Love & Poems

My love life is like my poems right now

Fragmented

Not truly being able to be completed

Words…hearts…pounding against walls

Feeling blocked

But begging for bricks to fall

For true words to tumble out

Words that’ll explain everything

And for once make sense

Be open

Be open to me

Am I the only one in this duo who feels we’re meant to be?

What’s more to beg is…are you moving on from me?

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A letter to myself

You are not useless. You are not a bad person. You are dedicated to those you love and to growing yourself and you should still love yourself despite your mistakes, because you are still figuring out what’s “normal,” because you never knew what normal was. You are human and you will make mistakes but you will grow. As long as you know that your mistake was of pure heart and you are dedicated to learning from that then no malice was done.

 If someone who you showed all your scars to can walk away during your healing then they don’t deserve to have you when you are healed, nor were they willing to wait.

The most beautiful flower blossoms late.

Why it’s so hard for me to leave

Banksy heart balloon

Leaving, for me it’s a scary thing

I’ve never really left anything

I can’t take credit for leaving my abusive ex-boyfriend

I tried, but I distanced myself until it was enough to push him to leave me

I never left my first job

I tried, but I just was absent for extended periods of time until they shut down

I never left my second job

I just acted however I wanted, until we came to an amicable agreement

The one thing that I did leave, without any fear

Was home.

And since then I’ve been on a search for where my existence belongs

Usually burying my heart into others

Until they’ve had enough and they dig it up

I tried leaving it alone

The whole relationship thing

But no matter what, I just… can’t… leave

Maybe I’m in love with the struggle in me

I’m always striving to reach new heights

Excuse me if my optimism tries to trump your pessimism

Or maybe it’s my paranoia

My optimistic future always my hope, but my pessimistic past to remind me

I want to let go and not feel, and then maybe I wouldn’t have to attach myself to a life with you

Attaching my family to a future with you

Just attaching period

Dealing with your periodic detachment

We always rehash it

Feeling like I fool when I don’t agree with you

You drag me with you as you leave

Clinging to the edges of your attire as if you were Jesus himself

I said I want to let go, to be lost, and in this moment I am lost in the now.

If only I could write forever…

Evict

Rusty padlock on an old metal door

You cannot expect me to not respect me
Left me
Doesn’t affect me
Failed calls
You can’t connect with me
Glad you didn’t get the best of me

Solace in the soul-less

Sheets

Lovers lie between white sheets of lies

Intent on covering up more than their bodies

Entangled between your dreams and mine

Show me something more than what’s brought me

Race and journalism (though I don’t like to touch on race)

I used to be concerned with racial inequalities some time ago but, like feminism, I’ve kind of stigmatized the groups as too much complaining and not enough changing.

Until…

Someone asked me how I will bridge the gap between the African-American community and media. I initially rejected the inquiry and felt numb when researching this supposed “gap”.

I already had this thinking of, “Here we go, another ‘we can’t help ourselves’ rant,” but I changed my views- if only for a brief period of time.

That’s what I like about journalism. You can go in on a topic and expect to leave with what you thought you would, but you never really do. Journalism is supposed to be a career in which you are always covering something new, therefore, you never stop learning.

However, so many times we choose our stories and shop through sources so that our stories won’t fall flat. That’s not true journalism.

True journalism weaves it’s own path, like water. We don’t make a path for our stories to follow. That would be bad journalism. Real journalism is wild and unpredictable.

The best stories find us, and it’s when we adopt an open mind that we truly learn something new- even if we never set out to.

Race and journalism

I identify myself as an African-American journalist. That alone draws the strings of diversity in the media a little tighter.

 

In 2006, the growing range of races working in news media was stunted at 13.73 percent and has yet to push its way back up to that marker, according to the American Society of News Editors.

 

We can infer that African-Americans comprise an even smaller percentage, since 13.73 percent is representative of all minorities.

 

Receiving my degree in journalism may encourage others in our community to do the same, thus decreasing the race-employment disparity in the media.

 

Not only are there fewer of our demographic employed as journalists, but there are also fewer of our demographic- and an even smaller portion of our young adults- consuming news media.

 

People need someone they can identify with. Being able to have an association with who’s presenting the news generates this thought pattern of, “She’s black and she’s concerned, so maybe I should be, too.”

 

Furthermore, I’d be covering stories that are of importance to our population.

 

Part of the reason why we don’t consume news as much is because we’re not receiving equal representation when it comes to coverage in our community.

 

If we’re covering stories that make the consumer feel like it’s of significance to them then there’s this automatic interest in learning more, thus propelling our population to be more informed and more involved by engaging with the news.

 

There are so many stories that go untold in our community, but journalists are supposed to be giving a voice to the voiceless. I think it’s time that the media takes us off of mute.

Where love has brought me, what love has taught me

I’ve yearned for true love, from a lack thereof, since I was little. Now, after abusive and un-monogamous relationships, I’ve come to terms with my depressing fate: I just cannot be in a relationship anymore. That means never getting serious, never getting too close to anyone. The thought first penetrated my mind prior to this past, miniscule-length relationship. I started acting in a manner that protected me from that, and then I was stupid enough to entertain the idea again. Now here I am: refusing proper nutrition and Carlo Rossi in hand- straight from its original container. It’s déjà vu. My progress has had its reset button pushed.

 

I yearn for love, but my Mother Theresa save-the-world ways has put me at a disadvantage yet again. I cannot go on continuing to attempt to please everyone. Something’s got to give. My selflessness is my own detriment. My selflessness, in a way, makes me a good person to one and a bad person to the other. It’s common sense, but it has just clicked to me that happiness and selfishness have some sort of correlation.

 

I can’t go on like this. My heartache leads me to make unhealthy decisions for myself. It starts this process of not eating, not being able to hold food if I did eat, popping Vicodin to numb the pain, sleepless nights, drinking so that I can sleep, keeping my mind busy by working multiple jobs and by partying to forget the fact that I’m lonely.

 

I was going through this process where I was okay, and I know no other way, I have to go through it again- this time completing it.

 

I dreamed of moving away from the dysfunctional family I was born into; running off with someone who was as engulfed in my world as I was theirs, having kids, never looking back- only to be there for my sisters and to fulfill the usual cliché of living happily ever after.

 

How naïve.

 

Ironic, though, that I see my ideals in you the most- and no I’m not just saying that because it’s where I am now.

 

You. You are:

  • Intelligent – even though it makes me feel inferior at times
  • Beautiful
  • Successful
  • Selfless- to an extent
  • Capable

 

Furthermore, unlike before, it’s a huge coincidence is that I don’t even have to beg you to run away with me. You’ve brought up the idea yourself.

 

But when raised without a healthy model of love, you kind of don’t know how to give it- or to take it for that matter. That’s probably why compliments make me feel uncomfortable.

 

Sometimes my mind knows what the ideal action would be, but my fear of rejection keeps me from doing it.

 

It’s sad that it has to be like this. The one of only two, top lifelong achievements I’ve strived to attain- and here I am: the incapable.

 

Life has a way of dangling a bone just out of your reach in hopes that you are foolish enough to be infinitely entertained by what it is that you want so bad. It throws these obstacles at you, when the metaphorical finish line is in sight and says, “Whatcha gonna do now, huh?” and when you work past that there’s always, “How about now,” “What about this,” and “Oops, one last thing.” I know, because I’ve been through it enough. Age-old philosophies say that it’s just when you are about to give up that your goals is within fingertip’s grasp. But why is it like that?

 

Why is it that just when I’ve adopted this “fuck love” philosophy someone who used to hate love all of the sudden has found the very thing they hate.

 

Fate is photographed in a positive light, but it really is sadistic- and I want no part in it.

 

Kind of like my family. My family who raised me without the skills to attain the one thing I wanted the most; the one thing that’s necessary for an infant to even survive. My lack of love has caused me to yearn for love but the very thing that has propelled me to aspire for what I am missing has caused me to have a deficiency in the tools I need to attain what I aspire towards.

 

Then there’s this cliff-jumping thing that people say to do, despite what you feel. Apparently it yields the most success, yet making the least logical sense- ironic because love isn’t supposed to make sense anyways.

 

Yes, you are the person that possesses a majority of the traits that I look for in an ideal lover, but if you pass a marked-point, you’ve done just that. I have this intuition- as much as I don’t want to. Ignoring it has led to serious trouble before. I have an intuition about my intuition and it says that I will ignore my intuition.

 

Sigh. I know what’s coming.

 

I’ve yearned for true love, from a lack thereof, since I was little. But the thing about being young and dumb is, well, that you’re young… and dumb. We simply enjoy each other’s company until it turns sour or one of us is forced to fade away. True love is but a fairytale I once read in a book. In a world with trending open relationships, one night stands, threesomes and infidelity, true love simply does not exist.

Line chart showing interest in threesomes

 

 

Line chart of interest in open relationships

Interesting how open relationships didn’t even become relevant until 2005.