"the realest shit i ever wrote." - pac
“funny, when i first arrived, i did feel like i was above & beyond it all. not impressed by the cramped studio. turned off by the chain smoking. amused and slightly annoyed by the opinionatedness. observant of the masked insecurity. questioning the race-fueled remarks. cautious of the mr. nice guy. offended by the former gang-banger with a penchant for the word “bitch”. critical of the unkempt surroundings. bored with the shallow conversation. curious about the worldly comments yet not stimulated enough to engage. sensitive to the cat-piss smell and camel cigarettes. tired of dumbing myself down to get a point across. noticing that without a black & mild, bong, blunt or beats, i had little urge to participate in the circular rituals. ones that went on too long and frequent to be productive.
it was i who deemed myself above it and now my high self-regard has mutated into a low unworthiness. i know there is a grey area but all i see is #FFF & #000. i sense that i’m either right or wrong, but have no idea how to determine which is which.
what i CAN do is continue to walk around with my head held high. to laugh, to smile, to bat my eyelashes & switch my hips. fuck who’s watching. i can continue to read on my porch and spend as much time outdoors as possible. to make my presence known and respected, not just accepted. just as i must deal with them, they must also deal with me. my incredibleness, my radiance, my light, is too much to hide indoors. i can invite my own friends & family over instead of constantly introducing myself to names & faces that will soon be forgotten both ways. i can continue to play with the neighbors’ children, to learn more about them and use them as reminders that i’m a role model. a flipside to the the beer-sipping, bong-hitting, chain-smoking, foul-mouthed examples they see daily that treat them like accessories. and to take pride in myself for the beautiful black woman i am, reminding myself that not only do i represent she, i represent them - an entire nation of people who don’t need to bow down to anyone. kings & queens in their own right who don’t need to beg for mercy, pity or attention.
and in writing this, i have found strength, confidence, and pride that i had forgotten even existed. the type that can take a problem, turn it upside down on its head and spank the shit out of it. “bad thought. bad, bad thought.” and send it on its way. reminding myself that i am the girl who uses words as weapons, the pen as a sword and who bleeds the ink of a scholar, not the blood of a martyr (i see you, lupe).
and most important, i’ve discovered a peace of mind that could never be obtained externally. only by searching and seeking the answers within self was i able to ease the doubt in my mind that i was somehow, not enough or too much. when in fact, i am just right.
just wrong. just left. just up. just down. but most of all, i’m just me.
take me or leave me the fuck be.”
via livejournal (friends only)
broke & hearts.
you know the statistics.
79.6 billion couples fight over money. 12 out of 9 divorces are caused by money. money makes the world go round and love don’t pay the bills. yadda bing. yadda…whatever.
we went through hell & back over the almighty greenback. rent was due, bills were overdue and due to both, love didn’t come too easy.
and then something amazing happened. the yadda boom.
a ps3 sells on ebay in less than 24 hours. 2 interviews become 2 jobs. a client refers 3 more clients. birthday money, mattress money, “you aint gotta count it, it’s all there” money. and suddenly, those hideous fights became humorous.
so fuck what you heard.
love really does conquer all. love, prayer and a funny little thing called hope.
2
by way of notamexicangirl:
I push people away.
There’s nobody in my life who has known me for six years or longer besides my family. That scares me. There’s nobody to say “Oh, Yolanda? She grew up. She was so rough around the edges when she was fourteen..but twenty-four..oh, twenty-four fits her nicely.”
Nobody that has seen my rough edges is here to tell about it and maybe that’s a positive. I just wish people didn’t mess up so easily in my eyes. I wish that I didn’t get my heart tied in knots. I wish I could forgive and let live but I can’t. Don’t spread my secrets to them. Don’t look me in the eye with love and talk about me tomorrow.
You don’t know me.
You won’t know me four years from now.
So you better tidy up, you better treat me good…you better hold my hand.
get out of my head & heart, but stay in my life.
what year on we on, anyway? if i make it past 6, let’s make cupcakes.
:)
separation anxiety.
funny how i always thought i was immune from those so-called “daddy issues”. you know, the one that comes with every specially marked box of black girls.
at first i couldn’t understand why every time he walks out the door, i feel anxious. why a trip to the store feels like a trip to beijing. why 5 minutes after he exits, i’m putting on my shoes to head out in the opposite direction. to go anywhere, just to avoid the impatient, unwanted waiting of his return.
then i remembered california.
and how daddy would wait for me to go to bed, so i wouldn’t catch him slipping away to spend the night with his girlfriend. on nights when i was too restless to sleep, hanging way past arsenio hall hours, he’d leave anyway. i’d march right up to him and say:
“daddy where are you going?”
and he’d respond (with a smile) ”california.”
mind you, we lived in new york. but every other night, the same thing. off to california at midnight, but back in time to drop me off at school in the morning.
eventually i figured it out. and even after i knew, he’d still say:
“i’m going to california. i’ll see you in the morning.”
sometimes i wish he had told me the truth. then maybe when my lover tells me he’s going to the store, or to visit the neighbor, or simply a quick “be right back.” i’d actually believe him.
i think, sometimes, my childhood mind thinks he’s going to new york. or brazil. or even outer space.
anywhere but california. not returning until morning.
i’m learning (and forgetting, then learning all over again).
eric maisel attempts to breakdown the relationship between creativity & the blues.
…or so she says.
i’m quickly approaching 25…a number that can’t be divided in half, thankfully. i feel like i’ve taken pride in splitting my life in half. like a fckn horcrux (harry potter, reference. move along, there’s nothing to see here).
being born on the cusp between leo & virgo. being being bicoastal. (struggling at) being bilingual. being left brained & right brained. being a freelancer & corporate workerbee. i even tried to train myself to be ambidextrous when i was little. i had a whole composition notebook dedicated to left-handwriting.
i long to feel as one whole, crisp dollar again. instead of two sides of an invaluable coin in a pocket full of spare change.
for once, i’d love to be indivisible. just me. not divided by 2, 3 or multiples of 5.
almost…
6
things i’d like to learn:
“be a student so long as you still have something to learn,
and this will mean all your life.” - h. doherty
- martial arts
- spanish (again) & french
- how to poach an egg
entire greek mythological family- how to sew (again)
- how to drive a stick
- my genealogy
- how to juggle a soccer ball
- modern calligraphy
- an MJ dance sequence not in thriller or beat it
- how to swim
the Australian accent:)how to jail break my ipodhow to win more clients- my brother’s favorite color
- my mom’s favorite food
- my dad’s favorite movie
by way of ladygoodman
