Thank you for visiting my page.

I started this blog to basically express my thoughts and opinions. It could honestly range from anything to everything. I apologize in advance if I type the way I speak. Perhaps the more I write I can advance away from that.post

Advertisements

him

I was in 6th grade

When I first heard about him.

I thought he was just some

Bad boy who would never give

Even give me a glance.

 

But then it was my birthday.

And it wasn’t the best day.

I was hurt and confused.

But he was there to comfort me.

He gave me a hug.

And I could feel all

my problems start to go away.

 

I don’t recall the exact day we started dating.

We were just always with each other.

I assumed we were just dating.

But it doesn’t even matter.

Because since that unknown day,

He was always there to comfort me.

 

He was always there to

Help numb the pain.

But he wasn’t always around.

Like when I was happy

He would just drift away from me.

But the minute I started crying,

He would welcome me with arms wide open

 

We broke up one day.

It was a bittersweet moment.

I don’t want to point fingers

But it was his fault.

He tried to force me to do something

I wasn’t comfortable with.

And I was close to doing it,

Until my brother knocked on the bathroom door.

Then like always he disappeared.

And I walked out the bathroom numb.

 

Although we broke up,

We would end up becoming on and off

For four years.

He would always try to hug me though.

He knows how addictive his hugs are.

Sometimes I would cave in.

Other times I would barely dodge his arms.

 

He then would start to belittle me.

Make me feel worthless.

And sometimes it would work.

That’s when he would hug me to

Make me feel better.

But sometimes even the hugs wouldn’t work.

So, I would just sit there and cry.

 

Now it’s been officially almost seven years

Since we met.

We don’t talk as much.

He would beg for me to come back.

Sometimes I let him linger

Around.

But whenever he tries to hug me,

I just put my headphones in and cry.

Other times I just smile and say

I don’t need him anymore.

 

Oh, silly me, I forgot to mention

His name.

They call him Depression.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Empty 

I could scream. I could cry. But what would that do? When in the end, I’d still feel empty inside.I can get drunk. 
Just so I’d have an excuse to text you
And tell you that I hate you for hurting me this way. 
That I hate the way things ended. 
Although I know it’s all my fault 
That we ended. 
But what would that do?
When in the end I’d still feel empty inside. 

I want to call you up. 
And sing sad mexican songs on your voicemail. 
Hang up. 
Then call back again to translate it all. 
But what would that do?
When I’d still feel empty inside. 

I want to run to you. 
And kiss you then slap you. 
Tell you that we’re meant for each other. 
That no one has ever made me feel the way that you have. 
What we have is real love. 
Once in a life time, you’re my soulmate 
Love. 
Try to persuade you to give us one 
More chance. 
But you’ve changed. 
And nothing would ever be 
The same again. 
And now none of this will 
Even matter. 
And why even waste my time telling you this?
When in the end I’d feel empty inside

Hurt 

Honestly how could I be so dumb? How could I not see this coming ? He’s treating me like how my ex before him did. With the nonchalant attitude and the boring texts. Only texting me back when he feels like it. And he’s only doing that because he doesn’t care about me anymore and he has a new girl on his mind. And instead of telling me the truth, he’d rather just play games and continue to hurt me. Obviously sending letters of texts aren’t helping at all. Because he feeds off of that. I don’t know what to do but to continue crying over a guy who doesn’t give a damn about me. 

Nappy hair

    Whenever I get into a disagreement with the Caucasian females on the internet they always go straight for my looks.

Telling me how I’m ugly or such a “bitch”.

But recently they started to attack my hair.

Apparently my hair is nappy.  Nappy – originally means a baby diaper.

But somehow it became an offensive term used to describe a black women’s hair.

 How we went from baby’s’ diaper to mean short coiled hair is beyond me.

And I find it highly hilarious that the same females calling my hair nappy are the same ones who want this so-called nappy hair.

They spend hundreds of dollars just to go to a hairstylist or buy a curling wand to have curly hair.

Like how are you going to want something that you just yelled at someone else for having?

Please enlighten me on how that makes sense.

      I love my so called nappy hair.

I love my loose coils and the tight ones that when you gently pull on them they bounce back.

I love how when i sleep, I wake up with bed hair and have a huge part of my hair sticking up.

I love how an old man who could barely speak complimented me on my hair.

I  love the way my hair expands once its fully dry.

And truthfully I’m thankful for my natural nappy hair.

Work

     Have you ever dreaded going to work? I’m not talking the small loath everyone feels for work. I’m talk about the sweaty palms, heart being out of your chest, the churn of your stomach just imagining going there. That’s how I always feel going to work. We barely have any stockers (stocking is what I do). And they expect me to do everything. I once got snapped on by my manager because how I’m still fairly new, I didn’t know what to do with some freight. And he’s going to tell me “you have to take care of it. Get a ladder and do what you have to do. We can’t be relying on one person to be doing everything.” Like seriously? You guys rely on me all the time. But I guess that’s different somehow because it’s me. 

     And my god, don’t get me started on the employees. Pretty positive they hired me so it won’t seem like they have some type of racism. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating about that part. But there’s only about 7 1/2 ,maybe more or maybe less,  of black people. Haven’t seen any Mexicans. Oh. Maybe like 2 1/2. And the half for both parts count for me. And I’m still frustrated about theemployee  who dropped the water bottle on my face. He did apologize for it… While laughing though. 

    I dont know. Perhaps I’m just being over dramatic. But man, I dread going to work.  

A poem written by me at age 17 ish.

‘Is it sad that I don’t feel anything when I kiss him? I mean I feel like kissing the devil will offer more butterflies than kissing him. Kissing him was like kissing wood. Maybe it was like more kissing a robot. All he did was roam his hands around my body &’ stick his tongue in my mouth. How is it the guy that I thought I was madly in love with I no longer feel shit for. I cried so many tears over him and I would’ve done anything for him. But now it’s like he’s an irrelevant peasant”

 

– Now I know that isn’t much of a poem. And I always try my hardest to write poems but for some reason they don’t come out as well as I think of them.

A love affair 

Love affair – an intense enthusiasm or liking for something. 

Our relationship was a great love affair. It was passionate, heartfelt, consuming, and emotional. It was raw in all the right places. And the sensual kisses could send shivers down your spine. It was never about the sex though. Because there was none. It was more about the intimacy. Cuddling, holding hands, kisses on the forehead, etc. I loved how I was able to just be myself around him. I loved how when we cuddle, I’ll just push his head to my head and he knew what I wanted. I loved the way I fit into his arms and he played with hair. Oh my. It felt like heaven. I felt safe. He gave me all the things I desired. And I’m not talking money wise. Do you know how amazing it is to go places with someone and not have them look at other girls? It’s a wonderful feeling especially for someone as insecure as I am. Oh, speaking of insecurities. With him, he partially made them go away. I say partially because they never truly go away with me. You see how this is all over the place? That’s how he made me feel. All over the place. You’re probably wondering how does this correlate with the title. Well this was an intense enthusiasm. (Enthusiasm- a thing that arouses feeling of intense and eager enjoyment). He was my passionate muse. The person who was the cause of my lovely sad writing and the one who made me want to write songs that would want to inspire the pessimistic people to fall in love.