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.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
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
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
Saturday, March 16, 2013
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
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
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