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Rissa Wallace Dec 2011
It was magical. The starry night, under the trees.
The romance, completely willing.
Each person covering in the I love you's of tomorrow and for the rest of eternity

Or at least thats how it was perceived by their story
Everyone knew what they didn't want them to...they're romantic night was a joke.

Stumbled drunkness, followed by lustful "I love you's" and bad decision making

It was all an accident and it was the beginning of me.

Panicked months followed. Fake happiness. Attempts to destroy and forget the mistake.

New years. They made a vow...a resolution to finally be okay.
And for a while, they even tricked themselves to think that.

It was great...for about a year
then he left
she left a few years later.
World War 3 was at a stand still...but only for a while.

It didn't take much to rekindle the fire.
As they always remember your first drunken love. To love forever with them until the day the universe forces you two to part.

(PSH! Yeah...thats not what they say)

There was crossfire immediately

Flames thrown further than light can travel and the only person being burned...was me.

I wasn't raised by them. I couldn't ever possibly be that angry.
I have loving grandparents that show nothing but affection and support.

BUT GENETICALLY...I was *******.
My outside environment only frustrated my inside environment.

It was like the Wiggles vs. Hannibal Lector.

Surprisingly the end didn't turn out as violently as many imagined.
I was always trying to be "saved" but I never understood what from?
The worse that had come out of the entire situation was I am now.

Granted...I have communication issues I'm a bit too sarcastic and the only was I can say what I really feel is through pen and paper. Sticky notes cover every corner of my room, screaming every obscenity that has ever crossed my mind
I think I'm okay.

I'm successful in most aspects of my life. And it had everything to do with my beginning.

I've heard "I'm sorry" ever since my grandparents came to back to school night in kindergarten.
What for?! How many people do you know that can walk through a valley of fire unscathed?

Honestly, don't be sorry...because after what I've accomplished
the lustful drunken night vs. the romance means nothing.

And who could have been under a tree on a starry night.
Rissa Wallace Dec 2011
She gives me the strength to deal with adversity. She returns to the valley of fire to pull me through, she has been there before, she knows how much it burns. As we exit, we look at each other. Me; beaten, battered and burned. Her; with amazing fortitude, unscathed, resilient. We continue to walk away and I begin to heal.

He is my base, my father figure. He is truly remarkable. Learning on his own how to be a father; his father being unfairly taken from him at the age of nine. He’s always been there to bandage my cuts and stop my tears. He has become a pro by the second generation. He is quiet and keeps to himself. But his smile is magical and his laughter, infectious.

She is my spine. She instilled drive for my success. She gives me confidence to surpass my opponents, but she keeps me grounded. She reminds me of my roots and my reasons; the hurdles I have leaped over and the ones I have yet to face. She believes in me when I don’t believe in myself. When I feel like collapsing, she keeps my back straight, head up, shoulders back, and whispers to me to “keep going”.

He is my first true love. He is my ray of sunshine. With him, I feel a maternal spirit. He is not mine, but for him I would give my life, my goals, my dreams; instantaneously. He will have every goal and every dream he aspires to have. He will have heartache and disappointment, but he will be safe and secure.

She is my liberation. The first time I have been able to let down my walls since birth. She understands me. She gives me relief. Hesitation doesn’t exist. We are one in the same. She is my wingman and I am hers. We are confident in our journey as long as we have each other.

He is my loyal warrior. He gave me his heart and I gave him mine. We protect each other against others; but also harm each other in the process. We have been through rings of fire, making our bond unbounded and unbreakable.

She gives me courage to speak my mind. Undauntedly real. Our friendship is unusual and questioned. It shows its true colors when need be. She has seen me grow and she’s watching me leave. She is unaffected by the sight, but she smiles and it ensures me that she cares and knows everything will be okay; I’ll be just fine.

He is, unknowingly, my discipline, drive, determination. He has set the standard. He doesn’t expect me to reach or surpass his standard, unless I want to. He is supportive in every way. He asks for nothing more than my happiness. I am confident that he will be by my side for every decision I make, and he will not question it; my smile is always worth more.

She gives me the most unique gift; the beauty of an awkward relationship. Shyness and quietness embraces us when we are together. That is our way of communication. It is unquestioned, I love her. Our relationship will blossom more with time. Doors will unlock, stories will surface; the beauty and strength of our relationship will be undoubtedly the most prominent.

They are the reason for my heart break. Never feeling fully accepted, they were the reason for my childhood anger. Our relationship needs work; it is in continuous reconstruction. We finally laugh more and argue less. We are trying to build an impenetrable strength; nothing has yet to slow us down.

He provides me with the most hilarious gift. The gift of subtle manipulation. He has taught me not to fight fire with fire, heat doesn’t respond well with more heat. Use a fire extinguisher. Respond to anger with a smile, let others underestimate you and respond with intelligence. Always keep a smile, people are always watching and waiting for your weakest points, to bring you down more. He refuses to let me fall.

She is my laughter. She exposes the side of me that is barely seen. She knows more about me than I can ever imagine, and she accepts me willingly. She understands that it sometimes feels impossible to smile, but she takes that opportunity as a challenge and always seems to succeed. We promise each other that we will always remember; we’re braver than we believe and stronger than we seem. We promise to keep each other smiling.

He is difficult to analyze. He breathes through music. His music makes the story of his life that many don’t understand. My musical admiration stems from growing up around him. We are nothing alike, but through music, we communicate.

She is the collective reasoning for all of our strengths. She is the base of my base. Her strength is remarkable. Now physically fragile, mentally stronger than all of us combined, it’s unimaginable. Through many trials and tribulations, she is the most triumphant, and the most humble.

He is my comfort and warmth. Climbing on top of me to fall asleep. Our stomachs rising and falling in unison. His head on my heart, listening as if it is his lullaby at night. He loves me unconditionally, always knowing exactly the right time I need him the most. He makes me laugh with his human tendencies. He is the most superlative gift.

Finally, she is my most surprising gift. I didn’t recognize her gift until four years after her death. She gave me the power to admire life as it is, like she did in her very last hours. She taught me not to question the people in your life or why they are there, they’re always there for a reason. In the end it won’t matter what your life means or why certain people are there; all that matters is how many lives you change in the process of just being you.
Rissa Wallace Dec 2011
Tomorrow...Life as I know it will change forever.

I will no longer wake up to my cat beside me.

My mom will never wake me up at 5 AM with vacuuming again.

My family won't randomly jump on my bed to say good morning.

My mom will never run down the stairs to tell me something incredibly stupid that she knows I'd laugh at because I'm easily amused.

No more random "let's go to *****'s" wake up calls. No more let's hang out today from my best friends. Skype will be the only time I actually see their faces for months.

No more driving to see friends just because I need a hug or a friendly smile.

My grandparents are no longer just 45 mins away.

No more berkeley bowl, random morning runs, or swimming adventures.
No more NFL street with my little brother.

No more loudly playing music and dancing like a maniac...because no one really understands that side of me except friends and family.

No more LA Ink with my mom...or laughing at boondocks at midnight.

When I'll finally be alone...instead of me isolating myself.

I'm realizing more than ever that I'll miss my chaotic life. The things that use to **** me off seem silly...I'm over the annoyances.

I love all of you dearly...and will miss you.

Its time to close my bedroom door for the final time...and accept that I'll only be a visitor when I return.

New life to obstacles to tackle...

Finally time to accept that the only constant in life is change...and of course the people that help me do so :)

Once you all.

The college student,
Rissa Wallace Dec 2011
And then we are called *****’s
and feel like that is so much better.
As if it’s not the same derogatory word
now its just more “sophisticated.”
Used in lyric like it’s the only word that rhymes with everything.
Since its 2010 you think we are not like Emmett Till, but we are.
The only difference is we shoot our own guns and one by one we make our own selves obsolete.
The “N” word flowing out of the mouths of our newer generations as if it’s the government given name stamped on every black persons’ birth certificate.
Like there was never a revolution
Like there was never a fight to bring us up to what is seemingly equal to everyone else.
You are what brings us down again.
Hearing the yells of one black man to another in conversation “can a ***** get…”
(insert a stereotypical ending here)
No a ***** can’t get nothin’. That is what has been repeatedly told to the race as a whole.
Burned into our minds like the branding of a cow.
Each time the “N” word is uttered out of another’s mouth its like a gravitational pull that scientist have yet to discover.
More powerful than any black hole.
Like ***** in a barrel. We strive to keep the others at our level.
Ask Fredrick Douglas, it’s his expertise…
As he was one of the original ****** Breakers; we have multiplied the frequency and have unknowingly become professionals at something we never strived to be.
The “N” word flows out of our mouths and through the air like the historical dance it took to get us here.
The dance we have long forgotten but our bodies seem to react the same way whenever an Anglo-Saxon uses our coveted word.
Like it wasn’t the word they yelled as they made permanent welts on our backs that would last generations
Like it wasn’t what they yelled at us to strip away every individualistic quality
They referred to us as if we were herds
Like it wasn’t their term to begin with. We should let them have it.
We are like the modern generations of our ancestral princes and princesses of Africa.
As powerful as they once were, we have mastered fields that others wish they had a chance to accomplish in.
We were built to overcome any obstacle.Other than the obstacle of getting out of our own way.
It is no longer like the underground railroad.
There are no hounds chasing us through the waters.
****** should no longer be the tether that holds us down
We have the ability to soar like a majestic bird that shall always remain unnamed.
As “*****’s” we are nothing. As African American’s we are an impenetrable strength.
Rissa Wallace Dec 2011
IM SICK AND TIRED of you thinking that the only thing I do on a daily basis is get up drag my feet to go and eat my cocoa puffs, sit back, max and relax, watch cartoons and reminisce about 8 tracks.
NAH **** THAT!
Because it doesnt matter to you that I’ve proven how intelligent I am,
you still think my skin is a sham and I’m supposed to be in the back of a classroom hardly able to read and write my name because thats how the
“good” ones have been tamed.
But the lights are dim back there because the brighter students get the brighter lights in the front row chairs.
My hand is raised the entire hour and 15 minutes but you never even attempt to stutter my name.
Because what I say is not your reality.
As far as you are concerned it is incorrect. I have tourettes with absolutely no regrets as to what I say,
but I’ll make **** sure that you know the truth.
I get my paper back and it says “plagiarized”...
now what the **** makes you think that?
Because I can use words that have more than 3 syllables and form a sentence in your vernacular this is syntactically more capable than anything that your low IQ has ever been able to form easily?
I apologize.
For not being politically ignorant
ebonically incorrect
and generally not being dumb enough for you to laugh and point to call me ******.

Please, Slim Shady...sit the **** down...this is grown up talk now.
Realize. The colonizer knows not of his privilege because he blindly walks with it.
While we, I mean me, walk very knowingly with shackles and chains with your name, that speak she has not yet been tamed with every jingle, and threatening step that I take toward the invasion of your future.

I’ve taken all your required high school courses
******* Pretentiousness English 3 and 4.
And my score means absolutely nothing, despite the fact that it is higher than your front row chairs that stare and nod robotically, because they are afraid to question your ability.
Understand...your PhD means jackshit to me.

Don’t hurt yourself in trying to comprehend.
You’d probably go insane but lets not try to think about that.
Lets get back to your wack *** philosophy that I because I don’t speak in the proper vernacular I don’t know nothin’.
Like the fact that what I just said is a double negative. But see its funny, because when I use ebonics and incorporate double negatives to illustrate a point, I’m ignorant.
And yet Mark Twain is a literary genius for doing the exact same thing.

Would it change if I said that Mark Twain was black?
But I wouldn’t do that.

It would set me up for an attack and you’d try to have these literary comebacks and I’d have to smack....
some knowledge on you.
That your Twain, got his twang from being in the main presence of we. And yes I mean we. As in people like me, and Talib Kweli. Or to date back in history Phillis Wheatley, who messed with you psychologically, but you thought she was too stupid and you are too naive to see that she was an O.G.
The true original gangster.

There are too many -e’s
but they are necessary to eeeeeeevoke,
no elicit the response your failing to recognize that your ties to 21st century humanity are short
and slowly splintering away.

You missed those entire 3 pages in your history textbooks when it said that
BLACK doesn’t make any less of a person.
BLACK is a crayon color.
And BLACK doesn’t even exist in skin color...we are brown.
That was another thing your genius colorblind mind refused to recognize.

I am stamping “plagiarized” on every Mark Twain book ever written because our swag was stolen!
In 1492 Columbus sailed to ocean blue
to give us diseases and call us illiterate savages.
Thats not very nice...better table manners would be appreciated. (And we’re the savages)

use it as a book mark. Those history books are screaming your name, its time to answer your call.
Come back to me when you realize that I am intelligent and hold the key to all that is not  a rainbow
or unicorn and fairy princesses.
We all live in reality that your bright lights and shiny piece of paper is blocking you from seeing.
Come to the back where the lights are dim,
and your dissed on a whim,
but it helps you realize that just maybe...
your life is plagiarized.

— The End —