I take pride in my roots
I take pride in my melanin
And my ancestors
All those who have persevered
To get me to where I am today.
I take pride en mi pelo rizo
Gracias a Dios..

I carry my culture in my curls to
The poetry that runs through my
Veins
rushing
pulsing
sweat on the furrow of thy lip
beading
ache of the toil in their fieldwork
sweet
azucar negra
my ancestors blood was sweeter
they still don’t want us here
but some things never change
but we are able
and no beautiful ignorant person
Will ever take that away.

If I were a man, I'd be free,
To ask a woman out for coffee.
But I'm a woman, I have to play coy,
And let the fieldwork be done by the boy.

I have to wait for him to make a move,
And only show that I approve.
I have to bat my lashes and display a pout,
And behave like a human sized trout.

When he leans for a kiss, I'll have to push him away,
And blushingly say "not today"
As a woman, society wants me to behave in a way,
To be demure, dignified and flirt in a womanly way.

But you know what, let society go for a toss,
This woman here, is her own boss,
I'm going to be direct and forward,
And if that scares you, move along coward.

I’m not going to sit around and wait,
I'll be the one who'll ask you for a date,
I know I know, guys love the chase,
But hey, I'm not a car, this is not a race!

God knows when you'll overcome your cold feet,
So I'll be direct and very indiscreet,
So if you like me, and I get the hunch,
I’ll ask you out to dinner or lunch.

I have no time to waste in decoding your hints,
Deciphering your mind, your glances and squints,
I'm not Robert Langdon, this is not a Dan brown book,
So when you give me that interested look,
I'm not going to ponder and over analyse,
The mystery behind the movement in your eyes.

And if you happen to reject me and say no,
I promise to take it in my stride,
Because I don't involve my ego,
And let indecisive men hurt my pride,
I am free spirited and emancipated,
And do not particularly care if that makes you feel emasculated.

Sometimes I think back to the time we spent at school.

Hard plastic chairs, short desks and shorter attention spans.

We were children:

Indoctrinated with dreams of quiet homes and large offices. Of fieldwork, pride and gold-gilt fame.

We said that we would be doctors, lawyers, scientists, astronauts.

Never-mind the adult's delighted laughs! We reveled in mirth and wonder.

Now we say that we would be seeing doctors.
Needing lawyers.
Blood-shot eyes scanning tabloids that preached SCIENCE as if it were medieval magic. No, brother, correlation ain't causation.

How wonderful would it be to someday see humanity dance among the cosmos? Weaving between invisible holes cut into the pitch vastness of space.

Now we accept our jobs with a grimace and a sigh.
Uncomfortable as they may be, we've got bills to pay and loans to ignore.

We're all waiting for something to come after.

After puberty. After degrees of debt. After—

After we aged. Fragile from years of effort.
Snapping our backs to the rhythm of our daily commute.

I don't know what comes after, brother.

But I sure as hell didn't sign up for this.

I’m writing an essay
on purging variables. It involves some fieldwork:
today I’m going try porridge. Yesterday I tried soup and cucumber slices.
Hypothesis: If I use a 2:1 fluid to oats ratio, it’ll be so ******* easy that
it will barely qualify as
self-induced regurgitation!
Result: self-hatred, an electrolyte imbalance, a ******* sore throat and
two hours of my life that
I will never get back.

(Once, I really wanted to purge an ice cream cone. Instead
I was staring back at
bits of a cheese toastie and salad, which I’d
had before
the cone.
****’s sake.
Bodies are weird!
Or maybe
the data I’ve been gathering on this
pro-ana forum is unreliable? Citation needed.)

I’ve got a presentation tomorrow
on calorie deficits.
If you want to have 35g porridge oats and 45g banana for breakfast
then you must make it with 120ml water and 80ml almond milk!
Or you could
skip the banana entirely and
Have 45g oats with
a drizzle of honey.

It’s as simple as that!
This or that—
If P then Q
A scientific practicality!

A logical fallacy
eroding my sanity.

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BEYOND CROSSING LANE : TECHNIQUE ' TRAIL' TONGUE

COUCH ALLENS
Mar 8
to Daniel
Beyond Crossing Lane :

Technique ‘Trail’-Tongue

Spiritual razor cope-chat blaze maxima known

Rushcutters…’ Bale’s system of categories camp the rewritten

Approaching subjects to mindset…’ Commonwealth among many of undertaking  sacral privileges, possible to cover every technique and popular tendency to typing ‘anatomy of human psyche like the acknowledgement, spirit rings manuscript, startup for certain specific advisory patterns, great deal to the early nature man’s improvement  view gainful occupation of answerable to the original mechanism helping creations own fieldwork Or through the marrying vision interests and knowledgeable acquaintance, dressers cord of imaginary adolescence indices historical supervision of corporate  ‘body-bearer’ breadth inclusive, role of wife-mother places infinity, frontier individual bases continually occur, making generalizations vast of riding *****.

Recognition of the importance, employment self-security benefits,

Kept recipients non-vulnerable, populate populace of Creators Co-inhibits/ Bashful preferrals ‘Larger-Stream’…Lets Induction…Gaiety Rehearsal Foresights‘Product’-Alliance Rehabilitation Hypotheses.



RETICENCE  ZOE-POTENCY

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