You know those days all too well, don't you? The days where every single person around you has a smile on their face while yours seems to have been set in a permanent frown. You let the smallest of things get to you to the point where you have trouble sleeping at night because all the bad memories find a way to haunt you like a ghost.
Sometimes, not even the sweater you are wearing is capable of preventing the coldness of the world from seeping in past your many layers and penetrating your flesh.
On one side, you have a friend telling you about her date last night and how magical it was. You want so badly to be happy for her, but you can't help but feel sorry for yourself --- for your inability to find someone willing to put up with your self-consciousness and anxiety.
On the other side, you have another friend chattering happily about her trips to foreign countries with crystal clear beaches and delicious food. You want to indulge in all her wonderful experiences, but find that you are burning with envy. Your own feet have been planted in the same place while everybody else has seen so much more of the world than you ever will.
And all those days spent curled up on your bed, weeping because nothing ever goes your way are all you will ever know.
But nothing is worse than seeing everybody else so happy when it feels like your world is falling apart and crumbling before your very own eyes.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 5:02 PM UTC
We all used to be afraid of owning up to our mistakes. Always finding new excuses to dodge accusations, always shrugging our shoulders when a finger was pointed at us. Because back then, tiptoeing downstairs to steal a cookie from the cookie jar was the most scandalous thing we could do. The adrenaline rushed through our veins as we swiftly climbed up the stairs to our bedrooms without getting caught. Our rebelliousness was short-lived, however, when our mothers re-counted the batch and noticed that a cookie was missing.
But now, our mistakes leave a deeper scar--not only on ourselves, but on others as well. We've learned to manipulate hearts, make excuses for our absence, and keep people waiting in the shadows because of our indecision. But one thing remains the same; we still shrug when being accused.
As children, we felt the need to lie because we were afraid of the consequences that came with
telling the truth. We were selfish and wanted to protect ourselves. But as we get older, we feel the need to lie because we are afraid of hurting somebody else by telling the truth. We are selfless and want to protect others.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
Last summer, you were sporting short shorts, a tank top, flip flops, and a smile so big it took up half your face. You used to frolic about the beach with your best friends, pushing each other around and teasing each other about the boys with tousled hair and dreamy eyes. You were happy then. Your hair wasn't an issue, nobody made remarks about the blackness of your skin, and you got along with everybody.
You heard so much about high school, and were more than excited to push past the doors to your supposed freedom. The first few days weren't too bad, until you realized that you had nobody to giggle and whisper with. All around you were beautiful girls with tan skin and blonde hair--so different from your brown skin and braids. And when you stood beside the girls with dazzling eyes and bright smiles, you couldn't help but feel inferior. When you became aware of their narrow waists and thin legs, you began pinching at your stomach and ******* in--trying to be just like them.
Just last year, you were the most outspoken girl in your whole class. Suddenly, your voice has gotten lost somewhere in your throat. Your anxieties fluctuate, and your stress increases. But you find
comfort in the contents of your fridge and sub-consciously begin eating and eating and eating until you feel satisfied. Here you are, undressed, standing before the mirror, staring at the number that has appeared on the scale in disgust. Nobody will ever love me, you think to yourself, as you point out all your flaws.
Your mother throws dresses your way, but you refuse to wear them. Some girls offer invitations to parties, but you decline. Why? Because you feel too unattractive for anyone. You feel undeserving of any love or inclusivity whatsoever. The old you is gone. Your confidence has evaporated and your self-esteem has disappeared.
It's strange how much someone can change over the course of one year.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
The Bad Kids were the ones your mother warned you about. The kids with messy hair and ***** fingernails as well as thoughts. The ones that rode their bikes with no helmets and looked the other way when their parents called their names. But you couldn't resist, could you? You couldn't stay away from the girls who stuffed their bras and twirled cigarettes in their fingers as if they didn't have coughing fits whenever they exhaled.
They took you under their wing and promised to show you what it really meant to live. You followed, unaware of all the danger you might face. And when the girls with alcohol on their breaths took your hand and led you behind the dumpster to smother you with kisses, not once did you think about your mother's warnings. And when the boys who wore their pants low and kept switchblades in their pockets pressured you into robbing the local convenience store, you felt on top of the world, didn't you?
Everything seemed perfect then. You finally had friends that liked you for you and thought you were 'cool'. Little did you know that all they wanted from you was what you could do for them. They didn't really care about you, no matter how much you tried to convince your mother that they did. When your so-called friends finally realized that you were too good of a kid to be a part of their group, they kicked you to the curb and left you stranded. You spent day after day begging them to take you back, but they stared you down with their cigarettes hanging out of their mouths. Your mother waited for you by the door with her hands on her hips. When you walked in with your head lowered, sporting a torn bandanna and a leather jacket, she chuckled.
"I told you so."
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
Stop scrubbing so hard, your
skin isn't going to get much lighter.
And all those skin-bleaching creams?
I suggest you throw them away.
They are of no use to you.
Your skin is as dark as the
moonless sky, but that doesn't
change the fact that your smile
is as bright as the sun. You
are beautiful, but you don't seem
to realize it.
I see the boys with skin as
pale as milk and eyes as blue
as your Mama's favourite
teacup. I see how they whisper
to each other and chuckle as you walk
by. I see how they follow
you home and tug at your
rough hair, setting free a
flood of slurs. I've seen
you sink to the ground,
bury your face in your hands
and weep.
You try to hang around the
girls with light skin, but they look at
you oddly and tell you
to return to where you came from.
The weeping continues.
You go home and tell your
Mama about the mean kids
at school, but she kisses her teeth
and tells you that she doesn't have
time for your nonsense, maybe you
should stick around your own kind.
Precious girl, walk into your
bathroom and stand
before your mirror.
What do you see?
Find one detail about
yourself that you love, no
matter how long it takes.
You want nothing more
than to be loved, but how can somebody
else love you if you don't even love yourself?
Embrace your darkness, and
be at peace with yourself.
Darling, your skin is black gold,
and one day, somebody will
dig deep enough to discover it.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 10:54 AM UTC
Unrequited love is
what it was.
I was ready to
offer him the
moon, but
he already
had the sun.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
The sailor didn't know
much about the sea. In fact,
he knew nothing at all. But when
his little boy looked up at him with
admiration, how could he speak of
his failure to know his own profession?
With his son propped up on his lap,
he began to tell a tale of the vast seas
and the heavy gusts of wind that were
strong enough to throw a grown man
overboard. And as his boy oohed
and ahed, the sailor felt something
akin to guilty pride.
It's a shame he didn't
listen to his own storytelling, for
one day, it was his turn to be blown
away by the wind and swallowed up
by the sea.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
Ghost towns, ghost towns, everywhere.
Abandoned roads and sidewalks.
Run-down shops filled with invisible
customers, homes with no inhabitants.
Ghost towns, ghost towns, everywhere.
One homeless man roaming
the streets, picking up weeds
that were once blossoming flowers.
Ghost towns, ghost towns, everywhere.
Two lovers slumbering on the road.
No worries, there are no
cars anywhere near.
Ghost towns, ghost towns, everywhere.
Three little girls twirl around, skirts
flying in the powerful wind.
"Ring around the rosie,
a pocket full of posies.."
Their voices grow faint
and suddenly, they are no longer in sight.
Ghost towns, ghost towns, everywhere.
I wake up, and
all of them have disappeared.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
I've built my walls so high
that they had no other option
but to come crashing down.
I used to think I was immune to tears,
but here I am, drowning my sobs
within the sound of the running bathwater.
I must say, I'm a great actress.
All those fake smiles and all that fake laughter.
Nobody would have ever guessed that I was a mess on the inside.
I thought I was stronger than this.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC
I'll never forget the day you stopped speaking.
It has remained in my memory for as long as I can remember.
You were bawling because your throat ached.
Your voice came out in a hoarse whisper one last time before you
never once opened your mouth again.
I sometimes blame myself for your silence.
I've made you angry, upset and miserable
to the point where you lost your voice, or rather
your voice deserted you.
So why don't you hate me?
Why don't you avoid my gaze?
Could there still be love left inside of you?
My dear, don't take any offense to this, but I like it better this way.
Your silence speaks to me in a way your voice never could.
It seems as though we have a better understanding.
There is no more yelling, no more broken glass on the floor,
no more insensitive words.
There is only peace.
Sometimes, the best form of communication is the one that does not require words.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC