Real Queens Wake Up Like This: The #Flawless Challenge

It just really aggravates me when people are obsessed with bringing others down. Deplorable. Beyonce's song "Flawless" in which she says "I woke up like this..."(and also features feminist Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie) was meant as a mantra young women and girls could use for empowerment. We need to constantly reaffirm for ourselves that our beauty is timeless, effortless, and flawless in a world that has told us we are not. We need to do this because we live in a world in which if we google beauty, our faces are absent or scarce. I get that. What I don't get is that our moment almost always has to be snatched away by those who feel the need to constantly belittle, ridicule, and demean us. The kicker? A lot of the time, the hate created and circulated are by our own Black people. So I have to wake up to a meme with the caption "Bitches be like 'I woke up like this'" accompanied by a picture of an animal. Really Black people? Really? I understand that with everything, there will always be some kind of criticism, but why does it have to be to the point of shaming others?

I'll present to all my ladies a challenge. Take a picture of yourselves when you initially wake up. Smile. No filter. Caption it "I woke up like this" and include the hashtag #Iwokeuplikethis. Submit it to ourbellanaturale.tumblr.com/submit. Then share it on your social media. I want to make a compilation and archive it with the hashtag. Yes, people may laugh, but the joke will get old when they realize that true beauty is embracing your true self at anytime. Their ridicule wouldn't matter when they see that black girls and women love themselves beyond the negativity, ugliness, and self-hate around them. Soon we could re-write those memes to say "Real Queens say 'I woke up like this.'" 

Stay flawless my queens. 

Link to submit: http://ourbellanaturale.tumblr.com/submit

11:11

The moon hears my whispers

Every night

My notes float up 

Through the clouds

But they seem to miss

You're still not mine

Dormi

I want

to close my 

eyes and 

taste you 

in 

my dreams.

Six reasons to go to South Africa

1) The music: I went during the National Arts Festival in Grahamstown and it was phenomenal (See "From the Big Apple to the Prickly Pear" post). In addition to the dances, plays, and shows I watched, South Africa reveals a rich tradition filled with all kinds of music. Jazz, soul, chants, raps, everything was just magnified by the rawness and beauty in melody.

2) The history: Being that I've been learning American history since kindergarten, it's refreshing to hear another side of history. I went to your called "Exhibit A" which was a slave museum and I was shaken. Never had I been exposed to the gruesome  and scenes that took place so long ago. Nothing was sugar coated. It was completely bare. 

3) The culture: Being able to submerge myself into the different languages, tastes, and scents, it was almost overwhelming. It's almost surreal because being a tourist  makes you feel distant but you connect so deeply with your surroundings that you can't help but feel tied to it by spirit. It moves through you as your mind takes in everything it has to offer.

4) The people: I met some amazing people in South Africa who helped open my mind to their culture a little better. They spoke Khosa and Afrikaan. I was delightfully confused but completely receptive. It helps to go in with an open mind and to leave bleak assumptions at the door.

5) Riding Elephants: Need I say more?

6) You'll enjoy it: Before my trip, my whole family warned me to be careful and not get kidnapped. While it's great to be cautious, don't let it hinder your ability to have fun! I met some amazing people, ate some great food and had great once in a lifetime experiences. It came at a point and time of my life when I was discovering myself and grappling with my identity. Even if you feel like you've got yourself all figured out, you'll be pleasantly surprised as to what South Africa brings out in you. 

Forgive a Forgetful Me

I may forget that we first met on a Tuesday

But I'll remember the song my heart sang when

It felt

You

I may forget the color of your favorite shirt

But I'll remember the scent of your skin

As it clung to the neatly stitched fabric

I may forget your sister's name

But I'll remember the soft shift of your tone

Whenever you spoke to her

Or spoke to me

I'll never forget the way your fingerprints 

Molded into mine

And how I sometimes

Lose myself 

In you

How your voice imprints my skull

And every thought is a rich melody

Only I can hear

Only I can enjoy

So forgive me when I forget sometimes

I'm too busy remembering the

Crinkles of your smile

Patter of your feet

Curves of your face

Confines of your mind

Rhythm of your breath

Chiming of your heart

The depths of your soul

Forgive me 

Last Time On Love and Hiphop ATL...

Yes I watch it, shoot me. It's a notorious semi-guilty pleasure of mine.

Anyway, after watching Kirk commit the foulest sin against his wife, I couldn't help but to be fiercely appalled.


I don't get it.

Men like him want to live this "lavish" life of females, money, mansions, jacuzzis, cars, motorcycles, etc no matter what the circumstance (In this case, while already being committed to a 15-year marriage and expecting a child). This feels like it makes it okay to dog women just because you're facing some tough times and have lost your mojo.Then to perpetuate this lifestyle to young boys of 17-20, making them idolize and follow his foul ways all the way through their 40's and beyond is crude. How long do you want to live the bachelor life? Men could have their cake and eat it too while women are battling for the scraps.

I want to do a side by side comparison of Kirk from Love and Hiphop and Judith from Tyler Perry's "Temptation." Both cheated on their spouses which was equally wrong, but the consequences both suffered were different. Both felt dead in their current relationships causing them to cheat. However, Kirk's actions were glorified by many while Judith was plagued with a life threatening disease and bashed by her viewers. Many people looked at Kirk and thought "TURN UP", while others looked at Judith and said "All that glitters isn't gold" and harped on how ungrateful she was. This kind of display forces women into silence and pressures women to stay in an unhappy marriage because once she strays, it leads her to eternal damnation.

At a certain point, Rasheeda (Kirk's wife) and Judith share the same sorrow even though their actions were different. Rasheeda is currently viewed as the vulnerable, pregnant wife who was just embarrassed by her husband's more-than-open display of infidelity. Judith who was neglected by her oblivious husband, which leads her to cheating, suffered being infected with HIV. Although "Tempation" was fictional, it perpetuates this idea that there is no way out for Black women. It's either be faithful and be wronged by loved ones or try to stray away and get pulled down deeper than before. Contemporary media and pop culture is immobilizing us.

We're evolving into an era where it's getting easier and easier to disrespect women by means of social media. It's like women can't say, feel, think, or be something without a meme being released that says "Bitches be like *insert degrading phrase here*" It's either that or having our imperfections blown up in our faces time and time again. Reality TV has done its share of marring the images of Black women and folks on "black twitter" are ready to shame their every move. We've turned against each other. Too often I'd see these pictures of these black faces labeled "Bitches" come from the same black faces. I've seen black males do it with ease and the females to follow. We're belittling ourselves and squandering our crowns. The war on women is real and social media makes it no better.

It's hard trying to stand up straight in a crooked room. It's hard to feel like my society looks at me with a Funhouse mirror and no matter which way I twist and turn, I'll always be mocked. After watching this show, if we continue to have black women viewed in this way, no one will ever take us seriously. No one will ever respect us. No one will ever really SEE us. We will be the counterpart of Ralph Ellison's "Invisible Man". We'll be a league of Invisible Women. Screaming, shouting, angry, scorned, scarred.

Invisible.

Started From the Bottom Now We... Where?

I'm sure most of us have heard Drake's song "Started From the Bottom." If you haven't, all you need to hear to get the basic sentiments of the song are the first couple of lines:

"Started from the bottom now we here
Started from the bottom now the whole team f-ckin here..."

Now, obviously this song was meant for Drake to reaffirm his status in his career, "here" most likely meaning its height. What puzzles me is everyone's reception and recycling of the phrase. Every so often, I'd see a plethora of pictures on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram with people at clubs, parties, or other normal settings with "started from the bottom no we here" in the caption. At that point I think to myself, where's "here"?
I understand "here" is relative for everyone so there will be varied perceptions of where "here" is, but we need to look at the bigger picture.

As far as we and "here" are concerned, we are mostly still in the hood, we are still a minority, we are still major victims of gun violence, we are still being racially profiled and discriminated against in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, we are still struggling up the corporate ladder, we are still rooted in an educational system that is failing our children especially in Philly and other urban youth...

From the looks of it, we are still at the bottom, maybe a ring or two up the ladder, but still far from the top.

Drake's "here", as well as many other artists', seems to be centered around money, cars, clothes, lovers, etc. By all means, if having these things make you feel like you're at the top, so be it. However, don't be fooled by the notion that having pretty-looking things or living an over-the-top lifestyle means you've made it. Too many people have bought into this without realizing that  being "hood rich" makes you perpetually poor.

My highschool teacher told me "No matter what point you reach in your life, never feel like you've already arrived." There's always work to do. Although we've seen some positive, incremental changes, as a whole, there's little progress.

At this rate, will we ever make it to "here"? To the top? Will we ever just destroy the whole hierarchy of who's at the bottom or top all together? Maybe not. As long as there are people who are striving to advance, there will always be people getting stepped on in that process. Human nature.

I don't expect everyone to have the same aspirations. I don't expect us to not want/have those nice things at one point. But there are so much of us stuck at the bottom while many are swallowed up in materialism thinking that puts them on top.

So instead of taking pictures in fancy clubs and clothes, just think: As a people, as a "team", are we really "here" yet?

Serendipity

These last couple of weeks, I've been feeling like my life has shifted a gear and now I'm speeding right through it. So many things have happened and I've met so many people in such little time. I like this. It is a bit stressful but it just feels so wrong to be stagnant. I've been obsessing over two major projects I want to get started here at Penn and trying to get things started on my own. In the midst of all of this, I realized a deep rooted passion in offering my aid and service to people in anyway possible. It's riveting. I literally feel a rush in my veins when I talk about making a difference in my immediate community. So, in addition to my projects, I decided to create a natural hair blog to act as a reservoir of black women in their most beautiful form. I want it to be a platform for us to express ourselves. We're growing and expanding. We may not be the majority just yet, but it's a step in the right direction. I'm deeply captivated by the beauty of Black women and honestly, a bit biased to natural hair. Ever since starting my journey nine months ago, it was bound to happen.  

I'm so happy I didn't let my initial fears stop me. I kept worrying about its success and how different it may not be from others. Thank God I didn't let that stop me. I enjoy giving people the opportunity celebrate themselves. We all need to be uplifted by each other without question from time to time 

While leaving my exam for work yesterday, I was approached by a man who turned out to be a veteran and also a photographer. To my surprise, he asked if he could take pictures of my natural hair because, like me, he appreciates the radiance of natural haired women. Needless to say I was elated and agreed. It's just so funny how perfectly timed this was. Thanks to him, I've thought about more ways to celebrate natural haired women (and thought more deeply about pursuing modeling ;)). 

These last few weeks have presented me with so much. I've learned not to question why things happen and to sort of accept it for what it is. I've listened to my instincts and been more in tune with my body. I've put fear behind me. I've been painfully nostalgic but extremely driven too. I can't even complain about the stress because the feeling of fulfillment exceeds that. These are the first few nights I've stayed up past four o'clock because I'm passionate about something (those who know me know my love for sleep so this is a big deal!). 

So I know this is an old and tired saying but it deserves to be said: do what you're passionate about! No amount of money will ever compare to the feeling you get of doing what you love

Careless

"You fill me" "with" "a yellow" "delight"

"Cordial blues", " &antsy greens"

"Delicious sunshine" "leaking" "from your palms"

"My aura" "laps" "it up" 

"Licking" "the pearly pinks" "& the" "precious purples"

"We wrote our love notes" "on clouds"

"They hung" "in the air" "then floated away"

"So" "we wrote new ones" "in the stars" 

"&we" "laid together in" "grass heaps"

"Purring at the moon"

I'm Doing Summer Vlogs!

Thought I'd try something different to see how creative I could get. Trying to keep it to a "June challenge" kind of thing but I'll go where ever the spirit takes me. My prof told me that poetry comes in all kinds of forms. Video shall be a new form for moi. 

YouTube: Shakeleseaton 

Happy vloggin'

What I learned as a Sophomore

1) We're the most neglected class

After our first year as freshmen, everyone's ready to push us right off the tree even if we're not quite ready to fly. Advisers are tired of having to hold our hands through every class, meeting, activity, study session, mini-meltdown, etc. They need to focus on the sea of new freshmen flooding their offices and the seniors on their way out. After prepping us for a full year, we should be "ready" to independently embark on our college journey. It may be unintentional, but it still happens.Cold world. Bring a blanket.

2) Declaring a major is no joke

If you don't have the faintest idea of what degree you want to graduate with by sophomore year, get it together. And fast.

3) Dealing with new freshmen is... 

A little off-setting at first. Like I said before, basically everyone on campus is running around, making sure the little freshies are taken care of. It's cool at first because we all saw it coming. But still. Having that attention almost completely stripped away sophomore year is a HUGE wake up call. Everyone expects you to have it all together by now. "You mean to tell me you can't show ME where the science building is?" Figure it out.

WARNING: Do not resent the freshmen! (It has happened, believe me) Take it easy on them. They're just starting out and need the extra attention. Some may try to run before they can walk but you just have to let them be for a while.

4) You see people for who they really are

After unwrapping our friends from their shiny, glistening packages and finally taking off our campus goggles,  we start to see smiles fading and some not-so-nice personalities. Friends who we partied with every weekend freshman year turn into someone we spurt a hurried "hi!" to, while we rush off to class. Some grow distant. Others become close friends. Some people couple up and forget about you. Some couple up and include you in everything. Or some people just change. It happens. Be prepared.

5) A lot of things fall apart and get put back together

For many, Sophomore year seemed to be the time where every single bad thing started happening. Whether it be grades, family, friends, sports and the like, EVERYTHING went wrong at the same time. Many times I found myself flailing my arms around, ready to pull out my hair and just kept asking "Why?" It all seemed to come back to back. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Just when I thought I couldn't catch a break, I finally did. The clouds part and out comes Mister Golden Sun. Nothing lasts forever. Not even the hard times. Keep on keepin' on my friend.

6) Parties get better

I promise

7) You walk away waaay more mature than you did freshman year

After getting a full year of ups and downs, you realize that it's normal for everything to not be okay .When someone asks you "How's school?", instead of the expected "Great!", you can now admit to the trials and battles you endured within the past year and how well you handled each. No one is always smooth sailing and no student's journey is perfectly unmarked by mishaps. You just have to realize it was another step towards personal growth and acceptance.

Power of Spontaneity

As classes are winding down for some, summer classes are in full swing over here at Penn. It's so different. Even Locust walk sounds different and I never thought I'd see a day when the beautiful red brick road would be so silently trotted. No hustling and bustling. No shuffling and twisting. There aren't even any flyer people for me to avoid by me "suddenly" pulling out my phone or hiding behind the person in front of me (guilty!). Everyone has crept into their little holes that they're subletting in and barely anything causes a stir. 

With summer approaching, the meaning of the word "chill" becomes literal. The blazing sun makes everyone too hot to do anything but sit around and stare at the tv. I find myself stuck on the conveyor belt. "Let's chill" And we do nothing but eat and sit and breathe. 

It wasn't until a couple of days ago that I realized there's more to it than just keeping each other's company. When I made the proposition to chill, I was met with a (hilarious) game of badminton, frisbee, and racing. The most physical "chill" session I've had in a while. It was so nice to shake things up a bit. We eventually retreated back to the room to relax and watch a movie, but I had some fun. I laughed. I played. I flung. I made really wierd sound effects. It was different.

How coincidental that we watched "Good Deeds". The message I got from it was this: Be spontaneous! Embrace the impromptu and make it fun. Be silly. Not everything has to be structured all of the time. Most importantly, embrace those who encourage the unpredictable side to you. It may come off as scary at first, but it's the part of your being that houses excitement. Don't worry much about order. Be chaotic! Shake things up. Give your self a daily dose of 20-second insanity. You won't regret it (keep it safe and legal though!).

Because when you look back at your life 30 years from now, you'll be more disappointed in the things you didn't do than the crazy ass things you did do. 

Birds

Even at 4:12 AM, in the chilling departure of winter
You can hear the birds singing
Did you know?
Even in the midnight blue, the breath from their lungs beam and pierce through the sky
Did you know?

I wasn't supposed to be alone. Trudging, hustling through the blocks of cement ahead. Abandoned by everything but cold and street lights.
I just want to get home.
I just want to get home.

These skinny jeans are doing nothing for me so I shift my legs frivolously. Halfway there. I wait at a stop light.
Then I hear the birds again. I smile as I realize that I'm not alone.

I'm not alone

Black.
The songs stop. My head hits the pavement. My breath is stuck in my throat and I only feel chimes in my ears. Ringing.

Cold. Its hands are so cold against my body as it forks its way through my clothes and on to my skin. Its weight crushing my belly. And finally its in and that's when my vocal chords no longer constrict.


Even at 4:47 AM, in the milk of the moon,
You can hear the birds singing
So I sing the strange, strangled notes as it chokes its way through my throat.
I'm not even aware of the creature above me with its cold hands, but just then
He stills. Listening to my song and my birds
New breath penetrates my lungs and my singing becomes louder, not quite matching the notes and then it's no longer singing
It's falling and weeping and choking on blood
All morphed into a deranged symphony

We all stop
Mangled body and my mind lay sprawled on the bed of cement
The sun peaks its head through the clouds
The song lingers, but is quickly slipping. Where are my birds? We've made a song through the darkness. The only thing that voids the pins and needles between my legs. My brain struggles to recite the twisted tune. Where are my birds? It's starting to fade from my brain. Help me remember. Where are my birds? Where the fuck are you? Just sing with me one last time. Please.

I lay there and pray for death.

I wasn't supposed to be alone


There's a flower petal hovering over me with my face on it. Looking at myself, and it's as if it never really happened. But it never did happen, right?

I wasn't supposed to be alone, so it never really happened
I should've worn better clothes, so it never really happened
I was supposed to be silent, so it never really happened
I wasn't supposed to fight, so it never really happened
It's supposed to be my fault, so it never really happened
I wasn't supposed to be alone.

And I'm grieving. Not my own death. But the departure of my birds.

But even at 5:24 AM, as streaks of violet makes its way into the sky,
You can hear the birds singing?
Did you know?

I knew
Because I sang with them.

Personal Qualms with Preserving Confidence

While being a part of this team, I've noticed a trend with some coaches in wanting to preserve an athlete's confidence.

While that's all good and well, I've realized how damaging this could be. The only reason I was able to perform at the level I ran at in high school is because I was exposed to it despite whether or not losing would hurt my confidence.

I've been walked down at the line, lost by fractions of a second, placed last, ran on teams with dropped batons, lost races I was projected to win, ran terribly at championship meets and other athletic atrocities.

But guess what?

I still became an amazing athlete.

My confidence can't have a perfect track record (no pun intended), it has its dents and cracks. But that's all apart of the game. Part of a bigger race.

Eliminate the negative self-talk, put yourself out there with the greatest, run your race, win/lose, and come back the next time ready to be better.

Stop punking out and playing small. We're here to compete. If we don't hold ourselves worthy to compete with the best, then we're wasting our time.

Stop the Madness

One day I'll be able to shop in American Apparel
Without hearing the quiet weeping of my wallet.
Or the whimpering of my credit card after each swipe


But as for now, being "college broke" thrusts me into a true reality
And I'm trying to get outta that "hood nigga" mentality

You know, that person who's

Chasing that paperr,

out of their mother's wallet

Or

They got a $700 sneakers but can't even afford rent

Or

They got a $100 belt but can't even pronounce the brand it comes from

When

Shorty is all decked out in her $200 Tru Religion jeans, Burberry shirt, Red Bottom heels, 24 inch Remy weave, Louis Vuitton bag, iPhone clutched to her well $50 French manicured hand... But she's taking the train

Where's yo fly ass car at ma?

Musing over the common cents while not commonly sensing that the words "sense" and "common" ain't been so common since.. I'm not sure when sense became uncommon

I guess it was when

She spent $70 on makeup that lasted two weeks. "But it's from Sephora" so I guess it's worth it

Powder blush your pain away
As you become a slave to insecurities that thrust you into debt
But you still look good though...

Hood nigga mentality

When we're concerned about expressing our styles through expensive name tags and threads
And webs of designer lines

But we don't even know what a mutual fund is.

There must be a material God somewhere in heaven based on all the money we shell out for the sake of them

Yet asking for ten percent is outrageous


We reject those who approach us with "Ugg"- less boots or Polo-less shirts.

"He ain't got no swag"
"She's a lame"

Then complain about artificiality and materialism and getting treated poorly because the people who idolize these things, are superficial.

Hood nigga mentality

We all like nice things. Human nature
But when it begins to consume us and we remain utterly ignorant or in denial about it, we're trapped.

And the people from the outside looking in will laugh at us. And have no reason to help us.

And we laugh at each other. And turn a blind eye.

Hood nigga mentality
An epidemic at it's height

Will you bother to stop it? Will you for once be unblinded by the glitters of plastic and fragrance of cheap perfume and see that wealth isn't attained through the ownership of insignificant things that yield only temporary value and not permanent investments?

Hood nigga mentality

It needs to stop

Being approached by a frat boy because he has to fuck a black girl for initiation

**DISCLAIMER** This did NOT happen to me BUT it did happen to a student here on this campus. When I heard of her story, it moved me to write about it. Enjoy



Maybe it's the hue of my skin,
Or the slant in her eye
Or the curl of her hair
That the most utterly offensive yet deeply "affectionate" thing they could call us is

exotic

Like we're some wild plants growing between the cracks of pavement
That's been so smothered by the cemented ignorance that crush us to the earth

But they're somehow surprised we exist
Impressed that we can take the womanly shape of a flower
That the roots of my veins bleed into and soften the soil
And I grow and thrive, and breathe, and glow
Even when the world around us is barren and cold

I am a tree
That can bear something other than strange fruit

So they call us exotic

Like we're on some foreign display
Eyes peeling off the hairs on our skin
Glaring at us like we're in humane
But they're so captivated that they can't look away
Fascinated by the way my heart beats
Alas, she breathes!
Alas, she feels!
Alas, she thinks!
But wait, I am!

I am human


But Because of the ebony hue of my melanin, the slant of her dark brown iris, the Spanish in her curl, tight tongues that unfurl, the drums in her hips, the plump in her lips, the depth of her womb, the warmth of her blood, the screech of her cry, the roll of her thighs

They reduce us to that little word

exotic

Like the dancer

The ones you'd probably assume my mother to be
Because slipping and sliding up and down that pole
No longer has to be to make the ends meet
But just to be featured on another line of
Some song or video that glorifies the culture of
Defiling a woman's body rather than praising it

Like her pussy is some peregrine dreamland open and waiting to greet her clients with bliss and ecstasy
You'd rather a vixen than a reigning queen
To take you to Magic city and fulfill your
every dream
In the seams
Of your jeans

So they call us exotic

Like some sort of twisted serendipity
Like we were put here by mistake
But somehow still living
And what a marvel it has to be!
A black girl who's still breathing
Where's her baby (daddy)?

I am not a mistake.

So they call me exotic

Not Precious like a gem you'd guard with your life
Not Delicate like the suppleness of velvet
Not Beloved because the ghost of her beauty haunts you everyday
Not Worthy because she is much more than you.
Shit, not even Pulchritudinous because beautiful is too basic of a word and I am no "basic bitch"

I am much too complex of a being to be reduced to such a basic idiom

To be reduced to the color my skin reflects or the gleam it projects to protect the ivory sun from my ashes that, when risen, are a threat to cover the whole world with this "exotic" shade of which I am made out of.


I am not exotic
I am a Woman
Neither simple nor plain as that

I am a Woman

Victim

I wanted to write a love poem
You know, for Valentine's Day
Then I thought about you

I wanted to write a poem where you drowned within the stream of my tears.
Where the streaks of ink from my pen scorched your flesh and you'd have to come
Thrashing, gasping, begging me to stop.

I wanted to write a poem that left you dangling by every letter.
The thin string of words stinging you in your fingertips so nothing
Could numb the pain.

I wanted to write a poem that stole your breaths in chaotic cries and moans.
That twisted your arms and bounded your legs.

I wanted to write a poem that made your body spasm and wrench uncontrollably.
That tickled your forehead into that wrinkle you made when you were confused.

I wanted to write a poem that would drunken your heart so that maybe, just maybe,
I'd believe something that came out of your tainted mouth.

I wanted to write a poem that would blind you in a way that would make up for my dull presence.
To strike you in a way my kisses never did.

I wanted to write a poem that made you confuse the light of dawn with the warmth of my skin so that sleepless nights left you in a dreadful yearning. Desperate for the sun to rise.

So that even if your eyes did close,
Every morning you'd wake up with cold sweat- filled nightmares of me.
And your toes were cold, cold, cold.

I wanted to write a poem that would melt glass into your veins then harden.
 So that every step you took,
You'd crack, slowly.
Until finally,
You'd shatter.

I wanted to write a poem that ran over you and ran through you.
Again
And again
And again.

I wanted to write a poem that fucked you so violently that you were forced to like it.

So that you would whimper away, tail tucked in between your legs.
Feeling the same way I felt.
The day you left.

So that you could choke on your twisted goodbye.
So that the blood from your bitten tongue could seal away my despair.
As it will be you limping away.

Scrambling for your insides
Missing your pieces.

Middle Distance Chronicles Pt. II

After a grueling meet with sub-par performances, coach decided to have a meeting with us.

Oh the dreaded post-race talk.

Within his rant, he mentioned something worthwhile. "As you get older, it becomes less about how you feel and more about what you have to do."

It was a little confounding and a bit disheartening. So our feelings don't matter? If my leg is about to fall off and I tell you I feel terrible, it doesn't matter? I must numb all of what I feel and toss it away? You don't care?

I was being dramatic.

It was only today I realized what he meant. Knowing how Tuesdays normally are, I didn't quite brace myself emotionally to deal with today's strenuous workout. I dragged myself through the day, dreading the events to come. Tried warming up but never really getting to top speed. Slight ailments rearing their ugly heads and the little aches and pains creeping up on me. I felt terrible. It was to be one of those "today, you're going to find out something about yourself" kind of workouts. Today, I did.

However, it didn't have to take me being sprawled out on the track yelping in pain or my lunch paying me an untimely visit. It was reflected in how I ran.

I decided from the jump "Well, I'm not feeling well so I'm just going to drag my body around the track and act like I've done my best." When I finished, I was close to tears. Not from pain. But from utter disappointment. When did I start losing my heart? When did I decide that bullshitting is okay? I got too caught up playing victim. Telling myself that this whole middle distance thing was new and hard and that I can't get over it. I was too used to being at a disadvantage, struggling from the back. The underdog. That felt like my place, until I'd shift a gear and miraculously win from behind. Or in my head I did. But now I was letting the race run away from me.

Attitude check. I had one today. Every practice is a game of meters, another opportunity to get an upperhand. Not being fully engaged in practice is a loss of meters, precious seconds that tell the difference between first and second place.

"If I only had five more meters."

I may have been the fifty-four second quarter miler before, but that's nothing now. Memories won't get me to where I need to be. My high-school medals and rings are just shining dimly in a corner back home. Those won't get me anywhere. Hard work will. I could apologize all I want for giving crap but it'd better be to myself because that's who I'm hurting. I could cry all the tears but that alone won't turn me into runner I want to be. 

So, while it's still hard dealing with the still-relatively new life of mid-D, it is (and has been) time to get over it. Get over it. Leave it on the track. Anger, hurt, frustration. Leave it on the track. We have our goals, now go get them. Let what you feel be the fuel for what you want to achieve.

Morning Poem

Starbuks will never get my name right
Nor will my professors
Or my new classmates
Or the chefs at Houston hall
Even some of my friends screw up from time to time

My Christmas cards will always have an extra "L"
My birthday cards will always have a missing "e"
Some others may have a "qu"
And somehow I'm transformed into a boy

What's in a name
That makes mine so damn difficult to pronounce

Paradoxy

Eskimo Kiss me in the middle of summer
Sipping champagne from teacups
Picnics on snowfields
Easter Eggs on Halloween
Sun-dancing at dusk
Moonshining at noon

Why isn't the New Year in May?
I'd love to be greeted by darling rosebuds
And soft lilies
Rays of warmth, permeating the air
Sweet, moist air
Powdering my face
Its abundance, drunkening my stance
I'm uplifted

Sway with me
High off the pollen seeds
And velvet wind
Take flight
With you, I am all things and nothing at all
 I am a ball of sentiments, unraveling
All-feeling yet numb
All encompassing yet one special being

How bewildering! How enchanting!
That we exist in madness
And thrive in the confusion

We survive

I couldn't be happier.