I get the word Rejection tossed, as if it scares me!
As if i've never been rejected, as if rejection is new like the new world Christopher discovered… huh oh wait.
As if I’ve never felt it, Seen it, Been a part of it.
Rejection is fear…
Rejection isn't fear if you don't allow it. Rejection can be try again.
Rejection can be that girl or that boy, how about rejection can be that person because it sees no face sees no color
It sees… it sees and it doesn't care
Rejection is all around.
Rejection by others is not as bad as my own rejection.
My own rejection to try, to sing, to dance, to be happy
you see my friend
your rejection is nothing, but motivation
You might whisper it behind my back, but I need you to understand I use to scream it to my face!
You can't!
Don't try!
I hate you!
I want you to die!
You’re so ******* pathetic!
Stop!
Stop!
Stop…
Rejection now to me, means try harder.
Unless you have been told by someone no, then it means chill the **** down and no
Because there is nothing sexier than consent.
Because love is blind…
Now before i get off topic
let me bring it back
But not back to Vegas
But back to me
Because I've been tossed and I've been pushed
And I have pushed and I have shoved
And you see i'm alive
And have survived
So don't use the word rejection and try to bring me fear… because this aint no fear factor
Life just has a funny way of telling you to get back up
So get back up
Now before you try and bring me down bring me down from the one step I took, but only one because you see I am scared…
But not of rejection, but of heights..
3/10/14

A love once
so new so sweet
gone in the night
Once A Lover
Now an innocent victim.

Enters Lust
Like a moth to the flame.

You lay lowly
Waiting
Longing
The moment
To ****** my innocence.
Inject me with your bitter poison.

The moment to ****** my purity.

Once an innocent love
Now a dark obsession.
Once a happy ending
A bitter nightmare.

Once a beautiful love
Now a dark pleasure
Now lust lives.

Once innocence lived
Now fear lives
Hate lives
Obsession lives.

I gave you my heart
You crushed it
I gave you my all
You gave me hell in return.

******* it,
What do you want from me?
I can't breathe
In your presence I am an empty shell.
I am nothing
In your deadly embrace.

You try to tame me
You try to break me.
You try to ****** my innocence

Listen closely,
I can't be tamed sweetheart
You can't break me.
You wont take my innocence from me.

Unlike you I am strong
My armor impenetrable.
Go ahead try and break me
I dare you
You'll lose.

I will not fall
I will not be shaken.
Get the hell out of my face.

Your lies don't belong here.
It's over
There isn't you and I anymore.

Why am I called "white"?
Why am I an absence of color
To be associated with purity
Flawless innocence
A clean slate

Why am I called "white"
When I have the blood of monsters in my veins
There is nothing immaculate about my heritage
Simply from a lack of pigmentation
My hair is braided with the ******* of masses
My eyes see the broken lives of the oppressed
My ears hear the echoes of homelands invaded
And my hands hold the books with the historic lies enclosed

Why am I called "white"
Compared, as if, to the paper
On which my people's crimes could be written
Repeating so frequently with so many new victims
But we are never called to justice
And the cycle remains unbroken
When we are addressed
We stand up from our thrones, screaming
"Unfair, cruel, why attack me?!
I don't understand, what privilege do you see?!"
We act like the victims, fed by the system
And we eat it up with our metaphoric silver spoons

Why am I called "white"
I've been stained from the years of hatred
Perpetuated by a people who claim guiltlessness
Just because they are a newer generation
What was once called subjugation
Is now appropriation
But both are used to deny culture and rights from nations
But I won't sit by and prolong this delusion that we are any better
Any more beautiful then any other one of God's creations

So today you started with the why's, making excuses and reasons as you have every season since I looked at you, but now I see you and you think you can use the glint from that shiny silver tongue to blind me so you can bind me in your arms until I can't breath. And while you seem pretty qualified at splitting hairs and splitting sheets that doesn't mean you'll be splitting legs, not unless you get down on your knees and join this Sunday service, my body is a temple and you will worship it.
     It is not a crime scene to be inspected, not a base to be infiltrated and not fire to be quenched. The masses have called out "Sister art thou there?" and I have replied rising from what remains of my childlike mind saying,"Yey, I am the mosque, come to me and fill me with your joy and celebrations, but only the worthy shall enter my sacred halls and learn my holy obsessions." So don't think you can break me in because I am not something to be broken, not something to be dominated or overtaken in one moment of reckless inspiration.
     I see you shaking. Whether it's in fear or lust or just from the itch of dust forming on your skin from sitting patiently and waiting for the day when I give in, but just like you, it won't come. So whether you are wide eyed or tired eyed you will behold the glory that is within me, the strength that defines me and realize that I am baptized in the dawn of a new day. And you should know that I will not be coerced and as far as I'm concerned if you haven't learned by now that I am not your outlet, not just something to help you come around when your feeling down, your living puppet, then you never will. So you will never fill the gap between my thighs with your lies and turn around and call it love.
     Preach all you want but this choir isn't listening, it will sing to drown out the deafening sound of your screeching, so after hours when my church is closed and your feeling empty and alone just remember that next communion I'll be waiting for your confessions, and then maybe you'll receive my blessings. But before then my doors are closed until you know the difference between impulse and infatuation.
     So until the day when you figure out what you need to do and say, focus on your words, and not the way my bees talk to your birds.

Your smile
never ceases to shine even when
ominous weather clouds
hover above us relentlessly.

Your presence
Is always warm and comforting,
And never do I feel so safe, so protected than
When I am in your arms.

And everyday,
Every single day,
your love for me
makes me whole.

And then I wake up.

And the cold, hard truth
hits me.

I can only dream of you now.
I can only wish
On all my stars
to have you again.

Because the stars
Have hidden themselves away
And your arms
No longer wrap themselves
Around me.
Because your smile
Still shines as brightly,
but it’s no longer for me.
And I know
that when you see me,
all you see
Is this girl who left you
in pieces.

I want to pick up
All the fragments of
you I left behind
and
make you whole again.

To make me whole again.
If only you would let me…

and at this point...
standing in a college library in the middle of an unknown (to you)
city i knew
it was easier to drink alcohol than to say no.
no one actually cares about the years you have survived here.
it's easier to drink here
to **** -fill, i meant fill- my skeleton
with buzzing poison
'cause why not?
and i haven't seen her since december
thank God
less pressure on my ears replaced
by sinus pressures.
but
i read the texts from a boy who was supposed to care about me
and i knew it was over
'parentally he was sober
yet i couldn't tell.



i could be drinking right now,
nineteen in a week,
no worries except i'd be in a corner
my hands shaking, skin breaking, his hands snaking-
and i won't let myself fall
into my own traps.
i am standing up
and leaning against my bedroom wall
head spinning but
i said no,
so many months ago.

I make hellos seem more like drawn out goodbyes and I wave to everyone who is standing still. I walk faster than my feet can carry me and I bathe in acetone to shed off the layers of therapy painted on over the years. I scream whispers of a broken home and wear broken watches to remember what time it was last time I felt alive. I keep sunglasses in my pocket but I can never put them on because the world is too dark for me. I hide feelings inside of mason jars and write "moonshine" on them so people think I know how to have a good time. The mirrors around my house are all cracked from the inside out. The books on the shelves are all tearing themselves away from the spine. Nothing wants to be what it is intended to and no one wants to be who they are when I am around. I stock tears on a shelf that was built by the hands that held me as a baby and by the same hands that have not held each other's in so long. I take long walks in circles and run trails that teeter on the edges of cliffs. I write soliloquies for all the things I should have said and I bite my lip when you come around. My heart skips two beats when you look at me and I wonder why it isn't just the one this time. What makes you different than all the rest of the world, what makes you bring a smile to a man who knows nothing short of despair? I wonder what you will do to me when you leave and I wonder what I will do to myself to try to keep you around. I wonder who else in the world could make my heart sing like this. I remember every other eventual end to a bond that I once called unbreakable. I know the pain of empty bottles and half smoked cigarettes; of broken mirrors and letters burning in the sink. I know the crunch of my knuckles on concrete and my unwillingness to try trusting someone again. I will only ask you to stay if you know what my pain is so that you would never leave me with it again.

We are stronger than our greatest enemy
a fear that we lie alone in bed
We are late night burning candles
waiting for headlights to shine through the window at 2am
We are window gazers during rain storms and puddle splashers when it stops
We are strong like an oak tree and yet you keep pulling splinters out of me
Remnants from a life hidden so far down in my roots that you need an ax and a full bottle of Jack to see what I am made of
We are rain drops collecting in an old mason jar
tear drops falling on cold hands
Lovers caught in the vine of thorns that they call home
Two broken photo frames later with suitcases sitting by the door
there is no liquor that drowns this out
nothing strong enough to help you forget that you are the reason the door still lies open
We are now a discontinued item only existing in photo books you told everyone else you threw away
You are the last item on a shelf full of things that I should have returned
We are forgotten like rain that doesn't fall on an aluminum roof
like the pitter-patter of our footsteps coming home together
now we are no more than whispers to ourselves after midnight

"Nina, why do you always date *****?" questions my best friend in the way that implies an answer is not needed nor wanted in the warm light of his front porch in the car that belongs to me but he offers to drive when my stomach is sick and a new ****-up is laid like fresh paint on my mind.
The question itself spins like a coin in my head that will never lay flat, like a bad autotune job, like a Rube Goldberg that will never halt, like it has too much truth to it.
"Why do you always date *****?"
Because they don't seem like ***** when our eyes meet and the ***** of their smile makes my nose crinkle with an incessant desire to smell the warm scent of their chest as my head lays pillowed on it in the early morning calm before the loud realization of what events transpired the night before, before flashbacks of mixed bodies and sweaty whispers, before he decides he's seen enough of me, devoured his piece of meat, he's not hungry anymore.
When will I be his favorite food? The one he can have for breakfast lunch and dinner and still crave, the one he will always ask for seconds of, the one who is home to him. Every time I meet someone I call all of my friends and swear he's the ever so infamous "one," and every time I fall for the ******* lie that he "will not break me," YOU WILL NOT BREAK ME?! Then why am I shattered, laying in pieces on the cold tile floor, my mind a messy oozing disaster? But maybe my heart has always been just a taped up broken mess since Paula left, maybe when Aaron and Spain and Mitchell came along it was all too easy for them to pull at the poorly tied knotted strings I had sewn into my heart, maybe my soul was just a little too welcoming, maybe my mouth was a little too eager to feel theirs against it. But I can swear that when you "made love to me" it was really just *******, or else why would you take the one piece of me left only to complain after that I hadn't shaved. Well I've shaved every day since, cut bleeding patterns into my mortified anxiety, ripped tears from my eyes before I dare let them fall, and watched you kiss her over and over again. But if you asked me back I'd still say yes, rip the shredded heart from the box I've tended to keep it in and place it back in your hands to wear like a new notch in your belt, a new trophy for your collection.
"Why do you always date *****?"
Because some wretched inner part of my being believes I deserve it.