Apr 18

Apostle


he was my guidance,

the flame that lit my soul.

His slightly tanned hands molded me from a

lump of cold clay.

He shaped me, a linguistic michael angelo,

he carved my mind with his mellifluous words;

each one twisting my spine, vertebrae by vertebrae until I cannot go back to the way I was.

He was my Zeus, mighty and sempiternal, He is the one who drew the map and led me

away from Lost. He is the one that made me lift

a pen and make shapes that freed my mind. He is the one that taught me how to teach.

He is the one that my soul will miss most. He awakened something

in me so real, so alive, that no matter what weapon the monster beneath my bed shoves

into my hands and whispers wickedly ‘do it. do it for real, this time’ I will refuse. I will embrace the
Mar 25

A Rose for my Rose




A Rose for my Rose

I can still remember the day I met her. I was in third grade, perched on a log among the school’s field, carefully constructing a dandelion crown from the grass around me. Each flower plucked from the earth with careful consideration of its stem length and vibrancy. My lissome fingers weaved the torn pedicels through one another. Among the soft sounds of the other children laughing and the wind shaking itself through the trees, a lamentation danced itself past my own humming and into my head. My eyes scanned the plain around me and they settled on a girl, beyond the tree line separating the field from the forest. She was leaned up against an oak, wrapping herself up as if the mid-March weather was much too cold.

My feet lit up and blinked as I trudged through the grass and the rain-kissed dirt towards her. She remained stoic as I sat down next to her small frame and asked her what was wrong.
Mar 25

How To Be Empty


If you are one of the seventy-million people who wish to be empty, then continue to read the following paragraphs, if not, I urge you to turn away, for the following is not a safe road.

    You set aside loose fitting clothes before bed, along with a row of happiness—filled capsules.You find a soft spine measuring tape and place it beside your bed. You turn up the thermostat as high as it can go and put on many layers. You make sure to stack as many blankets on you as possible, heated ones on high are best. You feel even better when you remember the hot water bottle. You are burning up but you smile because you know that with every drop of sweat you spill, calories begin to panic and run away from your stomach. Your thighs.
Mar 25

The Definition of Modern-Day Schooling



The Definition of Modern Day Schooling

Everyone is genius, but if you judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.’ — Albert Einstein

    It is 1905 in France and a psychologist named Alfred Binet is developing a test of intelligence. The French Ministry of Education is waiting for this evaluation to be completed, then handed out to students to determine which of them were slow learners.

The test was introduced as the ‘Binet-Simon scale’. This seemingly minor event would set off a butterfly effect that would flap its way right into a brewing storm. A century later, the youth are still feeling the wind from its wings.
Mar 18

prove me wrong


i pray that you prove me wrong. 

i hate being wrong. 

but what you have,

behind your metallic smile,

is stronger than my impulses to 

always be proven correct. 

please prove me wrong. 

i do trust you, believe me, i do,

but it’s his soul that beat you black and blue.... darling,

he gave you that bruise upon your arm, 

and you let him bandage the marks 

with a piece of scotch tape so 

please my love,  know that it is not you, but it is him that i do not trust. And if i’m standing by you, dressed in that dove colored fabric as you approach him with tears on your plush cheeks, i will smile, as you proved me wrong. I pray that you prove me wrong. 
Mar 09

Love Sucker

 A home for me is any place far
from your grasping hands and lava lips,
coercing my mind into compliance.
Telling my body to submit to your
disguised poison
and venom slipping
through my outstretched neck
and hiding in my veins until I
am too far gone to
know it still
lingers 
 
Feb 21

The Blueprint of Social Justice


What is a blueprint, exactly? Is it a tinted piece of vellum, or a map laying out the steps to take in order to be successful? Is it formulas and a handful of nuts and bolts, or is it simply a visualized Candyland board with no shortcuts and no winning rainbow square at King Kandy’s castle?

Most people will happily live their lives without ever thinking about the answers to these questions. I am not one of those people. I am one of the people who will turn these questions every which way in my head and still struggle to come up with a definitive answer.

I do not think I will ever be able to stand in front of the masses and say with confidence, ‘Social justice is...’, or, ‘The blueprint of social justice is…’ Although I may never be able to answer that question with a concrete answer, I can answer it with what I do know. What I am unequivocally sure of is that the blueprint to social justice is subjective.
Feb 09

Dell, Dell.


words fall from her tongue and 
shatter against the tattered wood floor
beside her feet. she spreads her
warmth across a sea of children and
makes each of
them understand the word ‘home’
even if they can’t speak a single word yet. 

her voice melts the cement
walls built around them;
their small hearts beating to
the rhythm of her strumming fingers. 

each pluck of the melody
echoes around the darkest corners of her room as she
hides her secrets beneath the floorboards.
shadows caress the fresh
paint around her windows and
demand parts of her soul, and
every time she gives another fraction
away, splintering herself so
that even the greatest of evils can
have a ray of light to carry with them.
Her soul then becomes empty, until a
figure made of pure light teeters slowly
into her lap, unbalanced and unabashed
Jan 28

January 28, 2004

her fingers crawl up her legs and along her torso until she reaches the base of her neck, her hands wrapping around the hair that grows there, binding it with a black tie. her eyes are soft and kind while she speaks to me, telling me anything i want to hear. She’s never changed. Never woken up and decided to put on a mask for popularity— she’s never needed to. She’s never needed to be anything but herself for people to love her. Most things that look beautiful hurt to hold. Like a rose with thorns, like snowfall with frostbite. But she has never hurt me, and i have held her eternally. I have wrapped my soul around her so tightly that no one can tell the difference between our beings. I have held her so close that i am lost without her, but somehow when i stare down at the ring on my finger i know that she is nothing more than an arms length away; not ever truly distanced. Not when she lives so strongly in my heart.
 
Jan 24

identity

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