May 31

How To Act Ladylike

What does it mean to be a woman in America?
I wish I knew. 
Thus far in time, I've come up with a couple points based off what I've been told. 

A woman has to get married and have kids. 
She can't do it too young or too old though, there's a time frame for human incubators.

A woman can't be in tune with her sexuality, or else she's too promiscuos.
She does also have to be in tune with her sexuality, or else she's a prude. 

A woman has to be intelligent and speak up for her beliefs.
She can't speak up if a man disagrees though, or else she's being rude.

A woman has to achieve big things in life, and set an example for others.
She can't brag or be proud of her achievements, no one likes an arrogant lady. 

 Those are just some of the things I've heard about being a woman. 
Notice how they make absolutely no sense? At least to me, they don't.

May 30

The Loss of My Culture

Growing up in America, I faced the burden that is losing my culture.
I lost my culture when I stopped calling my mother in public, because I didn't want people to stare as foreign words slipped from my tongue. 
I lost my culture when I began saying nothing while people claimed they "could never visit a dangerous place" like the one my family is from. 
I lost my culture when I was no longer proud of the curls that sprung from my head after I showered. 
I lost my culture when I began sitting silently as people mocked the accents of immigrants, people that gave up everything to come here. 
I lost my culture when I no longer followed the religious traditions that I had once held so closely to my heart. 

These were the first signals of losing my culture.
I didn't think it mattered; it seemed much better to fit in as an American than to fit in with a culture that no longer surrounded me.
In a twist of events, it did matter. 

May 30

The Change That We Demand

I have never felt such disgust to be an American as I have this last week.
I have never been so ashamed of this nation, a nation that I once thought was one of the best in the world.
I feel nauseous when I see the names of the lives that we have lost; innocent lives. 
I have heard names and stories of people like Ahmaud Arbery, stories of black people who aren't with us anymore.
I have always been devastated when I see the name of a new black person on the news; a black person who is no longer among the living.
Nothing I have ever seen or heard in my lifetime could've prepared me for the video that I watched earlier this week; the video of George Floyd.
I know that black people have been murdered by the police; it happens so outrageously often to the point where it's not surprising anymore.
George Floyd was different; I witnessed the video in which he died.
I watched his eyes shut, and never reopen.

Feb 29

The Scam Of Life

Do you ever think about life?
Like TRULY think about it?
I hadn't until this very moment, and it's safe to say that I think it's a complete sham.
The process of life truly outrages me.
I mean, think about it.
I was born into this world against my will, and without any instruction manual to guide my way through.
I am forced to attend 12 years of school, and during these years, I'm expected to excell.
Why am I expected to excell? Simply so I can be accepted into college.
Why do I want to to college? So I can afford to continue living in this world that I did not ask to live in. 
I'm sure this sounds really whiney to some people, but I'm just saying that an instruction manual wouldn't be that much to ask for. 
Feb 10

All the reasons why America is great


That's what is written on the whiteboard in my history class.

I sit in my seat, thinking about what on earth I can think up to write for this prompt. The problem with this for me, is that I truly don't see what really is great about America. Military, Army, Navy, and Veterans. That's all I can think of after sitting still for thirty minutes. Outside of that, I truly don't get what else is so great. 

Unfortunately, my teacher doesn't see why I'm struggling. No one does. Everyone around us is too stuck on this concept of the 'American Dream' to realize that the world around us is a nightmare.
May 24

You robbed me.

You're a thief.
You stole everything that mattered.
You left me as a book with a spine, but ripped out all the pages.

You stole my eyes.
I can no longer open them to reality. 
I pry them open daily, only to see that nothing has changed and my life is still in shambles.
Precisely the way you left it.

You stole my touch.
I can no longer feel skin without you stuck in my thoughts, like you were my drug and I was an addict.
Now I'm stuck in rehab.

You stole my soul.
I let you into my heart and you left your mark like a tattoo.

You even stole my name.
Your voice was enslaving, like you were honey and I was a bee.
It plays in my head like a soundtrack to a playlist I can't delete.

I was a mirror.
You smiled at me, and I was shattered.
Now You've left me picking up the broken shards.

May 03


Pluto is a planet to me.
It's a small one, but a planet just like the rest.

I relate to pluto more than the average girl.
Some people would describe me as "vanilla".
Not the first choice, but still a decent flavor.
I don't want to be vanilla.
I want to be a flavor that's a first pick, not a backup when there are no other flavors.

Pluto is vanilla too. 
So insignificant that even though it fits in the solar system, you almost forget it's there.
I'm so insignificant that even though I fit into social groups, you almost forget I'm there.

Pluto is so unimportant that people truly removed it's title of "planet".
But I know what it feels like Pluto.
I believe in you.
May 02

Are you shaking?

Are you shaking? Are you trembling with fear knowing that your child can run into people like me while walking home from school?

Does your blood run cold as you watch your son walk into stores, knowing that everyone isn't white like him? I know that my blood does.

All of my bones stiffen and I'm paralyzed as I walk into a building where I'm one of the only people that looks different. A building where people view me as threatening because of something like my skin, or the language that slips from my tongue when I get home. A building where people who look like you look at people like me, and associate us with gang members and drug dealers. A building where people think I don't have a stable home, purely because I don't posess delicate, porcelain skin like you.