I would tell her I'm sorry.
I'm sorry your place of birth is a hot hell you call your own.
I'm sorry for the way you're addicted to cigarettes
and the way you blow smoke in your four-year old's boy face.
I'm sorry you itch like crazy at night because of those bed bugs
and the way you yell at the boy and the other in your belly just before
you cuss the world to sleep.
I'm sorry you have to see me like the dreamy child you once were.
But childhood is long forgotten.
With it your dignity too
Twenty-five year old charity case
lost intellect and life
your energy comes from sugar loaded energy drinks and an overused pipe.
your hairs falling out but you're too depressed to notice.
Sometimes I'm sorry I fidget in my sleep
I have it too good to fit around in vain.
My eyes drift away from my chaotic surroundings because I'm sorry we live in this hell together
I kiss my greed to sleep and face it all again in the desperate ever glow of the morning.
I'm sorry you call the system oppressive
but I call it competitive.
I'm sorry sugary cereals and stale Pepsi drinks fill your appetite.
I'm sorry that everything you've worked for has been destroyed.
I'm sorry loose change has turned into knives
I'm sorry patience comes in chance
I'm sorry your holy place of g-d is decrepit.
I'm sorry for my skin color
and my oblivion of its subtle powers.
I'm sorry I subdue myself in an underworld
unaware of your misery.
I'm sorry I didn't know about the memorials less than 500 miles away
I'm sorry for writing this poem you may never get to read
But most of all
I'm sorry because you are just like me.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Get out.
They ket insisting I should leave.
As if a change in scenery would remove the panic in my bones, the uncertainty in my eyes, the wonder in my gaze.
I told them, the emptiness in my being is not a direct result of the circumstances that be,
it's simply me being unsure of me.
And the distance between you and me is as crystal clear as fresh springs on a cool April day.
But you're my family, so I feel I should be honest with you,
and expect whatever may ensue,
but for some reason, I don't trust it, cause I'll fear you'll reject that too.
I paint a mask on every morning,
and clench my fists subconsciously, always ready to right.
I'll break loose soon, I kept telling myself.
As if this prophesy would be actualized through repetition of sound.
But these words contain more philosophy than action.
My heart's gone missing, along with it my mind too
And all that pumps inside of me is an iron pipe that pumps more labor for the machine.
The iron pipe that metabolizes with the gleam of certainty--and that gleam is green.
That gleam is stability. That gleam is the nasty truth I refuse to part from.
As if a change in scenery would remove the panic in my bones, the uncertainty in my eyes, the wonder in my gaze.
I told them, the emptiness in my being is not a direct result of the circumstances that be,
it's simply me being unsure of me.
And the distance between you and me is as crystal clear as fresh springs on a cool April day.
But you're my family, so I feel I should be honest with you,
and expect whatever may ensue,
but for some reason, I don't trust it, cause I'll fear you'll reject that too.
I paint a mask on every morning,
and clench my fists subconsciously, always ready to right.
I'll break loose soon, I kept telling myself.
As if this prophesy would be actualized through repetition of sound.
But these words contain more philosophy than action.
My heart's gone missing, along with it my mind too
And all that pumps inside of me is an iron pipe that pumps more labor for the machine.
The iron pipe that metabolizes with the gleam of certainty--and that gleam is green.
That gleam is stability. That gleam is the nasty truth I refuse to part from.
If I had it my way...
I'd move 3,000 miles away from here
I would adopt a dog and live with two cats in a small, wooden home.
People would call and ask
Don't you want to come back to the city?
And I would laugh and wonder if there is name for the disattchment that all of us seem to maintain in such a place.
Some call it convenient.
I call it thiers. Never mine.
I would adopt a dog and live with two cats in a small, wooden home.
People would call and ask
Don't you want to come back to the city?
And I would laugh and wonder if there is name for the disattchment that all of us seem to maintain in such a place.
Some call it convenient.
I call it thiers. Never mine.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
On the margins
I look down at my badge, hesitantly, confirming my insecurities with your impressions of me:
Uneducated, unrefined, weak, rueful. Sold.
Do I exude so much pity in my eyes, posture and sound?
Do I speak volumes in your mind of the young and the optimally hopeful?
Or do you shake your head thinking of me, the minimally decorated, the mediocre, the explorer?
Or do you wish you were someone else too?
I'm standing in a maze of only walls,
stuck in one place but I still see the sky above,
it illuminates my skin, widens my eyes even,
yet when I search for my reflection, all I find is more walls.
The current is heard softly in my ears,
yet the rain always comes and I lose my way.
I write and write and write my heart away
and when I'm done, I always adjust and eliminate. I never just leave it alone.
In my mind, it'll never be good enough. Not good enough to explain the sheer disappointment in my heart, the emptiness in my soul, and the darkness in my path.
So here I am.
Carrying on conversations that I know will make it worse
but I start them and I keep them. I latch on to them.
I pour my coffee black and tall in the morning
earnestly, vainly, hoping that today will be different.
But it's always a tiresome game.
I paint my face only half squinting at my canvas because even I can't stand my reflection.
A youthful glow turned to gray. Reddish blue circles under my eyes and purple veins stick out on my forehead. I itch them curiously, where did you come from?
And then there's the broken white hairs painfully reminding me of my mortal existence.
And when I see this, I cry.
But just as germs latch on to wounds, my tears have latched on to my misery.
I needed an antibody to break them up, but you didn't help me.
With your calm hands resting on your king-size thighs, you did the worst thing your kind could do.
In our very first session, you diagnosed me.
You showed me what germs can do. Spread. Infect. Grow.
In my mind stands loudly the impression you left of me: young, paranoid, lost and lonely.
How dare you? How dare you claim 'psychotheapy' as your expertise?
Your words now only exist as skeletons--they bear no depth.
I hate on you, curse you silently as you ask 'do you have any questions for me?'
Yes, fuck you. And why the hell are you charging me for a useless session not worth my borrowed time. But I don't.
I do the only thing I know how to do well--I go back into the game, with difficulty and with great effort. Hah. I'm kidding myself. I wish my words mattered in some poignant ending. But they don't because they're never heard.
I haven't met others like me. Maybe you're out there right now, pen in hand, jotting down the very same thoughts on loose leaf--better yet, maybe you're longing for me just as much as I'm longing for you. Why is there an ocean between us?
I often wonder, good, able-bodied and healthy as I am, why do I seek pain? Why do I wish you would just come on to me, and yell so loudly in my face.
But come on, what kind of prophecy is that? Sure not one Mom raised me to believe. Who taught me this? No one but me.
There's no empathy, no voice, no clout.
'Screw this and screw that' is my mantra.
Choices are all around me but I just stick to the 9 to 5.
The back-breakin', toes flinching, mouth watering, mind-dozing, empty days--where only the first and the last of the month matter. No swift changes. Only the carousel that'll bring me 'round and 'round.
They didn't teach me this in school.
Universities mustn't only teach fields, but they must teach you life. Stock up on handbooks for living and never run out.
I watch in anxious boredom as the passerbys sweep by my small, near non-existent presence.
I'm outside looking in. I'm inside looking inside.
I am everything at once, with no returns.
TBC
Uneducated, unrefined, weak, rueful. Sold.
Do I exude so much pity in my eyes, posture and sound?
Do I speak volumes in your mind of the young and the optimally hopeful?
Or do you shake your head thinking of me, the minimally decorated, the mediocre, the explorer?
Or do you wish you were someone else too?
I'm standing in a maze of only walls,
stuck in one place but I still see the sky above,
it illuminates my skin, widens my eyes even,
yet when I search for my reflection, all I find is more walls.
The current is heard softly in my ears,
yet the rain always comes and I lose my way.
I write and write and write my heart away
and when I'm done, I always adjust and eliminate. I never just leave it alone.
In my mind, it'll never be good enough. Not good enough to explain the sheer disappointment in my heart, the emptiness in my soul, and the darkness in my path.
So here I am.
Carrying on conversations that I know will make it worse
but I start them and I keep them. I latch on to them.
I pour my coffee black and tall in the morning
earnestly, vainly, hoping that today will be different.
But it's always a tiresome game.
I paint my face only half squinting at my canvas because even I can't stand my reflection.
A youthful glow turned to gray. Reddish blue circles under my eyes and purple veins stick out on my forehead. I itch them curiously, where did you come from?
And then there's the broken white hairs painfully reminding me of my mortal existence.
And when I see this, I cry.
But just as germs latch on to wounds, my tears have latched on to my misery.
I needed an antibody to break them up, but you didn't help me.
With your calm hands resting on your king-size thighs, you did the worst thing your kind could do.
In our very first session, you diagnosed me.
You showed me what germs can do. Spread. Infect. Grow.
In my mind stands loudly the impression you left of me: young, paranoid, lost and lonely.
How dare you? How dare you claim 'psychotheapy' as your expertise?
Your words now only exist as skeletons--they bear no depth.
I hate on you, curse you silently as you ask 'do you have any questions for me?'
Yes, fuck you. And why the hell are you charging me for a useless session not worth my borrowed time. But I don't.
I do the only thing I know how to do well--I go back into the game, with difficulty and with great effort. Hah. I'm kidding myself. I wish my words mattered in some poignant ending. But they don't because they're never heard.
I haven't met others like me. Maybe you're out there right now, pen in hand, jotting down the very same thoughts on loose leaf--better yet, maybe you're longing for me just as much as I'm longing for you. Why is there an ocean between us?
I often wonder, good, able-bodied and healthy as I am, why do I seek pain? Why do I wish you would just come on to me, and yell so loudly in my face.
But come on, what kind of prophecy is that? Sure not one Mom raised me to believe. Who taught me this? No one but me.
There's no empathy, no voice, no clout.
'Screw this and screw that' is my mantra.
Choices are all around me but I just stick to the 9 to 5.
The back-breakin', toes flinching, mouth watering, mind-dozing, empty days--where only the first and the last of the month matter. No swift changes. Only the carousel that'll bring me 'round and 'round.
They didn't teach me this in school.
Universities mustn't only teach fields, but they must teach you life. Stock up on handbooks for living and never run out.
I watch in anxious boredom as the passerbys sweep by my small, near non-existent presence.
I'm outside looking in. I'm inside looking inside.
I am everything at once, with no returns.
TBC
Saturday, January 28, 2012
American Way
Lately,
I've been remembering my childhood. Brisk walks to the convenient store with my older sister, empathizing with each other about middle and high school woes, drinking soda in the late afternoon and of course lounging back in front of the TV.
I think back to these days and almost curse myself for not doing more. I begin to wonder, did I take the long way and others found the right trails? I can't help out but believe so.
This issue of self versus external judgment is one that I've been battling for a while. Why can't I just look behind those who judged me in the past and embrace who I really am even AS people judge and always will judge me?
Is it because we live in a non-accountable society where industries rule our lives and personal order? I think about it. The 'American Way' is nothing but a lifestyle we choose to live in under this faux great power we call the USA. The lower to middle class jobs (the majority of jobs in this country) necessitate quick fixes to get through the days. Now, of course this is just my opinion and I am no expert but I see first hand that when you are in a job where you are not trained, empowered or encouraged to find your passion, you lose the means and the motivation to find balance in your life. Imagine this: I work 40+ hours a week as a waitress and I'm on my feet all day serving an array of human beings who for the most part do not care about my personal well being. My employer doesn't want me to slip below a certain level and I have to keep up the pace. I get paid a meager salary and prices are only going up. I can't afford healthy groceries every week. My apartment is falling apart and I can't even afford the right dental fixtures I need to stop grinding my teeth from the stresses of my daily life. I begin to budget for each day and only get frozen food and generic cereals and breads that do not have proper vitamins. I drink caffeine all the time. Have to be up at 5:30 AM. And this my friends, is the American Way. You can't live close to the diner you work at without paying hefty rent. You can't afford nice things but you'll settle for what's available and save the rest for make-shift insurance.
And this people, is a question of choice. The government and industries are not changing without our voice. Without the massive change in public voice and consumption, we will continue to ruin our future, investing in a false sense of power and mark of success.
I've been remembering my childhood. Brisk walks to the convenient store with my older sister, empathizing with each other about middle and high school woes, drinking soda in the late afternoon and of course lounging back in front of the TV.
I think back to these days and almost curse myself for not doing more. I begin to wonder, did I take the long way and others found the right trails? I can't help out but believe so.
This issue of self versus external judgment is one that I've been battling for a while. Why can't I just look behind those who judged me in the past and embrace who I really am even AS people judge and always will judge me?
Is it because we live in a non-accountable society where industries rule our lives and personal order? I think about it. The 'American Way' is nothing but a lifestyle we choose to live in under this faux great power we call the USA. The lower to middle class jobs (the majority of jobs in this country) necessitate quick fixes to get through the days. Now, of course this is just my opinion and I am no expert but I see first hand that when you are in a job where you are not trained, empowered or encouraged to find your passion, you lose the means and the motivation to find balance in your life. Imagine this: I work 40+ hours a week as a waitress and I'm on my feet all day serving an array of human beings who for the most part do not care about my personal well being. My employer doesn't want me to slip below a certain level and I have to keep up the pace. I get paid a meager salary and prices are only going up. I can't afford healthy groceries every week. My apartment is falling apart and I can't even afford the right dental fixtures I need to stop grinding my teeth from the stresses of my daily life. I begin to budget for each day and only get frozen food and generic cereals and breads that do not have proper vitamins. I drink caffeine all the time. Have to be up at 5:30 AM. And this my friends, is the American Way. You can't live close to the diner you work at without paying hefty rent. You can't afford nice things but you'll settle for what's available and save the rest for make-shift insurance.
And this people, is a question of choice. The government and industries are not changing without our voice. Without the massive change in public voice and consumption, we will continue to ruin our future, investing in a false sense of power and mark of success.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Come AND SEE
I wrote this the other day, thinking about the Russian movie, 'Come and See'.
His voice pierced through the parched land like a thousand needles puncturing bones
They were no longer children
They were no longer explorers
They were simply disciples from a death-in-life existence.
An unknown soldier’s dying demand from his own private trench signaled their fuel
“Do justice children. And you will be more than man in this unearthly hell.”
Soon commandants were born and holes were dug.
Mothers went insane and fathers disintegrated in graves
Their time for revenge was now
Their lack of resources, no matter
Their small and fragile bodies were agile and robust enough on their own
They were through with it all
Their reticence no more
Their fear, a nonexistent suppressor of their own mission
Their commitment was now to fight.
To stand up against the oppressor by all means necessary.
The heavy hearts of many knew that bones would be dislocated, muscles would lose their purpose and eyes would be reduced to one or two daggering stones set deep into inflamed minds, and Yet
People would be buried, the smart, the old, the young and the elite, not a single soul would be granted g-d’s mercy.
This was just a ceremonious hell in a g-d forsaken world; that tore up the minds and souls, a disintegration of life.
And so it is, on that solemn pressing day, when the sun savagely beamed above their heads, when they reached the path of winding roads,
They jumped.
His voice pierced through the parched land like a thousand needles puncturing bones
They were no longer children
They were no longer explorers
They were simply disciples from a death-in-life existence.
An unknown soldier’s dying demand from his own private trench signaled their fuel
“Do justice children. And you will be more than man in this unearthly hell.”
Soon commandants were born and holes were dug.
Mothers went insane and fathers disintegrated in graves
Their time for revenge was now
Their lack of resources, no matter
Their small and fragile bodies were agile and robust enough on their own
They were through with it all
Their reticence no more
Their fear, a nonexistent suppressor of their own mission
Their commitment was now to fight.
To stand up against the oppressor by all means necessary.
The heavy hearts of many knew that bones would be dislocated, muscles would lose their purpose and eyes would be reduced to one or two daggering stones set deep into inflamed minds, and Yet
People would be buried, the smart, the old, the young and the elite, not a single soul would be granted g-d’s mercy.
This was just a ceremonious hell in a g-d forsaken world; that tore up the minds and souls, a disintegration of life.
And so it is, on that solemn pressing day, when the sun savagely beamed above their heads, when they reached the path of winding roads,
They jumped.
Development
I developed slowly
I was always one step behind the mind's greatest discoveries--
Yet no one reminded me.
So I wandered deeper and deeper into the abyss
silently enraged by the lack of belief and understanding in my true self
I never found a niche
couldn't even process my own feelings of anxiety, fear and rage,
and Yet the crying stopped when words failed to talk more than the rich expression in my eyes
I wanted so much to have arms wrap around me
and tell me over and over again, that I was going to be okay. That I wasn't so strange
wasn't so skinny
wasn't so fucking weak
Yes I wanted someone to tell me I was beautiful--ON REPEAT.
Because beauty was what I knew so well
It was the reassuring mark of acceptance
after a long cry and sick feeling in my stomach---
that 'oh you look so pretty
after a long night of unfamiliar shelter.
Yes, the beauty of disguise made me sleep well.
So well in fact that I would win best in show.
Someone was watching over me because
I was given the tools I needed to find the attention I needed on my own.
Yet we all know that that shit is only skin deep.
Doesn't cure the hurt in one's heart
doesn't fix the broken memories of what may be laughter, fear or pain
doesn't stop me from remembering the unordinary nights when I felt so alone,
when I find myself getting weak in the knees on a friday night as I remember the hazzy afternoons where i dug my fingernails into my mattress with the phone in my hand
because i didn't know what to do.
when I hid behind the door forgetting everything else
when I mechanically did as i was told the next day because I never thought to ask
what's this hole I feel I right here mommy?
I was always one step behind the mind's greatest discoveries--
Yet no one reminded me.
So I wandered deeper and deeper into the abyss
silently enraged by the lack of belief and understanding in my true self
I never found a niche
couldn't even process my own feelings of anxiety, fear and rage,
and Yet the crying stopped when words failed to talk more than the rich expression in my eyes
I wanted so much to have arms wrap around me
and tell me over and over again, that I was going to be okay. That I wasn't so strange
wasn't so skinny
wasn't so fucking weak
Yes I wanted someone to tell me I was beautiful--ON REPEAT.
Because beauty was what I knew so well
It was the reassuring mark of acceptance
after a long cry and sick feeling in my stomach---
that 'oh you look so pretty
after a long night of unfamiliar shelter.
Yes, the beauty of disguise made me sleep well.
So well in fact that I would win best in show.
Someone was watching over me because
I was given the tools I needed to find the attention I needed on my own.
Yet we all know that that shit is only skin deep.
Doesn't cure the hurt in one's heart
doesn't fix the broken memories of what may be laughter, fear or pain
doesn't stop me from remembering the unordinary nights when I felt so alone,
when I find myself getting weak in the knees on a friday night as I remember the hazzy afternoons where i dug my fingernails into my mattress with the phone in my hand
because i didn't know what to do.
when I hid behind the door forgetting everything else
when I mechanically did as i was told the next day because I never thought to ask
what's this hole I feel I right here mommy?
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Misused Names: An intentional Spoken Word Poem
Excuse me, May I have your attention please?
This is a public service announcement and it’s long overdue
The names I am about to speak of are supported by subjectivity and freedom of speech.
You know them well because you’ve used them before
These names that caused permanent scars on the human mind have been
Spoken repetitively across continents and around the world for over sixty years, generation after generation
Putting a slanderous film over the history of their crime.
Like broken records overplayed in our minds
These names, these invectives are imprisoning us in time
May I ask where you were when Rush Limbough freely compared Obama to Hitler on his hit radio show?
Where were you when McDermott compared US soldiers to Nazi storm troopers on the congressional show?
Were you sleeping when our patriotic members of public office used exaggerated names in political debates?
Or did you fasten your eyes on Ann culter's dress when she called Obama a racist back then?
Or was your head simply buried in the sand when they said NEVER AGAIN?
Like ludicrous phraseology often brands a false name with reason,
these names have become colorful add-ons to cartoon caricatures and republican party lies
spun like common threads to debates, discussions and pillow talk with our friends
these names have mushroomed in popular culture, have tainted our minds undermined Nazi and Neo-Nazi crimes
Those who make comparisons to Nazi and Hitler do so because they want others to feel the intensity of their pain
but quite frankly, these names do not draw effective comparisons,
they just create impalpable clouds in our minds
Varied in modern language these names have
made slander acceptable for the English language
and thereby called extremism our fundamental right
I wish people would stop telling me to take it easy
these names just make me fucking queasy
I'm sick of this stage, this hell, this hypocrisy, this so called "sell"
that twists extremist names so much that they've
got you describing your mom and dad as Nazis because they told you to pick up your room...
Since when did our words become like a disease to our tongue?
Were they lost in the past like Stalin or Bashir or did they lose moral high ground when the mass media took the reigns of public airwaves time and time and time again?
See our words should not be about politics, used in entertainment or debate
Our words are our minds way of breathing
They are like a mirror of our soul
They are the sentimental captions for photographs and lullabies at night
they are the whispers of affection on a romantic afternoon
and they are the eye watering laughs on long trips with friends
they are the instruments that abet us in strife and
they are the comforting reminders of a lost family member or friend
And OUR WORDs are the seeds that plant either love or hate, thus life or destiny
See our minds are our greatest gifts to being human
they help us form the words that humanize our connections with others
needed
to outsmart any energy that tries to mess with the mind
And if by curiosity or doubt, along the way, should my child ever question a word so evil or unspeakable
I will tell her
that we are all full of potential
This is a public service announcement and it’s long overdue
The names I am about to speak of are supported by subjectivity and freedom of speech.
You know them well because you’ve used them before
These names that caused permanent scars on the human mind have been
Spoken repetitively across continents and around the world for over sixty years, generation after generation
Putting a slanderous film over the history of their crime.
Like broken records overplayed in our minds
These names, these invectives are imprisoning us in time
May I ask where you were when Rush Limbough freely compared Obama to Hitler on his hit radio show?
Where were you when McDermott compared US soldiers to Nazi storm troopers on the congressional show?
Were you sleeping when our patriotic members of public office used exaggerated names in political debates?
Or did you fasten your eyes on Ann culter's dress when she called Obama a racist back then?
Or was your head simply buried in the sand when they said NEVER AGAIN?
Like ludicrous phraseology often brands a false name with reason,
these names have become colorful add-ons to cartoon caricatures and republican party lies
spun like common threads to debates, discussions and pillow talk with our friends
these names have mushroomed in popular culture, have tainted our minds undermined Nazi and Neo-Nazi crimes
Those who make comparisons to Nazi and Hitler do so because they want others to feel the intensity of their pain
but quite frankly, these names do not draw effective comparisons,
they just create impalpable clouds in our minds
Varied in modern language these names have
made slander acceptable for the English language
and thereby called extremism our fundamental right
I wish people would stop telling me to take it easy
these names just make me fucking queasy
I'm sick of this stage, this hell, this hypocrisy, this so called "sell"
that twists extremist names so much that they've
got you describing your mom and dad as Nazis because they told you to pick up your room...
Since when did our words become like a disease to our tongue?
Were they lost in the past like Stalin or Bashir or did they lose moral high ground when the mass media took the reigns of public airwaves time and time and time again?
See our words should not be about politics, used in entertainment or debate
Our words are our minds way of breathing
They are like a mirror of our soul
They are the sentimental captions for photographs and lullabies at night
they are the whispers of affection on a romantic afternoon
and they are the eye watering laughs on long trips with friends
they are the instruments that abet us in strife and
they are the comforting reminders of a lost family member or friend
And OUR WORDs are the seeds that plant either love or hate, thus life or destiny
See our minds are our greatest gifts to being human
they help us form the words that humanize our connections with others
needed
to outsmart any energy that tries to mess with the mind
And if by curiosity or doubt, along the way, should my child ever question a word so evil or unspeakable
I will tell her
that we are all full of potential
Monday, February 7, 2011
My favorite Spoken Word poets at this time
The above 'B' poem is the poem I recited for my public speaking class. I will forever hold her words dear to my heart (and ingrained in memory!)
Sarah Kay is quite possibly the best spoken word female artist. She also holds spoken word poetry trainings. You can find her website here: http://www.project-voice.net/about-us/
One of my favorite parts in Sulaiman's poem: " I am David, with a sling shot and rock". Sulaiman is a very religious and spiritual man. I am so in awe of his passion on and off stage.
Mayda Del Valle... Mayda Del Valle. She is amazing. A well-known spoken word artist who has performed not only at Def Poetry but at the White House. Her talent and passion has landed her a tremendous position in the public.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
the beginning of something...
My first uploaded video of my poem/ranting of thoughts in oral form in blog world. This is just a start to a full-length spoken word piece I am working on.
Monday, January 3, 2011
teach me how to dance
I love learning dances inspired by amazing songs from all over the world. Here are some of my all-time favorites!
An all-time favorite by the king of pop and Janet Jackson: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0P4A1K4lXDo. Fast-forward to 3:18 for the dance.
Female empowerment: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNM5HW13_O8
Here's one from Cali Swag District: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJxYiIfr4WM&feature=related
And one from JVClubs Hip Hop in Latvia dancing to the Creator: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOMM5yQ2nks
A ten year pop star famous by birth sings a safe-for-a-ten-year old party song that'll get you swinging you hair back and forth: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ymKLymvwD2U
An incredibly uplifting song by Shakira and Freshlyground that I dance to in zumba class called "Waka Waka": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRpeEdMmmQ0
An all-time favorite by the king of pop and Janet Jackson: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0P4A1K4lXDo. Fast-forward to 3:18 for the dance.
Female empowerment: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNM5HW13_O8
Here's one from Cali Swag District: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJxYiIfr4WM&feature=related
And one from JVClubs Hip Hop in Latvia dancing to the Creator: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOMM5yQ2nks
A ten year pop star famous by birth sings a safe-for-a-ten-year old party song that'll get you swinging you hair back and forth: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ymKLymvwD2U
An incredibly uplifting song by Shakira and Freshlyground that I dance to in zumba class called "Waka Waka": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRpeEdMmmQ0
Thursday, December 30, 2010
These Walls We've Built
Like distant relatives with ill intentions we continue our sorrowful gaze.
The connection among us is not full circle
He likes her better
She identifies with him and he identifies with her better
She told her this and he told her that so it’s better
They started a secret club that’s only passable with certain qualifications
Such as the improbable to obtain only by birth
They started a secret club to degenerate others
And exonerate themselves
They keep on hating
Keep on faking it
Keep on justifying ignorance as self-worth
The phrase
“we’re all in this together”
doesn’t apply at all here
Doesn’t even come close here
When you set up walls around you
You forget to look deeper into yourself
Your thoughts freeze at their most poignant and your resiliency is put on hold.
Your head becomes hard
And your view becomes narrow
Your dreams for unity and peace are limited
Once the walls you’ve built hold strong like the guild of hate behind you
Sooner or later you stop challenging yourself
And settle for the easiest act of justified emotion
You stop dealing with the possible
And you end all hopes for the positive
Based on the walls you’ve built
Judgment says you can’t let anyone in
So you push the open hearts away
And you keep yours hidden in your chest
You stop whispering to g-d
And start yelling at your wife
Hell becomes your reality when you realize the walls
You’ve built have become too thick to live life freely
You’ll have to start all over
You’ll have to ask yourself what do I want to be remembered for?
The connection among us is not full circle
He likes her better
She identifies with him and he identifies with her better
She told her this and he told her that so it’s better
They started a secret club that’s only passable with certain qualifications
Such as the improbable to obtain only by birth
They started a secret club to degenerate others
And exonerate themselves
They keep on hating
Keep on faking it
Keep on justifying ignorance as self-worth
The phrase
“we’re all in this together”
doesn’t apply at all here
Doesn’t even come close here
When you set up walls around you
You forget to look deeper into yourself
Your thoughts freeze at their most poignant and your resiliency is put on hold.
Your head becomes hard
And your view becomes narrow
Your dreams for unity and peace are limited
Once the walls you’ve built hold strong like the guild of hate behind you
Sooner or later you stop challenging yourself
And settle for the easiest act of justified emotion
You stop dealing with the possible
And you end all hopes for the positive
Based on the walls you’ve built
Judgment says you can’t let anyone in
So you push the open hearts away
And you keep yours hidden in your chest
You stop whispering to g-d
And start yelling at your wife
Hell becomes your reality when you realize the walls
You’ve built have become too thick to live life freely
You’ll have to start all over
You’ll have to ask yourself what do I want to be remembered for?
Saturday, December 18, 2010
'Ryan' 7/23/10
he gave me a piece of his mind
last night I dreamed that I was like him
trying so hard to formulate the words to converse with others
trying so hard to understand my surroundings and appropriate my behavior
to adjust to the social settings around me
I woke up feeling so lost
I was at a loss for words
not knowing if I would ever be able to articulate my words again
I splashed cold water on my face and squinted at myself in the mirror
yes, it was just me
but Ryan changed me that day
he was looking for a friend
he was just looking to connect with others
he just wanted to get to know someone and have them get to know him
he is probably one of the most humane people I have met in my life
I appreciated our moment together
thank you Ryan, for giving me an increased sense of kindness and belonging,
I should only be so lucky to have met you.
last night I dreamed that I was like him
trying so hard to formulate the words to converse with others
trying so hard to understand my surroundings and appropriate my behavior
to adjust to the social settings around me
I woke up feeling so lost
I was at a loss for words
not knowing if I would ever be able to articulate my words again
I splashed cold water on my face and squinted at myself in the mirror
yes, it was just me
but Ryan changed me that day
he was looking for a friend
he was just looking to connect with others
he just wanted to get to know someone and have them get to know him
he is probably one of the most humane people I have met in my life
I appreciated our moment together
thank you Ryan, for giving me an increased sense of kindness and belonging,
I should only be so lucky to have met you.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
the Food Poisoning Incident
Just the smell of the terminal was nauseating
an ominous cloud of fear and hostility
ran right through me
as i entered the bathroom and yanked the day old contacts out of my tired eyes
i tried to relax and breathe
but the woman in the stale bore the ominous signs of my trip ahead.
'ahhhh... ughh' she grunted
with force she clutched her cane and started again
out the bathroom i went
weighed down with my body spent
i had no idea what getting on the bus meant
all on board
i began to sleep
dreams of disasters ahead
i awoke with such dread
i was shaking with heat and chill
and even though i wanted to go back to bed
my body had other plans instead.
my only saving grace was my pants, my socks and my proximity to the bathroom
because without these things
i would have been lying in my own vomit and so would he.
i locked the small vinyl door and before i knew it
the putrid smell of the days old feces lying in the bottom of the toilet hit me like an avalanche of poop vessels
like a gust of wind i couldn't bear to take in.
but that didn't matter once both of my hands were gripping the sides of the poop arsenal
my face was almost touching the sides of the toilet as i began puking into the bucket over and over
and over again.
i couldn't stop
it was like my insides wanted to come out too.
sweating profusely
tears streamed down my face
i grew tired of forcing up my lunch
soon I was sputtering back and forth as the bus lurched forward
i was brought down to my knees
no need to consider
that a lanky, detoxifying ruthie was banging against the walls with each push of a pedal
crash went my head onto the side of mirror
as the bus driver came to a sudden stop
lightheaded, dazed and bruised
i couldn't have been more unenthused
an ominous cloud of fear and hostility
ran right through me
as i entered the bathroom and yanked the day old contacts out of my tired eyes
i tried to relax and breathe
but the woman in the stale bore the ominous signs of my trip ahead.
'ahhhh... ughh' she grunted
with force she clutched her cane and started again
out the bathroom i went
weighed down with my body spent
i had no idea what getting on the bus meant
all on board
i began to sleep
dreams of disasters ahead
i awoke with such dread
i was shaking with heat and chill
and even though i wanted to go back to bed
my body had other plans instead.
my only saving grace was my pants, my socks and my proximity to the bathroom
because without these things
i would have been lying in my own vomit and so would he.
i locked the small vinyl door and before i knew it
the putrid smell of the days old feces lying in the bottom of the toilet hit me like an avalanche of poop vessels
like a gust of wind i couldn't bear to take in.
but that didn't matter once both of my hands were gripping the sides of the poop arsenal
my face was almost touching the sides of the toilet as i began puking into the bucket over and over
and over again.
i couldn't stop
it was like my insides wanted to come out too.
sweating profusely
tears streamed down my face
i grew tired of forcing up my lunch
soon I was sputtering back and forth as the bus lurched forward
i was brought down to my knees
no need to consider
that a lanky, detoxifying ruthie was banging against the walls with each push of a pedal
crash went my head onto the side of mirror
as the bus driver came to a sudden stop
lightheaded, dazed and bruised
i couldn't have been more unenthused
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