something to think about.

i wonder if, also, i should stop listening to poems, songs and watching movies and reading books that have anything to do with love, sex and relationships. detox. yes, it would eliminate about 85% of my iTunes library but it would be an interesting experiment.

either way, this poem is utterly beautiful.

a hearty thank you, if you make it through reading all of this. and avoid writing me off as naive and ridiculous.

     I finally figured out some things with my iPod and recovered lost headphones last week, so i returned to work today with my music, triumphant in a way, happy, almost completely. Was groovin’ (return to KC & the Sunshine Band, and era friends) between the stacks of books, while scanning books, opening boxes of books, stacking books, etc And at one point while I was checking books in from customers at the front desk, this song came on. And, of course, like with the other songs I was lip synching because I can’t just burst out into song while working. Crazy thing is, though I’m pretty sure I wasn’t making sounds, when I got to the parts “Write a song of love” I had this feeling I was actually singing; ESPECIALLY, when I got to the word “love.” I had to take my headphones off and check my volume and look around the room. I was convinced that “love” couldn’t just be mouthed, weird.

just beautiful.

 Anyway, what do I know? I’m one of few people (maybe girls especially) that can say they’ve never been in love. And spare me how it’ll come in due time, and everyone has their own journey and whatever else generic, easy and probably true remedies for my aches. It’s fine. I get it. Actually, I don’t but I have no choice but to try and wait. Or, I don’t have to wait? Another weird thing, put myself out there. Contradictory to: stop thinking about it. And, I’m not angry and I appreciate everyone’s advice. The one thing I’ve been thinking about and having trouble with in the past couple of days though is this… something I’ve heard many times from different people in different ways… that you have to uhm, get your heartbroken/get through the building block boys/learn your lessons/be broken/torn in order to appreciate the right person. My thing is now, that considering I haven’t already had much of a conventional story--- is all this necessary for me? Do I have to have this one person to take massive chunks out for me to recover from? Or does it suffice that I’ve had little pieces chipped away at me from different people, knowingly or unknowingly, so many I’m still trying to gather and understand and already trying to heal from? Now, this sounds dramatic. I hate drama. But, it’s my truth. And I’m sure I have it better than many people, but I reject devaluing what is my personal struggle, finally. And, I won’t feel guilty or stupid for trying to figure this out. I won’t inflict that on myself anymore.

But, I am tired. I am tired of being “respected,” and “admired” and most recently and offensively “loved” and not devoted to. Of being such a “great” and “beautiful” person, of hearing these things and finding myself going “so what?” What do we think “great”  and “beautiful” people get? We want them to get what we feel they deserve or what we want to believe that “great,” “beautiful,” “respected,” “admired,” “loved,” etc on and on mean that we will be cherished. If only we can get there! If only I build myself enough someone will care, someone will recognize! My foundation, my foundation, it’s for me but it’s also for the person that’s gonna prove yesterme wrong. And I’m trying to have hope, to have faith. But it’s hard to hear all of these things that I find I have to put into different perceptual sets, need to make new word associations where “respected” “admired” “beautiful” “great” “loved” when spilling from a boy’s mouth means “and her too, her more, but her instead of you or just not you. Not you, not respected and admired you.” I wanna think that it’d be easier if they’d just call me a bitch. If I was someone that they didn’t respect, love, admire blah blah so what? I’d get it. Because these people aren’t  supposed to get anything. It’d make sense. None of this makes sense. 

The real problem is with the conflict between the implications behind/my associations with the words and what they actually mean in practice/in reality. Either way, it hurts. 

woke up to this, this morning

and have been listening to it ever since.

such poetry greatness in two weeks?!

Saw Buddy Wakefield* this week (though seeing him at the Nuyo was better, crowd was better, he's AMAZING!) and now... Anis Mojgani :]

so, yeah... i'm gonna see him perform soon. excited!



and Over the Anvil We Stretch is a great book of poetry.

*And if you don't know who Buddy Wakefield is, get it together and look him up on YouTube.

Buy a book, buy a CD from either/both of them. It will  be great :]

Things that give me hope:

1. Hill Harpers’ “Letters to a Young Sister: DeFINE Your Destiny” I don’t care if I found it in college, it is a beautiful book, gesture and effort. Hill Harper is the man. (haven't even thought about that in a while, but i read it a summer or two ago)
2. Professors (and teachers in the past) that actually care about me as a student, and a person.
3. Friends. Family. The people who are here now, and the ones that will come and I will give a chance to matter/place in my heart and will appreciate it.
4. Poetry. Words. Shared revelations, heartbreaks, I could go on for a while. Suffice it to say, not being alone.
5. Music. *sigh*
6. People doing what they love because they know there’s no other way for them to live fully.
7. Being myself. You being yourself. Us, practicing, being our true selves regardless of how many people/things/whatever that want to take ourselves from us. And even when we take ourselves from us.
8. Wanting to fix things that are broken. Just the desire to, and the people that are willing to help put it back together.
9. Random conversations, meetings/encounters, blessings.
10. Being proven wrong about negative perceptions/beliefs/truths that I hold, enforce and see life through sometimes.
11. The Bible, actually. And, the Love that I believe that God has for me and for everyone. How I’m learning to define it, and how it doesn’t hate/exclude anyone. And how unfathomable that can be, but I’m learning.
12. Sometimes, it’s not too late.
13. License to tell my truth, even if it only lasts for a moment, even if it’s only my truth for a moment and knowing that I’m not losing anything but releasing. The people that allow me this, and don’t judge me/write me off.
The list goes on…
14. Learning to show love and appreciation, without feeling like I'm losing some mystery or power that can't be regained.

a little discomfort.

I keep doing this really weird thing where I call myself a poet. I’m comfortable with saying writer now, after several years, but for some reason poet is just a whole ‘nother strange jumping out of my mouth often without thinking. Not to my knowledge, it’s become this truth. Weird! Okay, I write poems- have for a while. But it’s a whole ‘nother thing calling myself a poet. Not sure why it’s different from writer. Maybe there’s a certain cockiness I worry that comes with it. I’m afraid of the stigma, but more than that when I say this people will attach certain attributes and accountabilities to me… ugh. Cause I’m going through this phase right now for uh… so, the last 20 years of my life.. well maybe more like ten, where I’m always majority writing “ooh boy” or “ugh boy/man” poems. I’m fully aware of it. That shit is hella wack to me sometimes. I get mad at myself for it, challenge myself to do different every once and while but, it’s always in there somehow. And I don’t know what that means. But what I’m saying is that, I’m not writing the revolution. Not really even a love revolution, makes me feel guilty. Like when I say poet, I should mean I’m changing lives or something, like I should be inspiring revolt, helping to fix something. Like it’s not sufficient that right now the something is just myself, and whoever else can relate. Weird, but I’m pretty comfortable with that. It’s always been me first, the only time I really let I be, completely and freely. It’s mine, these couple of words, and arrangements, and confessions, and maybes and an if, and fantastics of emotion in instants so true and so temporary, unless they’re lasting and I mean them for whiles, good ones, sometimes. But when I write I release, and I clear and that’s all it ever is, and trying to do more is contrived and edits should only be to tell the truth better. Someday I’m sure I will write things, big things, international things, human hunger things, race things, gender things, less subversive things… mmhm, sure, but I’m not there yet. And I don’t always know what I’m doing. Who really knows what I’m writing, and who I may be touching. Because I’m thinking if what I write gets me or you through a certain part of the day I’m doing something right. I should only write what I know (and what I won’t allow myself to know, deep down) anyway, right?

sue me.

i'm just gonna write the first couple quotes from love songs that i've been thinking about tonight.

walking through campus "God Bless You, you make me feel brand new. For God's blessed me with you." And, I couldn't think of the rest of the lyrics just those. The Stylistics are from Philly. Woot. M-effin. Woot. Mmhm.

"If you've never been in love/and you're longing for the happiness it brings/try your wings."
i actually need to "try my wings" in a number of different realms. great way to say, "task a risk, use what you got."

"i'm coming home to you/wear something see through/so i can see your heart"
-"Still Ray," Raphael Saadiq

and as i've quoted many a time

"Color my heart/Color my heart/make it restart/make it restart."


that is all. i need to take my behind to bed.