complaint I put in about the ash tone of my hardwood floors, I came home to dried white puddles everywhere. No idea what it was, so I contacted maintenance.
When I opened the door, she stood there, holding a mop and pail. “I came to clean jur floor. Sorry to de-sturb ju, miss.” Accent was heavy. A New Yorker, no doubt. “Where you from?” I asked. “Da Bronx.” “I figured... you Dominican?” Guessing because her skin tone matched my own and the meticulous way she spoke her words made it obvious that English was her second language. “Nah, I’m Honduran.” “Ooo, I had a boo from Hondu!” She smiled a bit. I may have been a little too excited, though. “Sorree about jur floors. I pu’ da product on it like my boss told me to but dey was supposed to email ju to tell ju it hab to stay for a day. When I finish here, I’m gedding de bus to go to New Jork. I go ehhh-bre weekend so I hab to finish dis now.” As the subject change…

Blah No. 1

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I feel like blah.  Period came.  Cramping.  Kinda wish I had a cupcake.  Want to go home.  Need to do my taxes.  Taxes.  We will always owe something to someone as long as we live.  I don’t know what we are here for.  What does it all even mean? What is the point of any of this? I know my purpose but what is the purpose of my purpose? What happens next? Are people real?  Is this all an illusion I am living? Is this the dream? Is everything else fake? Would I survive outside if I wasn’t able to work and feed myself? Are there really differences between cultures? Why can we still see things without them being in front of us? Who does this all benefit? Maybe I don’t create like I used to because my heart isn’t in it anymore.  Where is my heart? Where am I? Why am I here?


Easter

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But I never ever liked Easter. Me and my sister were raised in the Pentecostal Church where women wore cornell slips and stockings no matter how hot it was but my granny would let us wear frilly socks instead of stockings if it was too hot because she was afraid we would have a heat stroke! Every woman had to wear a hat or a lace doily because you could not “go into the house of the Lord without yo’ head covered!” and I seemed to out grow my patent leather shoes as fast as the day after they were purchased because they just hurt so badly! And we went to shut-ins and we tarried on our knees. And the deacons would lay hands on people who stood on the prayer lines and knock them down and pour oil all over their heads and a white sheet to cover the women once they passed out from shouting and speaking tongues and running laps around the sanctuary. And we would travel hours away if our pastor was the guest preacher at another church. And we memorized scriptures to recite in Sunday school. …