the galaxy is ours
There’s nothing earthly about you, not your
universal smile or your galactic gaze,
the black hole in your eyes just like the one you’ve made in my heart
(it sucks the rest of me into it over and over until I’m
consumed by you repeatedly and there’s nothing I can do, you see).
I say I want to be grounded and feel safe but
once my feet hit the ground I get overwhelmed
by the feeling of boredom and gravity and I miss the feeling you give me, the feeling like I could
float anywhere among the stars and
I’d still be the brightest in your eyes.
this is a meaningless thought rant that you don’t need to read
I am deeply troubled at the news in this country recently, however it troubles me further how selective that news is. No tragedy is worse than another just as no life is more valuable than another, but it baffles me how it is limited to certain “American casualties” and “acts of terrorism”.
I know that the news must be selective and there’s no way to report everything terrible that happens in this country, that’s why I told you not to read this. It really is meaningless. But as a citizen of Louisiana it is hard to constantly see horrible and heart wrenching things happening day after day, and the rest of the country not caring (or, not hearing about it is probably more accurate).
After Hurricane Sandy struck New England, I heard countless stories from Northerners saying how Sandy was obviously more devastating than Katrina because, in short, New England is more important. New York is more important to this country than New Orleans. I know not everyone feels this way, and personally as a refugee I feel so deeply for everyone effected by any natural disaster. But was it necessary for them to trivialize my pain just because it is different? Sandy and Katrina were DIFFERENT storms, but both were catastrophic and the lives lost in the north east should not be more important to this country than the lives in the gulf coast, and vice versa. That is non negotiable. I witnessed a similar thing happen recently.
We all know how sad the Boston marathon bombing was to this country. The city was shut down, and the whole country waited for the criminal to be caught and held accountable. A similar tragedy happened in New Orleans this week; 17 unarmed people were shot at a Mother’s Day parade. The shooters are STILL not in custody. But my city isn’t shut down? We did not make national news? Why are these deaths — some of them children — seemingly not as important?
I am not trying to start a debate. This is not a cry for attention; as a city, we’ve always survived without it. I just want to know why we don’t matter as much. Why we aren’t ever an American Tragedy.
I have hope that these terrible things will end in this country. Good trumps evil. The good times, the marching bands, they will always roll down in New Orleans. No matter how many times we get beat down and ignored, we get right back up.
I have faith.
Chopped off my hair and it’s still long as fuck.
possessed
My thoughts swim around my head
confused as to why you’re the subject of
all of them.
They look at each other and think,
“You too?
You too?”
and return to buzzing,
spinning,
bumping into each other mindlessly.
I’m possessed.
It’s hard going to bed knowing you won’t be here when I wake up. It’s hard to breathe when your smell is still in the air. It’s hard not to cry when you aren’t here to hold me until it’s better.
All of that is easy compared to the hell I would live without you in my life.
I love you. I miss you terribly. Goodnight.
Sometimes it’s okay to be happy
and to want everyone to know it.
only hope
I can only hope I’ll be the
guiding light for someone,
I’ll hold their hand for their
first steps and
praise each growing stride.
I can only hope someone will
look up to me adoringly and
wish me a
“Happy Mother’s Day!”
with joy and honesty.
I can only hope
I’ll be the mother mine is to me.
Not being able to sleep is the worst feeling at 2 AM.
It’s like having a nightmare without even falling asleep.
Finals week —
when three hour showers are necessary and make-up isn’t.
sorry for the lack of posting :(
Finals week is a bitch.
I miss and love y’all!
davis
“I’m scared to fucking death” —
She pushes the words through her gritted teeth
while trying to find her footing amongst the rubble.
It’s getting better, they said.
The city was rebuilding, they said.
The only structures not crumbling were held up by
drug lords and cemented innocence,
so to Hell with their words of optimism.
She lives in the most dangerous area of the most troublesome country all because
she wants a fucking degree.
La-dee-da.
Refusing to use a map she manages to
wander into a quadrangle of dilapidated buildings filled with
dust and malintentions. She decides to finally
give up and accept that she’s never going to make it to class.
Ever.
She might as well set up fort in one of these old buildings and live off the land
(hahaha, the land).
In the shade she slides down a chalky white wall only to
spring back to her feet when she realizes
she is not alone.
He hasn’t noticed her yet, but she isn’t graceful enough to
make a silent exit.
His glassy eyes fall on her heavy and she
doesn’t know how to say,
“Wow, are you alright man? You don’t look so hot,”
so she says just that and hopes it works.
Fear or panic or surprise flashes in his face and he bolts,
slower than he’d like but fast enough that she does not follow.
He isn’t okay, she concludes, and resolves to
make sure he knows it tomorrow.
SO I HAD THE MOST EPIC DREAM EVER
And I want to turn it into a short story.
Be on the lookout! Except it will take me forever because I rarely write long pieces.
Whatevaaaa
okay?
I hope he’s okay knowing I’m awake and trembling,
holding onto frayed edges with cold fingers and
trying not to squeeze too tightly.
I hope he’s okay sleeping through
my trauma and waking in the morning
with no recollection of how I got to be
so broken.
I hope he’s okay knowing
I’m not.
iwillcatchyourfall:
My heart melted and ran into twelve different drains,
leaving me running every which way
trying to put it back together.
I become too conscious of my reddened chest
and try to talk through it anyway because
that’s what people do, right?
They communicate.
They resolve.
I don’t.
I melt and I panic and I do everything
people aren’t supposed to because I
don’t think I’m good enough
for anything.
internetexplorers:
*subtle hints of self hatred in everything i say*
(via beansyy)
1.
