"semester" poems
Who Am I?
Well,
I must be
that ******
the one
in the black hoodie
***** sweatpants
and an uncombed eye,
that's always wooly
scratchy,
bloodshot
with searching for
my stash spot,
that ******
in your peripherals
that you keep your eye on
because he's
not
in a polo
looking nice,
talking
"well-spoken"
and
not
a threat
to your beautiful
lily-white daughter.
Because I grew up
fixing myself
ramen noodles
and
lifting the welcome mat
after school,
I must also be
that ******
whose father wasn't
in the same house
until he was age 13,
and when I tell you that,
you weren't expecting it
because "you're not a racist."
but
you weren't surprised.
You see,
I must be
that ******
a stand-in
for all other *******
I must be that ******
who represents
all *******
not because you are racist,
but because I'm the only
******
you've met
who doesn't talk like
dis, y'know whatmsayin,
and i talk like
this, do you know what I'm saying?
I must be that ******
In order for you
to feel okay
being around me
I must be that ******
who goes to college
does the right
thing
the white thing
and gets a job
a nice little house,
a nice black wife
with a nice
new england
clear
dialect,
(what I was
trying to get at
earlier
is that ****** dialects,
by their mere intonation,
denote stupidity,
right?)
and doesn't say a word
when his white friends
make ****** jokes
or talk in a ****** dialect
mocking some Aunt Jemima
they heard at Walmart.
But,
I also must be that ******
who doesn't step out of line
and say
"WHY IS IT
THAT IN EVERY SINGLE
ENGLISH CLASS
WE READ
ONLY
TWO
BLACK AUTHORS
A SEMESTER,
AND THAT'S
ENOUGH,
JUST ENOUGH
TO KEEP THE
****** PARENTS
HAPPY."
And If I happen to be a ******
I,
by all means,
must not be that ******
who had a white girlfriend,
and
this girlfriend
after dating
a ******
tried to date a white guy
she liked,
and when she told him
that she had dated,
loved,
and yes,
******
a ******
he had said back:
"I can't believe
you ****** a ******
Then again,
I must be that ******
with the big swinging ****
able to destroy
a white girl's ******
with its pulverizing
power.
And,
please,
If I am going to be a ******
don't be the one
who writes a poem
about
having to be
that ******
because those
kinds of *******
are being
over-sensitive,
those dashiki-wearing-motherfuckers
who think
"Da white man dis."
and "Da white man dat."
Because
I am not one of those *******
descended from the first people on earth,
your brother,
not in the ****** way,
but the familial,
species way.
Why am I even writing
this, ****** isn't a main operative
word anymore.
Search and find ******
and
replace with
"Black Guy." That way it becomes
a joke.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 7:22 AM UTC
I cried at the breakfast table this morning
my father carefully explained,
"wives must be submissive to their husbands"
"housecleaning is the domain of the woman"
"God created woman because man asked for a partner"
This past semester I wrote two papers
One, a fire and brimstone sermon
I quoted Anais Nin
sending the creators of sexist commercials to eternal suffering
**** them!" I said. "May they burn in hell."
For the women they portrayed were doormats
Misconceptions
Monsters
The other, the role of women in the 1920s,
No longer confined to the kitchen
they dropped ballots with their new freedom
they wore short dresses and short tresses
fingers wrapped around cigs
they quoted Wilde instead of Alcott
they danced until their feet hurt
I read of Anais Nin's "new woman,"
her partnership, not submission to man,
I craved a room of my own, neigh demanded it
For sheep stayed in the kitchen,
The Woolf had a study.
I read poetry
Sexton,
Plath,
I wept for their starved, depressed selves
caged, suffocating inside the clasped hands of a man.
Loved like rib-cage jails.
Adrienne Rich made me angry,
her daughter-in-law
forever trying to fit into a box
she was always too big for, spilling
at the edges, her shaved
legs like "white mammoth tusks"
I was finally
happy with my womanhood.
****** ****** ***** ********
they are mine.
******* free to move unrestrained,
jiggling under my shirt.
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
they are mine.
mine.
I am not ashamed of what I am
because there is no shame.
I am woman,
I am girl,
I am lady.
I am a creature
with a voice
a mind.
a creature who endured much abuse,
continue to endure.
I am woman
and I don't have to be wife or mother
unless I want to be.
I was not created for man;
I was created for the same reason he was,
to serve the same great purpose on this tiny blue dot.
I am not rib.
I am ****** ****** ***** ********
******* free, unrestrained,
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
I am a per.
I am a wo.
I am a hu.
Man and son need to back down,
collaborate not dominate,
speak not command,
for when less are forced into silence,
the maddening scream
hidden inside skin and bones and muscle-meat
becomes song.
this world of car horns and tire screeches
crying and wailing from raw throats
angry protests of indignation
could use a little music.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
As the semester closes,
Exams are stressing our minds.
To help us relax and not stress(as much),
let us pray to the 12 Olympians.
To Athena, grant us the wisdom required.
To Apollo, let our knowledge shine brighter than before.
To Zeus, help our marks swore to the skies.
To Poseidon, don't let our grades fall deep into the seas.
To Demeter, let us take our exam naturally.
To Ares, that we win the *Exam war without* bloodshed.
To Aphrodite, gives us the marks we desire.
To Hephaestus, help us forge perfect study notes.
To Artemis, may our heads be a full moon.
To Dionysus, let our freedom be sweeter than your grapes.
And to Hera ... ... please don't turn me into a peacock for not having a pun for you.
Best of luck to all, may the Olympians help us get through our exams
And may the odds be ever in your favour.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
To the people who think education majors have it easy,
Nothing, and I truly mean nothing, gets under my skin more than people who have the same mindset as you.
People like you think that my 3.8 GPA isn’t as worthy as someone else’s in a different major.
People like you think education majors can’t possibly be as stressful as other majors.
People like you think that my 40-page unit plan doesn’t even begin to compare to your 40-page report.
People like you think that teaching is easy.
it's ********
I’m not going to sit here and go into detail about all of the difficult assignments I’ve had over the past four years as a middle school math major because frankly you’re just not worth my time. Also, because that would mean that I have something to prove to you, and I don’t. You can’t begin to judge a major until you have sat in on their classes, done their assignments, took their tests, etc. So, for you to judge my major based solely on the fact that I’m teaching children makes you arrogant and ignorant.
Imagine the excitement you feel when you get an A on an exam you spent days studying for. Now imagine that same excitement being stripped away from you in a second because someone tells you that your major is easy and that that’s the reason you got such a good grade.
Imagine working your **** off to earn Dean’s List every semester you’ve been at school, for someone to turn around and tell you that the only reason you’ve achieved that is because of your easy major.
It’s hurtful.
I chose to become a teacher because I want to take part in shaping children’s minds. I want to take part in making students grow up enjoying math. I want to take part in making learning fun.
I don’t think that is something I’ll ever regret, no matter how many times you try to bring me down.
Please just focus on your own major. Focus on your own difficult assignments, your own difficult tests, and your own difficult projects, that way you can truly strive for success.
And I’ll still be here, an education major, cheering you on.
Sincerely,
A future teacher.
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC
Semester Exam
Fluorescents flicker and fall upon bowed heads
And printed letter-paper, organized
By title, paragraph, number, and line,
Interrogations set in Bookman Old Style
And then words fall, flung bravely to each sheet
As desperate, inky thoughts flailing for breath
While to battered be by split infinitives
Demanding an A, praying for a prom date.
The paper's a mess, one’s mind is in shreds
Fluorescents flicker and fall upon bowed heads
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 1:55 PM UTC
It was 3 PM on a Tuesday
in the summer, just before
my first semester of college.
I went out on a whim and
bought a cheetah print lava
lamp for forty six dollars
at some stand in the mall,
despite you persistently
advising me not to
waste money on
"insignificant ****
The next day it rained
from 7 AM until 5 PM
and I forced you to lie
in bed with me all day,
with the curtains drawn
& the lights out.
I wanted us to observe
the weird, red
shapes forming
inside my new cheetah
print lava lamp...
Something about it
captivated me.
I never had one as a kid,
And you just sat there
holding my hand for
fifty eight minutes before
I whispered, "did you see
how pretty that one was?"
You laughed gently
and shifted your eyes
toward my dresser,
at which point
I realized
that was the very first time
you looked away from me
since we had laid down
And
with that thought,
the butterflies
woke so chaotically,
I thought I'd never
catch my breath
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
I will take this. I have to.
Even if it breaks me.
Even if it breaks me into a million pieces that nobody can put together again.
And it has.
It has broken me into so many fragmented pieces; I’m now what they refer to as
“damaged goods”
Something so traumatic, I’ll never be normal again.
Normal is a thing of the past.
This is what’s happening now.
Broken pieces.
Everywhere.
Every time I fix a piece, another breaks. I feel like I’m holding myself together with tape and glue and it’s not going to be enough. I don’t know what else to say, but it’s too much and it's not enough. All at the same time.
It’s like screaming without a voice.
They said there’d be waves.
They essentially promised.
They said that these waves of sadness would come and go. That happiness would slowly seep back in.
Weaving its way into the oscillating patterns of a heavy heart.
But there haven’t been any waves.
They were wrong.
Instead the pain is dull. It is constant.
But most of all, it’s there. It's there all the time.
The constant part is the worst. The only thing I could relate it to is fire.
It’s like somebody running through a fire has it easier. Sure they’ll get burned but the point is that they get to run through.
They get out.
This though? This is like getting caught in the fire and not making it through. This is like a permanent residency in my own personal hell and at some point I really need the fire to be put out; the pain to stop.
It has to. There’s only so much a girl can take. It’s like somebody has their dark hand engulfing my heart and they’re squeezing it every day and no matter how I plead, they’re refusing to let go.
It’s the greatest sadness I have ever known and it is depleting me emotionally and physically.
I. Am. Too. Weak.
Everybody keeps saying how strong I am. They have no idea. It’s like I’m the world’s greatest actress and I’ve fooled them all. All they see is somebody taking bad news well.
But nobody takes their entire earth shattering “well”.
And my earth has shattered. The death of my brother at the age of 21 has shattered me.
There’s not one thing I wouldn’t give to go back and hug him just a little longer at the airport three days before he died. It was just supposed to be his last semester at college. Not the end of a life time.
There are too many broken pieces. The jagged edges cut my hands. I can’t pick them up.
And so now all I can do is pray. With my forehead to the ground and my faith in God I will pray. Pray the pain away in hopes that one day, the happiness is real. And the tears stop.
In hopes that one day, I can go on without him.
So I’ll pray.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
A semester of struggle,
Torture and fear,
The grades are in,
Their finally here.
Relationships on hold,
as we prance around,
try to salvage,
what we let down.
Kids will do anything,
just to pass the quota,
Except for me,
I just play Dota.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC
These golden sunglasses
Appeared on my doorstep
The last day of
The spring semester,
Sitting in a plastic pumpkin.
They weren’t mine
But when they break
I get them fixed
And when they don’t sit straight
I keep them
Because they remind me
Of how finals were over
And I slept through so many goodbyes.
The night before
We lay in your room
Sounds flowing through us like
Waves in the ocean,
Then moved to the grass outside
Watching more shooting stars than I could count.
The wood by the dorms was dark
And we ventured in in fits and starts,
The shadows of authority figures
Dancing around us.
The gazebo was silent.
And we journeyed across campus,
A pilgrimage through abandoned constructions
To see the church alight in the dark,
But the power was out and it was nothing.
I woke up in the afternoon
And knew that spring wouldn’t be back
For us.
The sunglasses weren’t mine
But someone left them at my door
And I keep them.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
She calls me up in front of the class,
I think to myself "I better pass"
She says "Oh that friend of yours, is she in my class next semester?"
I cough and say "Oh yes you are still her professor",
She asks if I have ever encouraged her to take this university math course,
"Of course" with the voice I try to force,
Force out the words I can not utter,
She says "What?" and I say "Did I stutter?"
"I also told her I'm getting a 51 in this-"
"It's cause you never work" she said with a hiss
"Miss I've done all the work, I just hate math"
This is the part where my she unleashed her wrath,
"So you aren't taking math next year I see"
I try and explain "Math isn't for me"
"Try Data Management next semester, it might work out?" she tries to suggest
"Not with you as my teacher again.." with her *hard *** ******* tests*,
Each class I am passing with straight 90's but this course has no interest of mine,
And for your information without math I will be JUST FINE.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
I hate it when people think suffering is wrong. Learn to pick up your **** suffering, and bear it! Try to be a good person so you don't make it worse! I know you have a lot of reasons to be resentful about school, heck, even your existence! We know it's going to involve a lot of pain, and lots of it is going to be unfair! But acting out everything you're complaining about will only make things infinitely worse, try it. That's why we have the saying that hell is a bottomless pit, because some stupid son of a ***** could figure out a way to make it a lot worse. Learn to accept it! This is what the real world looks like, full of suffering. What can you do about it? Try reducing it! Start with yourself! Get your **** together solidly so that people can rely on you! Square up with what's wrong with you, you know it if you'll admit it. You know that there are a few things you can polish up a bit, deal with it and maybe you can start managing your present insufficient condition. Don't be a **** victim. Shine yourself up a bit so your eyes will be a little bit more open, shine it some more and maybe you might be able to bring your family together instead of having to be that spiteful, neurotic room mate that you're doomed to spend the whole semester with. Be humble about your deficiencies. Figure out how you can make peace with your siblings. You'll get there somehow, and when your life starts functioning you'll find out, "Well, that kind of relieved a little bit of suffering," at least that reduced the opportunities for spiteful revenge. When you little by little start to get your **** together, you'll get acquainted with it because you're doing something difficult. You're wiser, so maybe you could point out a tentative finger out there beyond your family and try to change some little thing without wrecking it. We students are so conditioned to think that we can just fix anything, even something as complex as our society. Well, try to fix a military helicopter and see how far you get with it. You can't just whack it with a wrench and be like "Oh look, it's better!" NO! Life is complicated and to fix things are hard! We overcome suffering by being a better person, that's how you do it! It's hard because it takes responsibility. If you want a meaningful life everything you do matters! Unless you don't want meaning and not take responsibility, because who the **** cares? You can wander through life doing whatever your want! Gratifying your short term impulses for who knows how short it's going to be. Ask yourself if you want to get stuck in meaninglessness, but no responsibility. You'd quickly realize how the majority of your being are pursuing meaningless things. Because the fact is, pursuing meaningful things means taking on suffering. You have to put yourself together in the face of that, and that's hard! When you really get to the bottom of things, you'll realize that you need to make the choice to put yourself together. Transcend your suffering and see if you can be some kind of hero. Be that person who'll make the suffering in the world less. That's the way forward.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
This morning we jogged early
I was back in my flat by six-thirty
From my tenth floor view of the Charles River basin,
The morning was incandescently flushed by the peach-colored sun.
The transparent clouds seemed stylistically stained, artfully workshopped, which offered a softened, Tiffany glass effect wholly worthy of worship.
I can’t stop to admire it. I’m jamming things into suitcases.
Cramming things into boxes, giving things away.
I had a second interview Monday afternoon, for Johns Hopkins med school. They put the question to me:
“The semester starts in 18 days - can you do that?”
“Yes,” I replied, and just like that, I'm a Blue Jay.
Of course, I had to withdraw from the masters program but Harvard gave me a full (95K) refund - I think they’re more excited about my med school admission than I am.
I’m not afraid of discordant notes.
They change the landscape.
Take us to new emotional places.
Any major work is going to have them.
.
.
A song for this:
Hang on Little Tomato by Pink Martini
It's Amazing by Jem
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 12:45 AM UTC
Please don’t study for 21 hours and sleep only for 3,
Please don’t worry yourself into a panic about deadlines,
Please don’t lose yourself while worrying about the whole **** world,
Please don’t.
Pamper yourself, get that bubble bath,
Go buy a pint of ice-cream and watch that thing you like,
Block people who are negative, put photos up of your friends,
Self-care is important.
- Me, learning after a semester of breakdowns and lost hope.
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
Every Tuesday night
From January to April
The highlight of my night
Was a chocolate croissant.
I would sit and listen
To theories and methods,
Literature and research,
And on break I would have one.
I would order it each night
With salivating anticipation.
As I handed over my money
They put it in the oven.
And each night
They would call out
"Chocolate croissant?"
And I would grab the bag.
I would devour that morsel
With joy and elation,
And as I felt it go down
My chest would warm -
Not only from
The warm croissant,
But also from the joy
Warming my heart.
It was the best part
Of those horrible evenings
Of literature and research
Theory and methods.
Sometimes,
If I was feeling spicy,
I would get two -
One on each break...
And sometimes
On Thursdays
I would get two more
For History and PR.
Yes,
Those chocolate croissants
Got me through
My last semester of college.
When I was feeling stressed,
Or feeling down
From the subject matter,
I would eat one,
And I would feel better.
And I bet
As you are reading this
You want one.
Do yourself a favor,
Go buy yourself
A chocolate croissant -
And enjoy it.
Let it help you escape
From your worries
And your cares
For about 90 seconds
As you devour that
Delicious pastry.
And let it warm your chest
With chocolate and joy.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 12:56 AM UTC
I came to study the magical arts
But these troublesome three students
Hermione, Ron and harry,
Last semester those three students
Killed our defence against the dark arts teacher
I guess if he didn't stand against three kids,
How would he survive against the real dark arts,
Now this semester they're up to their shenanigans again
I wish I could just Wingardium Leviosa them off a cliff
But if I do that
Or even if I fail my grade this semester
My parents will probably Avada Kedavra me.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 10:38 PM UTC
i met him in 1989 in a study hall class
and haven't forgotten him since.
a month ago,
i found out he had died in 2014.
the girls liked him
he'de tell me what was playing on his walkman
so i listened, learned, put a penny in an envelope
and mailed it off to columbia house
some weeks later i received my 12 cassette tapes.
i quit eating and got creative with eyeliner.
i memorized a lot of cure lyrics and went to study hall
prepared.
the semester ended and we weren't in the same
study hall class anymore. he ended up transferring to another school.
but i still had hope.
i had memorized so many lyrics.
i had gotten my hair cut into an inverted bob
and learned how to dye it black.
it felt like anything was possible
and it felt so good.
the next year
i transfered to the other school, but he wasn't there anymore.
the year after that
i transfered to an even worse school
he was there
finally.
soon after that,
emily became his girlfriend
one day, i ran into them at the park and ride
as i was getting off the bus
we spent the night on the sidewalk
outside of emily's dad's house.
none of us were allowed to go inside,
not even emily.
but emily managed to sneak inside
and stole a jug of homemade alcohol,
which we did not call moonshine.
emily fell asleep with her head in his lap
while we talked, smoked three packs of cigarettes (all mine), and drank the homemade alcohol that her dad had made.
emily wanted to be a fashion designer.
he really believed in emily and her drawings.
the sun came up
and i caught a bus home.
we both ended up
dropping out of highschool.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 8:05 AM UTC
dragging forth a smile
i stand before the storm
of teenage angst
set down on worn carpet
we are in the eye
at rest, becalmed
but just for now
soon the winds
will blow and crack
and the seas
will roil and seethe
and from the mouth
all things vile will
spout and spew
and I and my albatross
will rue, having awakened
but I will smile
even as the albatross
whimpers and hides
for my smile
is my defence
against
this incoming
kingtide
of hormonal soap opera
that is this class
of seveteen teenage
pains in my ****
this farce of bed hopping
and sloppy breakups
followed by anguish
and x rated make ups
all played out before me
like reality tv
and I and the albatross
smile and stand
thinking ....
one more semester
then
I am gone from this land.....
My albatross and I ... can take to the sea
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
It's Like, I don't care about nothin man...
sigh
I was gonna clean my room, but I'm too depressed...
I was gonna get up and find the broom but I'm such a mess...
my room is still messed up and I know why
why man?
because I'm depressed
because I'm depressed
because I'm depressed...
sigh
I was gonna go to class but I'm so depressed...
I coulda cheated and I coulda passed but I'm such a mess.
I am taking it next semester and I know why,
why man?
because I'm depressed
because I'm depressed
because I'm depressed...
sigh
I was gonna go to work but I'm too depressed
I just got a new promotion but I'm such a mess
now I've got a rope and I know why
why man?
because I'm depressed
because I'm depressed
because I'm depressed...
sigh
I was gonna go to court but I'm so depressed
I was gonna pay my child support but I'm such a mess
they took my whole paycheck and I know why
why man?
because I'm depressed
because I'm depressed
because I'm depressed...
sigh
I was gonna make love to you but I'm too depressed
I was gonna eat yo ***** too but I'm such a mess
now I'm jacking off and I know why,
why man?
because I'm depressed
because I'm depressed
because I'm depressed...
sigh
I messed up my entire life because I'm depressed
I lost my kids and wife because I'm depressed
now I'm sleeping on the sidewalk and I know why
why man?
because I'm depressed
because I'm depressed
because I'm depressed...
sigh
I'm gonna stop singing this song because I'm depressed
I'm singing this whole thing wrong because I'm depressed
and if I dont sell one copy I know why
why man?
cause after this verse
I'll be in a hearse
cause I'm so depressed...
sigh
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 9:19 PM UTC
I fell in love with a boy at a coffee shop
who always ordered vanilla chai.
I knew it was love because I could
never get up the courage to speak to him.
I fell in love with a bony fingered,
anorexic boy in my math class.
I think it was the way he did the problems in his head,
so he could use the paper for listing
everything he wanted to eat that day, but wouldn’t.
I fell in love with a girl who had dreadlocks
and burn marks on her neck.
I always fantasized about touching them,
asking if they still warmed up her skin.
I fell in love with the older man at the tutoring center.
I failed Spanish so that I could spend the next semester
eye ******* him from across the study table.
I've always had a thing for married men.
I fell in love with girl who pushed up her
***** and pouted for football players.
It may have been unrequited,
but at least I didn’t catch anything.
I fell in love with the person
who left death threats in my locker.
I’d never known someone who felt
the same way about me as I did.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
I know I'm a failure.
My anxiety is always on the highest level.
I still don't have a job.
I'm depressed 95% of the time.
I quit college after a semester.
I'm always a nervous wreck.
I'm no good in social situations.
I cry too much.
And I'm no good to anyone anymore.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
Dear Wednesday morning floor waxer,
We really need to stop meeting like this. Me, bursting out of my dorm room at 10:26 for my 10:30 class across campus. You, intently waxing the floor in front of the elevator. I always rush past you, spitting out a labored “Sorry, excuse me!” as I slam into the door to the stairs and hit the same place on my hip that’s been bruised since the beginning of the semester. I rush off to class and forget about you until I head back to my dorm at 11:20, where I see you waxing the exact same spot on the floor that I left you with. No longer in a rush, I have time to smile as I walk past and politely excuse myself. You never so much as speak a word, often not even raising your head to acknowledge my existence. I sheepishly return to my room, tail between my legs, to wonder for a few minutes about why you refuse to speak to me before signing on to Facebook and forgetting all about it until the following Wednesday. Why do you ignore me, Wednesday morning floor waxer? I am certain that we could be great friends if only you would give me a chance! I fear that I might frighten you, with my disarrayed appearance and chaotic demeanor as I run to class. I certainly don’t jibe with the relaxed, stress-free air you clearly strive to maintain. Your zen rivals that of Miyagi himself. I COULD BE YOUR DANIEL-SAN. TEACH ME YOUR WAYS.
Sincerely,
That crazy girl in room 422.
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 2:24 AM UTC
Where do thugs go?
Who do they run to?
Where do they call home?
Not a house that they go to, but a place where they feel belonged
How do they cope with the scarcity of love?
Thugs, not the kind that most women think they are attracted to; therefore, not the imposers
Not the kind who landed at the bottom of the hill, sliding from the top only to scrape off their rot
Not the ones who were born with all the right people in their corners, but boxed them off while trying to fight to be someone that they are not
Thugs, the ones who momma loves? Because he appreciates her worthiness, her works
She's the only real love he ever had since birth
Thugs; who can't really go places because trouble doubles
It multiplies whenever he is with his guys
Because they all know how it feel not to live under a roof
Neither one of them have anything to lose
His dudes are equal to himself cubed
They rely on one another like proofs
And they are radical from the roots
Living in a negative atmosphere trying to multiply it by itself
So that they can make it to where the grass is greener and the sun does shine
The other side of the number line
Where the gunfire and homicides are divided
And the dope is reduced
All their lives they have been thinking that they are enduring the truth
That they "cannot amount to nothing and cannot be put to use"
They are neck deep in the streets
And the authorities is at their throats like a crew
But nothing around them is cotton
So when their fingers symbolizes a "V" they are only representing the place where they have to be
And they are not weak, but sometimes they wishes that they can take off a week
Black cats can't chase yarn
Mexicans don't have a specific day for casual dressing
Asians don't get any waivers
Cubans can't take less hours for a semester of schooling
Haitians don't get vacations
The **** life is given
Difficult to make it
As it is to escape it
It's hard to deal
When all they know is reeling in deals
To people who are saltier than Dill's
While at the same time trying to act real... Kosher
Without a companion to share meals... How do they find closure?
Too busy being tyrannical
Never learned how to be grammatical
So **** just got "worser"
Interviewee for a job
Or being suave to a child's mom
Besides their eyes,
Their oration is just exposure
Not knowing their duration to exist on this surface
Thugs need love
It's hard to tell through his mean-mug
But he's hurting
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
I had a seventh grader tell me, when I was in 5th grade, that things go downhill after 5th grade - that life doesn’t get better, it just gets more complicated. I’ve had years to mull that over and I have to say that in some ways his testimony was on beat.
As we start the second half of sophomore fall semester, I think I’ve reached stability and I’m accustomed to this year’s schedule and workload. I haven’t surveyed whether I’m faster or slower in this (see below), but now I know all the tricks - where to eat, which paths to take and what to carry. I have a firm rhythm that’s consistent and insistent.
“I’m finally on my schedule.” I commented to Sunny yesterday morning as we collided in our dash to get our shoes on.
She looked at me in confusion “You know we’re on week 8 out of 15, Ya?”
I was shocked, “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” I admitted as we stepped out.
It’s midnight and we’re going (Peter, Lisa, Sophie and I) to “My **** tonight (the dorm basement snack-bar). I took two seconds to splash my face with water and twist-back my hair. “How do I look?” I asked Peter.
“You’re attractive.. enough,” he said, “..I mean you fall within a bell curve.”
“You're almost 40,” I say, in the face of his non-complement.
“I’m 26,” Peter said, “You know it, and I have proof. You DO have some good points though,” he granted, while trying to drape his great, hairy, gorilla-like arm on me, “there’s your sparkling conversation and nice underwear.”
“I donated those to goodwill,” I lied, while giving him a half-gentle stiff-arm.
“You remind me of my parents,” Sophie says.
The tea (the best tea is scandalous). Lisa’s friend Baker dashed back to her room between classes yesterday. She’d forgotten the big paper she had to turn-in. It was a mad dash and passing a roommate’s open door, she realized that the girl was lowkey ************ Lisa, delighted to be an interlocutor in the matter, due to Baker’s overplus embarrassment, Lisa's trying to suggest next steps in a post-shock protocol.
Oct 28, 2022
Oct 28, 2022 at 2:30 PM UTC