Like a teenage period

Like a teenage period
We are so lost in the sudden onset of pain that
We forget to notice when it finally begins to let up

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Sitting outside Albertson’s

I think that life affords us these opportunities in disguise as trials. We’re so stuck sitting up in front of the TV that anything else allows us discomfort. Here I am sitting, draining about my problems. Work, relationships, school, life… And up walks this homeless lady, with her plastic bag of cans and a sign. Automatically I am taken aback. I want to pull my backpack a little closer and I even contemplate walking away. I don’t because it’s too obvious, and I care enough about people that I don’t know, not to make her feel bad.

I look up as she moves coolly across the parking lot to receive a whole cigarette. I scoff, “Is that what you’re worried about?” My prejudice and I… That thought is followed by, “Maybe she would do the same for food. Maybe she’s taking anything she can get.”

I think about the dance my sister performed that told the story of how the public makes the homeless population invisible. As she returns to the bench with her retrieval, I wonder if she’s the stereotypical “territorial” homeless person, who doesn’t like people touching their things. “Have I invaded her bench?” Then I realize I’m being prejudice again –labeling people and putting them into categories.

We have minimal eye contact, but I can tell she’s troubled. And by the phone conversation that I’m having with my co-worker about a CPS case, she can tell I’m troubled too. Her random chuckle drew my eyes up to her and she moved me out of her peripheral vision. I wonder does she need someone to talk to? Or am I pre-judging that a homeless person doesn’t have conversation?

I continue my work on my laptop, as I wait for my ex to pull up and make up with me. She doesn’t. My phone runs dead and my tummy rumbles.

The lady with curly, shoulder-length hair picks up her plastic bag and leaves, but not before apologizing for bothering me. Being the people-pleaser that I am, I mechanically reply, “ Oh no, it’s okay.” But what did I just communicate? That I didn’t mind her bothering me, or that she wasn’t bothering me?

That’s when I reach my epiphany.

This is a public table; she has just as much right as anyone else to sit here –homeless or not. Who beat it into her head that she didn’t have that privilege?

My tummy rumbles again, and then I feel bad because who knows when’s the last time that she ate? I could be just like her. She’s young, white and half-decent looking for a homeless person. I bet she came from a well brought up family, with some issues that led her down the wrong path. A path that led two totally different people, like she and I, to the same place at the same point in time. Sitting here right now. How easy would it be for us to get our paths crossed and we end up in each other’s place?

I think about how everything hangs in the balance for me right now. Work, relationships, school, life…. and she has nowhere to go but up. We’re not so different. And it doesn’t take much for us to switch places.

All this learned, by reluctantly sitting at a concrete table outside of Albertsons because I got into an argument with my now ex-girlfriend and I really have no place of my own to go.Homeless sign

Projection

It’s so frustrating

To be putting your all into something –and to have it ripped to shreds off of some invalid belief

Invalid, but not totally because apart of me understands why you think that

But that thought isn’t a fact

I don’t hold on like that

That’s not where I’m at

Leaving me here with no clue

 Now what can I do

To show you that I love no other like I do you

Something out of nothing

Part of me questions is it because someone else you’re wanting

It certainly seems that way

I’m always trying to hide from the old you

Every time I think we’re good, we’re too good to be true

It’s just too good to be just me and you

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.

 

Deliver Me

Image

(source)

Let me go

I’m not strong enough to let go for myself

I’ve said it a million times before: you and I need help

Feelings deep within I sometimes wish I never felt

Thought projected onto paper, to you I’ll never tell

Let me go

Or treat me right

I feel there are two personalities inside of you that put up a fight

Is it why?

You find the need to leave on these random nights?

Leave me here with these thoughts

The past unfolding

The present a manifestation of the past

And a threshold for the future

I want so bad to trust you

But I know

You know you don’t want to lose her

Is it a good thing that you stay here?

Willing to try

Or is it bad because

You struggle so hard to treat me right?

So many times

I’ve fallen subject to your

Dreams

Your dreams, my nightmares

Married to Freddy

Loving you is a game of truth or dare

The truth I don’t want to hear

The dare I hesitate to take

Promises you make to break

I love you so much, I’m scared it’ll turn to hate

One day for the hell that’s been raised

For now, I’m not fazed

You and I want me to stay

Stay, stay, and delay

The day that I finally

Go                                                                                                                                Away