I love when people begin something by saying, “some people may be offended” and then look at me because I am the only brown person in the room. They might as well say it, “dear lone black person, i am about to offend you -but take no offense.” Well I do take offense. More so than the steps of offense about to be taken, but the need to pardon oneself, and consider it alright because they warned me that they were going to offend me. People are such assholes, really.
unlike yesterday, it is not sunny and super wonderful. it’s actually rather chilly and I am not a fan. also, the sky looks a tad angry. but i am wearing another dress :). because of course, as i was explaining to quite a few people, jeans really aren’t all that flattering and i usually look pretty bomb-ass in dresses. solution, wear jeans as little as possible. i’ll wear so many dresses and skirts that people will think that i’m hella religious. hmm. dunno.
on a personal level, i’m okay. i’m working through things in my own tiny little way, doing my writing at tiny bits at a time.
would it be wrong to state it, just as i feel it…i don’t care. i don’t care about schoolwork anymore. any of it. i need the reel of academia to run out of film. i feel done.
it’s sunny today and i am wearing a dress, which means that it has to be a good day, doesn’t it?
i woke up hella early this morning, around five or so. I was ready to get things done. I got myself dressed and then i came over to founders, where I’ve been doing a fair job of doing my homework, though I haven’t slacked in the procrastinating department. However, I am pretty proud of myself nonetheless. maybe i should go to sleep early every night, so that I can wake up to mornings like these.
I look at my other posts and then this one, and I seem so bipolar. blah.
i feel like the bad side of awful. like when someone drags you through the mud when it has just started to rough. those dark clumps are hard, and has the edges snag against skin. i feel bottom-barrel empty, all at once.
burning for apples.
to me, you are that apple resting on that forbidden tree.
in this garden, nothing is sacred except the breaths that we intake,
deeply; relieving us, so that we do not succumb to temptation like we may have in the past.
at times, i think that i would give this very soul to burn with you.
other times, i laugh at the indication.
we could rise and fall like the sun and the moon, and the rain all around that tree.
because like that tree, we are not innocent to conditions.
if i choose to consume you…
this consumption would come at a price.
the music and the mechanics.
She tore the bedding from the mattress and tossed it onto a deep heap of sheets in the middle of the floor. The bounty of cotton met her knees, and when the bed was finally bare, she lay flat on the mattress with her face raw to the elements. She warmed her naked body against the nylon skin, flattening her tears against checkered patches sewed onto the queen-sized cot. Her mind raced over recollection, climbed over images of faces and actions and stalled on memory lane. She laid there, slack, for a long time, inhaling lose like air and sucking in despair and debris simultaneously.
She had prayed that her body and mind would feel the same, align, so that she could go to sleep at night thinking about the person that she was sleeping next to instead of someone else. The soft pleasant body beside her wasn’t the hard engaging body that she wanted beneath her. She craved moans driven by only kisses, arousal prompted by hand holding and meaningless conversation just to hear one another’s voice. She wanted the mechanics of nuts and bolts; hammers and to be nailed. But she also enjoyed the luxury of music, the balance of a ballet and how the slow careful notes could put her in a mood. She wanted all those things, the music and the mechanics. The body and emotion.
after writing “i don’t care” in my notebook seventy-six times, i remind myself of the slight OCD that I have, that I always say I don’t… but perhaps i quite possibly do. I mean, it’s nothing to be weary or ashamed of. Many people suffer from OCD. Mhmm.11 May
all in the title.
i am choking on the stuffy, rain-driven air that has filled my dorm room, and the repetitive clicks that my computer makes, telling me that I have received a message. on my cell phone, there is a text message; and that device sings even louder that the warm machina that rests on my lap. I coward beneath the sheets because it is easier than replies and explanations, it is quicker than rationalities and questions. i would like to sleep until i rise, as something that has grown wings.