Sundays are for writing.
When the excitement of the weekend’s dance has come and gone.
When the laughs and tears and smiles have all been spent and done.
The truth still lingers.
It lies in wait for you to notice it.
“write me down, take note of me,”
it begs and pleads you desperately.
It partners up with happiness and creativity.
The inspirations come flooding in from left and right and down below. With no distractions to bother me, I’ll never tell them no.
My mind is lighting up and racing round at such a speed,
but really,
I’ve most likely smoked a little too much ****
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 1:12 AM UTC
Don’t cry my love
I know that it hurts
Just a little bit longer, I promise it’ll be okay
Remember the times, just months ago when you had never thought so much happiness was possible?
It will come back
The happiness always comes back
And when it returns you’ll say “hey there, old friend. It’s so nice of you to show up here again.”
Then you’ll smile and you’ll laugh and you might even cry
Because absence makes the heart grow fonder
And fonder it shall grow
For next time it leaves, remember these words
Read them over and over until your love returns
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
The friendships will be the sunshine
Whether they are the ones just for fun
Or the ones that stick around when you need them most
All of these are forms of love, and they will nurture you
The hurt is the rain
It pours and pours and it seems like it’ll never end
And oh how it’s cold
But I promise it’s good for you
It won’t be until you’ve blossomed that you realize you needed it
Your family is your soil
Your mother who loves you with every breath she takes
Those connected to you through blood and soul
Loving you unconditionally, the only way they know how
And you my love, you were the seed
Through pain and love you have grown and will grow
You are the most stunning of flowers
And everything with eyes will stop to admire you
For if they don’t, they are simply fools
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 12:56 AM UTC
My heart is not a tourist location
My skin is not a beach for you to swim in, and then leave when you decided you wanted to be in the mountains instead
My lips are not a rest stop for you to take as many kisses as you’d like for the long road ahead
My eyes are not for you to bask in if you do not plan on getting used to their warm glow
I am a home
I am filled with love and light
I have room and space for a beautiful, loving family
With spare room for guests on occasion
I am worthy of a lifetime of happiness
All you have to do is stay
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 10:56 PM UTC
"What are you?" he asks. "I mean what are you mixed with?"
He does not mean for the question to be rude. He has never seen someone quite like me, and the question has been bouncing around in his head for at least 2 minutes. So he blurts it out.
"Jamaican, Chinese, and White," I tell the stranger. I smile politely and attempt to mask my discomfort.
He only looks more intrigued. He thinks I am odd, oddly beautiful. Like a rare bird he has found. Not a bird one would ever keep. Just something to look at in awe.
"What are you?" the test paper asks, though in a more formal way. "Please bubble your ethnicity." I hesitate. I think about bubbling 3 different races, but I just end up filling in the bubble that says "other".
"What are you?" I ask my mirror. "Are you a freak? Why don't you look like everyone else? Why do they stare at you?"
"You are not pretty," i tell my reflection. "You are just different. The kind of different that no one likes. The kind of different that scares and intimidates people."
My reflection pauses for a moment. She smiles with kind eyes, forgiving my insult.
"You are everything," she tells me. "You are the sun, the moon and everything in between. You are a scorching hot fire, yet you are cold spring water. You are good and bad. You are you and I am, too. But most of all, you are human. Just like anyone else.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
Those shorts are too short, my mother would tell me. They might give people the wrong impression. Those yoga pants are too revealing, they might give boys the wrong impression. Put make up on, but not too much. Because then they'd get the wrong impression. But what impression would that be? That women in America can wear as they please? That clothes don't determine consent maybe? That no one has the right to lay a finger on me? That whatever i wear and however i look are not your concern so I DON'T GIVE A **** You can take your impressions and best of luck but my body is mine, you don't like it? That *****
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC