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Hey, peeps! Can you believe I have posted twice this month? I know right. I have lots of free time before my next exam, so I have decided to try to do a little bit more writing. Yay! This post won’t be very long. It’s just a poem I wrote a week ago when I wasn’t feeling too grand about myself. Everyone has those days and so I have decided to share this poem with you all. Maybe when you have a storm cloud day it will make you feel a bit better. It does get a little pg 13 (maybe rated r actually) so, be warned.
I’ll also attach a link to a cool you tube video. I actually saw this video after writing this poem, but its still awesome. Enjoy!
“This Is Tasha”
This is my face,
It’s chiseled like a diamond with long sharp edges,
It houses my nose, mouth and eyes,
My round dark brown eyes,
My full dark lips,
And it rests under my thick kinky curls.
These are my arms,
My strong arms that can lift the world.
And these are my hands,
My hands that have been bruised, cut and scarred,
That have felt the heat, the cold and the earth with these hands.
And these are my breasts,
My small chocolate breast that the spirits gave me.
It is round like the earth and smooth like glass.
They shout to the world that I an a woman.
And further down are my luscious thighs,
Lean, strong and they are all mine.
And between them is something precious,
That they will forever protect from those undeserving.
Below are my legs that hold me up like the roots of an old tree.
Finally, here are my feet,
My strange, odd looking feet,
They have felt the sun,
Ran through the sand and have danced in the mud,
These are my feet.
This is me,
This is my body,
This is Tasha.
Here’s the link: http://vimeo.com/45539176
Please, let me know what you think about the poem. I haven’t written poetry in awhile, so I may be a little rusty. I also encourage you all to write your own poems and share them. I’d love to read them. Thanks!
Hey, guys! The school year is coming to an end. Sophomore year went by pretty fast and just like freshman year there have been a lot of changes. I think this applies not only for myself but for many people. As the saying goes, “people are always changing.” Anyway, there is a part of my life that has come to a stand still. Since I was in middle school there was someone who had a special place in my heart. We weren’t always a couple. Sometimes we were just friends, but even just as friends I was in love with him. However, now I find myself wondering if we are meant to be together like I thought we were. Our last break up shook me to my core and I begin questioning. The issue is that I don’t want to be questioning. I want to be sure that he is the one because in my mind that’s how it was for years and how it should be. So, to wrap this little intro up, after thinking about this part of my life and going through a list of romantic comedies, a short story developed in my mind. This is that story. It’s kind of in the form of a diary entry, but you’ll get the gist. Enjoy and let me know what you think!
I remember the day that I first exposed myself. I allowed someone to see me, the actual me, for the first time. Before I met this person I hid under hoodies and baggie jeans, wishing that I could be invisible. I never thought I ( a girl like me) would let someone in the way I let him in.
The first day I saw him there was a stir in the air. I immediately liked him and felt a strange connection with him. It was like I knew we were meant to be more than strangers or acquaintances. I know it sounds cliche, but that is the best way I can describe out first meeting. Things started off slow. I talked so much because I wanted to know so much about him, everything about him, but he hardly said a word. He was so quiet, subtle, like a good mystery. He intrigued me so much that I found myself still thinking about our short time together and the conversations we had days after I had last saw him. Then, we finally exchanged numbers (well our grandmothers did for us, but whatever) and I called him. That was the most awkward and nerve wrecking call of my life, but it was also thrilling. After that first call many more followed.
Soon we were visiting each other’s houses and meeting the family, but I remember the day we were alone. He snuck over and we lay together in my bed. I was nervous. I had never laid with a boy before and my eyes would not meet his. Hours went by and we stayed like that. It was peaceful, calming: feelings that are a rarity these days. When he was about to leave I stopped him and said that I wanted to show him something. Then, I took everything off, right down to the bare skin. I watched him not watching me and for a moment I felt like a fool. How could a guy, someone like him, ever want what I had to offer? I starred down feeling silly and embarrassed, but then I felt his warm hand on my hip. He pulled me close and starred into my eyes. We kissed. It was deep and passionate but without lust. It was love.
He laid me down and explored the curves of my body and I did the same to him. Then, he broke our kiss and said he had to got. I let him go, knowing he’d call me later and I would hear his voice before falling asleep.
I had never done that with anyone. He had seen everything now, the inside and the out. He was my best friend. That’s how it used to be, but somewhere between then and now, we changed. We broke up, got back together and did it again, but we were young so I thought by now we would have finally matured enough to be together. Maybe I was wrong because things are not like I thought they would be. They’re worst. What happened to the giggles? The shy smiles, the little gifts of affection? Have we already become too settled with one another that those things are no longer necessary? I thought they were. I think they are.
So, where do we go from here? I have changed. I’m not the insecure, naive girl you met more than seven years ago. I’m out going , strong, confident and adventurous so, where do I go? Could I be meant for someone else? Could he be meant for someone else? The thought makes my heart hurt, but all great loves aren’t meant to be. Some are just stepping stones. If he is a stepping stone ( I pray he’s not), he is a very important one because I remember the day. I remember the day he saw me, someone saw me, for the first time, beyond the hoodie.
I guess being somewhat of an authority figure on campus I should expect to run into a few odd characters here and there. So far my first year as an RA has been alright and it has definitely been interesting. I don’t think you fully realize the stupidity of some people until you have to actually monitor them. Watching some people on my floor, I often think to myself, “Was I that dumb as a freshman? Please, God, tell me I was not that dumb as a freshman.” I have yet to receive an answer. I think God may be trying to spare my feelings though I feel like I was a pretty smart when I first started college. Anyway, I want to tell you all what happened to me two weeks ago when I was doing my rounds. To clarify, as an RA I am assigned specific weekends where I have to go through my building and make sure all is fine. Well, as fine as an enclosed space with a bunch of horny 18-22 years old with access to alcohol (only those 21 or older of course…) can be, but back to my story.
It was about 2AM and I was doing my last round. The floor I was on was all girls and was pretty quiet. At my school parties shut down by 2AM so pretty much everyone had headed off to their drunken slumber. I was checking the fire extinguisher for pencils. For some reason students at my school think shoving pencils into the hoses of the extinguishers is funny. I guess they will still be laughing when we all burn up. Idiots, but like I was saying, I was checking the extinguisher when I hear a door open behind me. So, I turn around and there stands a 4 foot man (he actually looked a lot like a dwarf. All he needed was a war ax) in a white bathrobe (remind you this is an all girl’s floor) and shower shoes. Can you say awkward? So, I nod and he nods back. Then, he proceeds up the hallway and I follow behind him since I’m not done my round. This only makes it more awkward. Finally, we reach the second floor which is co-ed. I figure he and some girl on the first floor were giving in to their animal instincts and now he had to use the bathroom. No judgement, except that he tried to go into the girl’s bathroom.
For a moment I thought he may just be a pervert, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt and just assumed he was loss. I said, “Uh…you know that’s the girl’s bathroom, right?” His eyes grew wide and he looked around. He explained that he wasn’t form this building and so he didn’t know where everything was. I understood and walked by him to check the bathroom for drunk people who had blacked out or were in the process of choking on their own puke when he said, “Would you by chance have any condoms?”
I had to pause for a minute before turning around because of the smile that had spread across my face. When I had regained control of my facial muscles I turned around and said, “Well, I don’t have any on me, but I can check the bathroom.” There weren’t any condoms. I reported the bad news to him. He said, “Would you know where else I could find any?”
I told him to head to my floor because I knew I had put some condoms out a few hours ago. The guys on my floor are all pretty much horny freshman but I was sure even they couldn’t have gone through all those condoms in just a few hours. The dwarf man began to run down the hall while shouting, “Thank you,” to me. Then, he turns around and he says, “Wait, if your floor is 3rd floor Tussey, then what dorm is this?” My dorm is connected to another dorm, but they are in the same building so I have to check both. I told him he was in Terrace and he had to go through the passageway to get to Tussey. Once again he turns around and runs down the hallway. The white robed dwarf had vanished to go on another quest. I wished him luck and hoped he would find the condom he was seeking.
I never liked hospitals. Not even when I was young, but then again who really does like hospitals? I guess a better way to describe my feelings is as an apprehensive disgust. Those are the words that come to mind when I think of hospitals. Apprehensive because I know that people have died there. I also know that people go to hospitals to wait to die and struggle while they do it. Disgust because I know the suffering that has occurred. The bacteria, viruses, germs and other microscopic parasites that have infected healthy people and turned them into sickly beings. Hospitals are a place of human suffering that house all the germs that make people ill; a place where life comes to an end. At least that’s how I always saw it.
Maybe these feelings started when I was young and my father was pronounced dead, but I can’t remeber going to see him in the hospital as well as my other trips.
Have you ever noticed how walking into a hospital the temperature just seems to drop? I was told hospitals are kept cold to stop things like bacteria from growing. Still, the cold temperature only adds onto the eerie effect of hospitals. Then, you see the people around you and you know they’re all sick. All of them are carrying something nasty inside
The elderly are wheeled around in beds with faded eyes and bed sheets that smell like vomit and urine. Bed sores and blisters on their skin. Can you blame a kid for being scared? And now as I sit in this hospital chair, watching a friend sleep with an IV attached to his arm, I think back to you, Grandpa. I wasn’t there when you passed. You were the one hospital trip I missed and so I often wonder what you must have looked like laying on that hospital bed? My grandpa, basically the lead male figure in my life taken out by a heart attack.
You were probably very weak, resting in the bed with a heart monitor attached to your chest. It’s hard to picture you there and sometimes I forget you ever took that trip that you never returned from. Sometimes I feel guilty believing that maybe if I had been there something would have been different. Or at least I could have had a chance to say goodbye. That one word would suffice.
Others had to describe that night to me. I picture you losing control of your body and tears brim in my eyes. I don’t want to cry though, you know I was never one for crying. But to be honest, I have cried about you dying so many times and am sure I’ll cry many more. It was close to a year ago, but it still feels like yesterday.
So now as I watch my friend in the hospital, I begin to cry as well. I know it’s not as serious as a heart attack, but I believe that my friend will die. That’s what happens in hospitals. Everyone dies and the living continue to walk through life, not really living. So I’m just going to keep on walking. That’s the best I can do.
The hospital should be a place of hope and restoration, but I can only see the dark side and the negative outcomes. As you can guess by now I could never be a nurse. The sad part is one day we’ll all find ourselves there. We’ll all find ourselves at the hospital.
Hello, all my readers it’s been a few weeks since we last spoke. I hope everything is fine in your lives and things in mine are pretty okay. Anyway, I have exciting news! I recently found out that my application to study abroad in India next semester has been approved. The words to describe my reaction…silenced by my happiness.
I was pretty sure I was going to get approved, but you know how there’s always that little flicker of doubt? That little nagging person on your shoulder who is constantly berating you with negative comments. Yeah, I think we all know who I’m talking about. Well, I recently, placed this little person in a glass jar with no air holes and buried him in the mountains surrounding my school. He won’t be back for a while ( at least I hope). But now that he’s gone, my mind is allowed to dream and isn’t dreaming a wonderful thing? Maybe not so wonderful when you do it in class and you miss a whole lecture but besides that, it’s the perfect way to spend your leisure time.
When I think of India the first thing that comes to my mind is heat! I wonder how I am going to adjust to the scorching temperatures. Hopefully, during my stay it won’t be too hot. However, beyond the heat, I imagine this exotic land full of people and life. I imagine the hustle and bustle of the city, but great spaces of beautiful Mother Nature that have been left untouched. I see myself falling in love with this country and the thought sends tingles of excitement from my toes to the hairs on my head. I feel link India is such a unique country and I know I haven’t traveled there previously, but I have traveled to other countries before. I’ve been to England, France and China. I love traveling and all of these places were amazing, but I don’t think any of them touched me at my core. Now what do I mean when I say that?
When I say “touched me at my core”, what I mean is that I was not star struck by any of these places. I didn’t leave these countries in awe at how amazing they were. No, I left with a great appreciation for these countries and their cultures but they didn’t make me fall in love. I don’t know if that’s a corny way to describe it, but that’s all I got. England and France reminded me too much of America. Yes, yes, I know! Comparing France to America, please no one hit me with a croissant. What I’m trying to get at is that Europe like North America is a Western continent and so they all are “westernized” as many people say and therefore have just as much in common as they don’t have in common. I loved traveling to Europe! It was gorgeous and I had a great time, but I didn’t fell like I had gone anywhere that different. Which is why I decided to go to China (an Eastern country) and even though China gave me more of that feeling I was looking for, it still didn’t hit the target. So how did I stumble upon India?
Don’t judge me, but I first got interested in India after watching and reading “Eat Prat Love.” I know, I know so cliche, but that’s really not the reason I want to go to India. The movie and book only planted the seed, it still had to grow. I started reading the New York Times and I always found myself reading about news in India before I even checked out the domestic section. I became interested in journalism and saw that India was kind of like a reporting heaven. From there I let my imagination do the rest. I knew I wanted to some where exotic, some where that wasn’t your typical tourist spot like Europe or America. I wanted to go somewhere that would make me feel uncomfortable, but in a happy way. So I chose India and so far I’ve been pretty happy with my decision.
Part of me wonders if these high expectations I have for India will either fall short or break the roof. Perhaps, my expectations are too high. Maybe I should start preparing for disappointment…or maybe, just maybe my expectations aren’t high enough. Maybe my mind will be so blown that when I come back to the states it’ll look like a foreign land. I’ll see things in a whole new perspective. I guess I really can’t be sure about this right now, but one thing I am sure of is this: you gotta make the best out of your experiences and I plan to make the best out of India. Until next time!
Hello, all my dear readers! I hope you all are enjoying 2013 so far. Thank goodness we all survived the apocalypse. I’m sure there we’ll survive many more if you know what I’m saying, but enough of that talk for now. What I want to talk about today are the people in our lives. Now I don’t mean the people who have always and will probably always be there. I mean the people who are fleeting in our lives, there for a moment and then gone like a leaf in the wind. I’m sure we’ve all had people like that in our lives and despite their short time with us they leave such a big impression, sometimes even more than those who are constant. I’ve had many people like that in my life, but for some reason this morning one of those individuals stuck out in my mind.
So like most people elementary and middle school weren’t the easiest times for me. I was the loser chubby nerd with the beautiful cousin who looked liked Pocahontas (as they said at least). I was teased, picked on and bullied for anything. From what I wore to what I said, but most of the time I just felt like the other kids bullied because I was me. Sadly, as time went on I realized that there was nothing I could do about that. I guess my freak flag waved too high. These same school dynamics continued on into middle school especially after I was placed in the Gifted & Talented Program (parents love it, kids hate it). By the time 7th grade rolled around I had kind of bitterly began to accept things as they were. I was a fat loser with little to no friends and no family support. That was my life, but then I met Ms. Snyder, my 7th grade Language Arts Teacher.
Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses, especially in academics. My strength was English, my weakness was math so I grew closer to Ms. Snyder than any of my other teachers. It got to the point I would stay after school just to talk to her. We would talk about life, school, the need to succeed and the beauty of English. I grew to admire her more than any celebrity. To me she was the epitome of what I one day hoped to be: smart, beautiful, brave, confident, cultured, fearless!
When things were rough at home I would sometimes imagine myself as Matilda and Ms. Snyder as the teacher who would adopt me and carry me off to live in a beautiful cottage. Of course that never happened, but kid’s have a hell of an imagination. She could tell when something was wrong with me. I would never tell her exactly what happened, but she would just place a hand on my shoulder and tell me to be strong. It’s because of Ms. Snyder I made it through some rough times.
To me, Ms. Snyder was truly someone to be respected. She was a white teacher at a majority black school and to put it simply a lot of kids tried to place her in the “white devil role” which was definitely the wrong way to describe her. She continued to teach at the school even after having her purse stolen, having students cuss her out and dealing with a corrupt administration. I’m not sure how she did, but my years with Ms. Snyder were amazing. After I went to high school, I would still come back and visit her, praying she wouldn’t forget me. Then, came the day she told me she was leaving the school to pursue a better career. She told me she would keep in touch, but people always say that don’t they. I don’t blame her though. She had married and had a baby. Her life was moving on as well as mine, but even though she’s gone I still think of her and her lessons. Her words ring loud in my ears in times of trouble. This may mess up the rhythm of this post but I want to actually list the lessons out.
1) Don’t be afraid to be yourself because there’s no one like you.
4) Confidence because you’re a rock star.
5) “There’s a whole world out there, you just need to explore it.”
6) Don’t be afraid to take chances.
7) Don’t be afraid to dream.
8) You don’t have to accept things how they are. You can fight.
9) Do what you love.
10) and much more…
I’d love to hear about the fleeting leaves in your lives as well, readers. If you want to reply, post or share your story with don’t hesitate. Until next time.
Hello, all my dear readers! I hope you all are having great holiday times. I know its been awhile since my last post so allow me to apologize for that. Like I always say being a college kid doesn’t leave room for many other activities. :( But now its break and I have time! Yay! Let’s get back to the topic of this post. A few weeks ago I was watching a documentary called “Mansome.” This movie was all about hair and how certain types of hair (mustaches beards, etc) can affect a man’s masculinity. I know it sounds odd, but seriously, that’s all the movie was about. As I watched this movie I started thinking about the “Shaving Revolution” which is this new need among people to shave themselves nearly bald. This revolution isn’t gender specific either and so it affects both men and women (though I think women still have it a bit harder…).
Of course back in the day people didn’t have the tools to shave so it was just a fur for all, but then came the invention of the razor. Both men and women would shave, but women were expected to be less hairy than men (same as today). Where men would just shave the hair off their faces, women would have to shave their legs, armpits and in some very furry cases their faces as well. However, in today’s world shaving has been taken a step further. Now some people are going completely hairless! When I say hairless I literally mean no hair on their bodies except their eyelashes and eyebrows but with some not even that.
Body baldness has become some sign of beauty and the media( as usual) can promote this. You see these gorgeous people on television and all the hair they have is on their head. Even men now have started to shave their arm pits , legs and straight down the middle if you know what I’m saying. How many times have you heard commercials advertising laser hair removal, a Brazilian Wax? I hear them all the time on the radio and television. My question is this: why is body baldness considered beautiful? Why do so many people consider hair to be gross? I’m not really sure of the answers myself.
I would like to think that there was a time when growing hair was some how admired as a sign of maturity. Isn’t that when you start growing hair? When you hit puberty, the physical transition from childhood to adulthood. So why now are we trying to turn back time and become prepubescent tweens by getting rid of one of the very things that makes us men and women not boys and girls. I’m not saying we should let the hair grow whichever way. A nice trim now and again would be fine, but taking it all away just doesn’t work. Maybe in today’s world that’s what people want. Men want women who looks like their 12 year and women want men whose voices (cough balls cough) haven’t even dropped yet. So I ask you my readers, will you shave or will you let nature run its course? Until next time!
that feeling when a whirlwind of sentient tax forms will never personally deliver your dream boy right into your arms conveniently over your lunch hour
I LOVE THIS SHORT. IT’S THE BEST SHORT I’VE SEEN ALL YEAR. WORDS CANNOT ACCURATELY DESCRIBE HOW MUCH I LOVE PAPERMAN.
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