Year in, Year out.

Once again, we're seeing the closing of another year on this here New Years Eve. It's time for those resolutions we never live up to, hanging out with people we potentially want to murder, in the same old place.

So, I find myself here again. Swakopmund. So essentially, what has changed this year? A year later and I'm still in the same place. Last year, I thought I had found something beyond amazing here, only to see it fall apart.

2012 has been the furthest thing from a good year. Suffering deaths, heart ache, emotional instability and self discovery. This year has been a whirlwind of confusion and turmoil. However, I have perhaps learned more about myself in this one year then I have over the course of my entire life. I've discovered my weaknesses and my strengths and I've been able to accept myself for who and what I am. I went through lessons that opened my eyes to the bullshit that was happening around me: the people who were only in my life to see my falter and those who were there to help me grow.

Any year has it's ups and downs and essentially, these are important in ones mission of personal discovery.

To summarize:
1. I lost someone I thought was a friend. I did, however, learn that it was for the best. Self destructive and on her own quest to discover herself, our paths weren't meant to intertwine at this point in our lives.

2. A rift grew between a boy I thought was my soul mate. Soul mate in the sense that he understood me and my reasoning. In as much heartbreak as it caused, it made me realize that I do deserve better. I deserve people in my life that appreciate and accept me as I am.

3. Those two instance made me realize the value of my childhood bestfriends Nash and Niina, and the significance of them in my life. Friends like these are hard to come by, but what comes easy goes easy and I'm glad to say they aren't the type to dispose of me when the going gets a little tough.

4. I have found a long lost sister in another childhood friend. A girl I've known since we were wet behind the ears 8-year olds. She has grown into an elegant figure of a woman, and has played the leading sister role in my life over the last year. A girl I can run to at any hour of the day and someone I find comfort in (because she cooks like a top chef, and I eat my feelings ;)). Much like her mother, she inspires me to be better and strive for better. She is the spitting image of the woman I idolized through my prior youth and in as much as she is not present today, I know she would be just as proud of her daughter as I am.

5. I learned that I am of a destructive nature due to the fact that I can't deal with my emotions, and that realization allowed me to change the course of my own life. I have since minimized my riotous mannerisms and found a more subtle manner in which to deal with my troubles. I owe the end of my walk down a destructive path to my Journal.

6. I have succeeded to understand myself. I know who I am, I know how I look and I am perfectly comfortable with every aspect of myself. I am, however, a human being, thus I will occasionally look into the mirror and find things that could do with some nip and tuck action, but, that's natural and quite necessary in order to avoid vanity.

All in all, the year has been a success. More than anything, life is about learning and this year has been one full of lessons. Do I have resolutions for next year? Absolutely not. Resolutions are somewhat a set up of bad luck. All I hope to do is go through life and take it as it comes.

Prosperous New Year to each and every one of your haunted souls.

Merry 'More Christ' ; 'Christ Gold' and ' With Christ'

It's Christmas day. Supposedly the most beautiful time of the year. I question why it has been graced with that title. From my experience, the day blends in with the other 364 days of the year. Here in Africa that means, dry, hot and well, dreary...

Perhaps the 'beauty' described is one of a more internal and personal experience. Essentially, Christmas is a religious celebration for many societies of the world. Hence, "Christ - mass" or "more Christ" to our Spanish and Filipino mates, or "Christ Gold" to our Malay friends, and "with Christ" to the Maltese natives.

Although my lifestyle is void of any such a concept of religion, I can understand the significance of it to those who place a special belief on some sort of higher power and entity. Perhaps far from similar, but the only synonymous example in my thoughts at this very moment, it may well be the same as our belief in time. Intangible and imperceptible, yet it is something we continue to believe in because in a sense, we feel it. We feel time whooping by us, much like I've experienced this year glide by while I took my afternoon nap.

So, what is this "Christmas" day to me? Over the years, during my more religious youth and upbringing, it was indefinitely the birth day of Christ. A day in which I was appreciative of his birth as it essentially led to my 'original sin' being absolved. It was a day of prayer and giving thanks with my family, and as a reward, I received presents and ate a warm meal. A meal that was more unique than any other meal I may have eaten throughout the year.

However, as I grew up and started to explore the religion I was initiated into (somewhat like a cult), I came to realize that more than any religious occurrence, this day was merely a day used by society to exploit human naivety. In as much as I'd like to blame society for commercializing the occasion, I must put some of the blame on us, as individuals. We should have been able to take a step back and recognize that we are being exploited, because, essentially, if we are celebrating the birth of 'Christ' on this day, why is it more important to some of us to receive gifts than say prayers? Or why do we believe in a Santa Claus? A big, old, white pedophile man, who much like Micheal Jackson (may his blessed soul rest in peace) have children sit on his lap and demand things.

I am certain many will read this post and be utterly disgusted at what I have to say, how I perceive this occasion and how I (obviously) misunderstand the symbolism of everything. However, I believe in simplicity and any possible reasons as to why 'Christ's birth' has become so commercial and complicated eludes me.

So, for the Christians of you who are about to eat pork belly with your pierced ears, surrounded by sodomites and homosexuals, I wish you a blessed Merry Christmas, because obviously, you are some legit Christians. Christ, on his birthday, is extremely pleased with you.. So, enjoy that pork belly.

Those of you who are simply keen to indulge in the feast ahead of you and appreciate the presents you receive on this one 'special' day, enjoy it. It's somewhat like a second birthday. :)

...Cheerie Christmas and a Ho Ho Ho.

A little girl's love

I often revisit memories. I sit behind this screen and look back to messages from early 2-11. I read through our new life teenage experiences. I read how I cussed out at you when you yelled at me. Was it never evident that I didn't appreciate being yelled at on the curb? 'Niggah is ya blind. Shit abou ta geh real G up in dis...". The inside jokes that only we'll understand.

I read through our virtual celebrations of our 'anniversary'. It coincided with your birthday. "We became friends on this day. Before this, you just stalked me on Facebook like a creeper". I laugh. I cry. The memories so crisp. They feel so distant. Associated with songs. Your songs. "Make sure when you listen to these, they remind you of me." Hard headed as I was, I said they never would. But guess what? They do now. Now that I miss you.

You looked out for me. Looking back, I see why it fell apart. I was cold, scared and reserved. They say you never know what you have till you lose it, and the rebuttal to that is 'you know what you have, you just don't appreciate it'. I guess it's a bit of both. Or not? I didn't know what I had. It's a little to late to come to this realization. I'm sorry I never showed you your worth. I'm hoping now you know, you were my world.

The jokes we shared that still have me laughing, make me want to pick up my phone and share it with you again, but I hesitate. Perhaps it's my pride. Could it be? No. It's the memory of you hurting me. I can't forget you hurt me. I'm not sure you know it but I'm fearful of you, as a result. Not fearful per say, but scared to approach. It's like standing at the edge of a cliff, anticipating the fall. Why does it feel so distant when it used to be a warm embrace?

I guess I'll just laugh and cry at the memories. Laugh and cry at the memories. Thinking of the change churns my insides, and stirs me in a manner that is incomprehensible, even to my own psyche. I don't know how to respond to it. What do I say to you? Could you tell me what you want to hear? 'Despite my empty mouth, the words are in my mind' - Adele could not have said it any better. I'm lost for words with you. I'd love to tell you how I feel, whisper it into your ears, but you're so far away. I'm waving goodbye with tears in my eyes.

...But it's a part of growing up. We're not the same children we were a year ago. You've morphed into a man, your jaw tells me so. I've transformed into a woman, my hips show me this. Yet, the innocence of a pure love stirs the little girl in me. A first love experience indeed. A first love I can't forget. Perhaps, I need to get away, to feel again.

Although it might hurt, these memories I forget. So although I'd like to excuse you and tell you, "First love, we're through" our youth will forever hold onto each other. But you're bribing me to doubt myself. 'Forgive me first love'.

I can't miss you anymore

I can't miss you anymore, because I can't cry anymore. I can't look at your face everyday, and reminisce on what we had, because it hurts too much to miss you. It hurts to much to wonder whether you miss me too, but now I know you do, and somehow, that hurts even more.
I could never understand why you left me in the cold. I took the leap and you let me fall. I could never understand why you never reached out. I guess I need some closure. Or rather, 'needed' some closure, because now, I can't miss you anymore.

I can't miss you anymore, because your smile for her smile hurts my heart. So, I can't miss you anymore as a remedy to my heartache. I can't miss you anymore, because your jaw has become defined. You are no longer the boy I knew, but rather a man I don't know. So, I can't miss you anymore, because you no longer exist.

I can't miss you anymore because it's become too difficult to hold on. My finger tips ache from holding onto the ledge of the pane I should so long ago have let go of. Yet, I allowed myself to miss you for sometime. I forced myself to focus on the positives so that the pain of missing you didn't seem so intense, but it was loud. So, I can't miss you anymore, because I need to mute the sound.

I can't miss you anymore. I need relief. I can't miss you anymore, honey, I need to breathe. I can't miss you anymore, because you don't exist. I can't miss you anymore, because I'm losing my mind. I just can't miss you anymore, and maybe, at last, I'll be fine. 

A distant longing

To fit in, one must first belong. To fit in, does not mean to conform.. To fit in, means to be accepted as is. To fit in, is what we all long for.

To fit in, is to be surrounded by individuals who adore you and appreciate your company. To fit in, means to know who to call when the day seems unfruitful. To fit in, means to know with whom you stand when they day is grey.

To fit in, means to feel familiar in the unfamiliar. To fit in, means to voice opinions without fear of judgement, rejection or condemnation. To fit in, means to be yourself with all certainty.

To fit in, means smiles, laughs, tears. To fit in, means high, low, fears. To fit in, means together apart, one heart. To fit in, means nothing separating 5 hearts.

1 heart, my heart. Low. Fears. Tears. Uncertainty. Fearful of judgement. Judged. Opinions silenced; scared to be condemned, denied. Unfamiliar in my familiar. Alone in the dark. Sunny Saturdays in my blanket's shade. No appreciation, no adoration. A longing, a need. But not the usual, nor a conformist.

Belonging. A distant longing. 

Insomnia: One

Everybody needs to stop.
The hurts, the feels, the cries, the lies.
Human demise.
Sinking in ships that we built,
Ask Noah how to stay a float.
God can't be real,
Is he playing his role?
Randomly ranting because insomnia has me in it's grips.
Questioning,
Saying spells from these lips.
Thinking, thoughts.
Rolling, Cops.
But the edge of the cliff
Doesn't look too scary.
Lied to me.
I think I'm ready.
1 foot forward,
I can't step back.
But it's okay
Because I'm dying with no doubts.

The Day Has Come Where I Have Died

...Everybody thinks they're the only ones hurting. They say words thinking their the only ones hurting. Everybody thinks their the only ones hurting...until someone decides to end it. Until someone decides to die.

The cold dead, cupped by the warmth of the blood dripping from their wrists and puddling beneath the cold white tiled floor. The cold dead, symbolized by the white dress worn to pray for innocence to a God who doesn't give a shit. Perhaps it's something like a parent who kills off their offspring when they're born with a defect. Will the age come where we'll be aware of a fetus' psychological defects so we can kill it before it kills itself? Genetic screening is frowned upon by many societies and many individuals because we cannot fathom the idea of 'killing someone off' because they don't live up to what you want (perhaps they have down-syndrome, genetically carried diseases, etc) but would it not help the 'masses' to kill someone that will eventually kill themself?

Well, I killed the girl in my bed last night. She was lying there, with her eyes wide open because the horror movie playing out in her reality was too distressing and heartbreaking to allow her to shut her black eyes. I hovered over her, watching her mouth quiver and wells of tears build up in the sacs of her eyes. Her pride was holding her back, but when I stroked her shoulder, chills sent down her spine, she let down the sluices and let the dam flow over. I held her, I felt her ache, I felt the black hole where her heart stood. Her life played out, recollections of hidden memories. Vases thrown to walls, "you bitch" yelled out, a little girl curled under her sheets. Tears. Head laying in a puddle of wet sheets. Guilt. Regret. Pain. The overwhelming pain of puncturing her skin. The comfort she felt. Momentarily forgetting the hurt..............................................................................................................................................................................................................

The bed was bleeding. Drip. Drip. Drip, it leaked off the duvet, counting the seconds. The light became brighter. The pain became distant. She smiled before she shut her eyes, savoring the moment. The first instance in which nothing else mattered. Her heart beat faded, her pulse grew slow and her black skin went pale.

I killed the girl in my bed. She's slept alone for the last night. I killed the girl in my bed last night, and the scars on my wrists will forever be a reminder of my glorious deed as I walk these paths identified by my soul. I killed myself in my bed last night, and the happiness is overwhelming. 

The Dark Deity

There were days when everything was either black or white. There was always a definite either or... But recently, my world of solid colours has turned into a blend of uncertainty with shades and emotions that I cannot decipher...

Black skies,
Of red tears, blue blood, white lies.
Dripping from her lips.
Bubbling up from sunken ships.
A place darker than the tunnels and caves
Carved by her inner demon to escape
the burning light.
Flames torched from bible pages ignite..
Holy water purified of the purity
What profanity.
Lost virginity.
A body numb and paralyzed,
An aerial view through blind eyes.
Watch earth's god rise.
Heaven's demise.
Lucifer say a prayer,
Lasting debt, forever the payer.


I can never tell how I feel. How do I fucking feel? Is this the dark invading my soul? Day by day I say a prayer. "God, pull me out of the deep end?" But sometimes the effort becomes heavy on my shoulders. "Oh, lucifer, carry me back to the dark side..." ...and he delivers me to my prayer. He asks me to give myself to him, and he'll never set me free. Where do i go? The dark calls to me, and the light provides no shelter from the heat. Grey areas of tears and pain, moments of pain and bliss. Cigarettes and parties. Boys and lace panties. No love. Just a drift through and through.
Pierce through my skin so I know it's real. Let me feel myself within myself. Let me know it's real. Oh,, let me sell it for the momentary bliss. Hell cannot be worse than this. Let me eat my own flesh. Hell cannot be worse than this.


I am an angel pure. Oh God, forgive my sin? Golden shrines of saints and seekers. Why aren't I a believer? Deliver me from evil, in the name of the Father, Son and Spirit. Where are you? Trinity, Deity, can you hear me? I can feel you. I can't feel you. I can't feel you.

My reality is tainted. Let me bleed. Let me weep. Let me sleep in peace. Wake me up. Give me love. Give me peace. Where's my God? Ecstasy. Warm embrace? Heaven, hath though forsaken me? This can't be real. Hell is better than this.

Oh Deity.

Find my desolate soul

Why does it take an experience of the utmost desolation to make a community of beings realize the wrong doing in their actions? How does such an experience pull the forces of faith into one, such that they are intertwined to create a web linked family of the most capricious caliber?

Not to long ago, on a crisp Friday evening, I saw his dark eyes as the moon lit the sky to a velvet dye. I quickly reached over, wrapping my arms around him.. Giving him the most zealous hug my scrawny body could produce. Little did I know that this was going to be my goodbye; our last 'he-rah'! ... I wonder what I would've done differently, or said differently had I known that was our final encounter..
Perhaps I might have uttered a "thank you" under my breathe, for the mounds of support he had once shown me or for the strength he had forced me to pursue...

My mind plays back to the year 2009, entering high school as a freshman. There was this boy, who took lead from the pack, and made it his end game to mock and rag at every fiber that my being comprised of. Often a day, I would come home and lock myself away, allowing my weakness to protrude and roam freely in the confines of my own insecurity.
...The year progressed and the agony became unbearable. An unhappy child makes for unhappy parents, and as the tale goes, "the bullied moves away from the bully"... I had found a haven of safe, distant bliss from the abyss of my childhood odium.

It was not too many years later that the new found, self secure vixen in me, decided to wrap her claws around the neck of her childhood nemesis.
...but to my surprise, the situation had changed. Approaching the situation, guns a blazing, my vixen was soon put to bed in the surety of the emergence of a new man... Her bully had become her pillar.

"Running away from problems is what breaks you, and in life, you need a foundation that will make you and build you up to stand as your own pillars," he had said. An ancient traditional tales tells of how only the purest of souls can pick up on the strengths and weaknesses of the human being. The tale spoke of babies to be the angels to our souls. Yet, somehow, this manifestation of a wayward soul had found it's path into the grips of this once grum slum who had made me consider the unimportance of my life, time and time again. Is it possible that this same being could now be laying the foundation of what would allow my '7 pillars of strength' to stand stably on their own? Oh, but it seemed too unreal to me... There must be a God.

On this here day, September 10th 2012, I sit and shed more than just a tear for the moment of meeting, the moment of knowing, and the moment of parting... I shed a tear for the moment that was, and the moment that will be..
I shed a tear to my friend.. a mecca of brilliance... a pillar of strength... & a reformed grum slum.

MWASHE MBWAE.

Amidst my tears I cry this song...

Amidst my tears I cry this song,

Words I’ve meant to say all along.
Treasures of a life, hidden within a chest,
A heart beating pulse to give more than it's best. 

Amidst my tears I cry this song, 

A story of friendship playing out for long. 

In laughter I hear his voice to me calling, 

That by and by day, it'll be better by morning. 

Amidst my tears I cry this song, 

The loss of a life was never so wrong.

But entrust my faith in thine God I shall, 

And pray to bid my friend a fair well... 

Finding the best in my worst expectation

I expected this school year to start differently... Can you blame me for expecting more drama? I was scared that this black hole would suck me back into the state of depression I once curled under or that the fondness I witnessed between friends that were once mine would hurt me and bring those salty swells of tears back to my eyes. I expected the worst...

Yet, somehow, I had given myself the time to grow and change without even realizing it; because only in that moment, the moment where I witnessed the source of all my pain and despair, only then did I realize that I have dried into a thick pillar of cement who cannot be burdened by the agendas of others who only wish to see me fall. No, I am no longer burdened with anger, hate or jealousy because these emotions never helped me... Instead of adding value to my life, they made me, and my sense of self, depreciate into a worthless feeling, slither of a girl..
...But no more...
I'm not going to sit here and preach 'girl power' or speak of the evils of the 'jealousy monster'.. No. All I'm going to say is that when you make the conscious choice to leave behind some of your baggage, your shoulders feel lighter, and instead of pulling yourself brutally over the cracks and nooks of a heated tar road, you can walk with your shoulders held high and you get to see the brighter shades of blue and green that stream through the sky; and you can smell the fresh aroma of the freshly cut foliage.

When I decided to pick myself off the ground, I started living for me and walking down my own path with my own two feet. No longer did I let people step on my back and hold me back while I furiously tried to pull myself to my next destination, only to be trampled on by the being who can only pick themselves up solely to hide their emotions. Now that I can see these heights, I can see the faces smile UP at me instead of DOWN on me, and I can see the company I have been avoiding.. Now that I have picked myself up I have found the company that I needed. I have found that person who took my face into his grasp and shook me a smile instead of analyzing the carvings of my bone structure.

I expected this school year to start differently... Can you blame me for expecting more drama? I was scared that this black hole would suck me back into the state of depression I once curled under or that the fondness I witnessed between friends that were once mine would hurt me and bring those salty swells of tears back to my eyes. I expected the worst... and in the worst of expectations, I found perfection... I found my bliss.... I found my joy.. and I found it in the face of the most unlikely candidate. Yet, I could not be more grateful that he found me, took my face in his grasp and shook me a smile.

Sometimes I can feel him here

....It was a trans-formative summer. I was experiencing the sunny summer glow of a German town while my troubles, worries and family were tucked under thick blankets in Africa's dry winter. Some days it would rain, and I'd imagine the smell of rain back home, or the patter on the ceiling as I sat in my room, watching series' to no end. Yet, I was here, miles from home. Sleeping on a white couch in a little town tucked right at the border to Denmark from Germany.

I never carried any kind of suave. I was just a black girl who tied her hair up, wore skirts, jeans and cardigans, with a hint of mascara to brighten her dark almond shaped eyes. I was never spectacular. However, the 10 hour flight and 5 hour train rides summoned me into a sleep so intense, that I could dream about the past 16 years, had I been someone else; had I thought different, and acted differently. I may have turned out differently.

I like to be different. I like to change. I like to stand out. I like to be free to express myself, and through pain I could be everything I wanted to be. The day I went to "Anka Tattoo Studio" I didn't realise that the change in my dreams was happening. Everything was about to change with the ripping of a needle through my tongue. I held her hand tight; my friend, my little sister. The white girl with the blue eyes who I'd seen grow from a blonde, large eared brat to the support I never knew I needed. I watched her smile, and throw her head back as I sighed in pain. Day by day she'd bring me cups of soup and pudding, hold my hair back while I tried to oh-so gently brush my teeth. She answered with a voice most angelic, "He's my cousin" when I asked her about the dark haired bloke in the leather jacket I'd spotted in our kitchen.

The smell of cigarette smoke was never truly appealing to me, yet, I'd grown up with parents who'd smoke as often as a chimney in a European winter. Yet, the pheromones and smoke that made up his scent caught a whiff to my nose. I smiled. "Who are you?" he asked me. His hazel eyes piercing every ounce of my physical being.
"Uhm. Arlana. I'm your cousins friend"
"Oh. Nice to meet you"
He left the room. So suddenly, so swiftly. I silently turned my head as I tried to catch my breath and in that same moment, he turned his and smiled. A perfect smile, and a mouth filled with the shiniest of pearls and caressed by the softest copious pink lips. He stole my breath again, and left me gagging with the embrace of his saccharine aroma.

It came as no surprise that I saw him around the yard the next few days. "What're you doing?" he'd ask as I sat soaking up the sun; or "where are you going?" as I frantically paced towards the sea to drown my worries with the waves. However, no other moment can compare to the night we sat watching a film in the language of my ancestors' oppressors.
"Do you understand German?"  he asked me, not wavering to stare directly into my shy, frightful eyes.
"Yeah. I've been learning it since fifth grade," I replied, barely keeping hold of my breath.
"Can I sit here?"
"Sure," I uttered almost too quickly.
"Willst du mit mir kommen? Ich brauche etwas zu essen," he said, laughing at the grin on my face.
"Ja, ich bin auch hunger," I replied. Laughing to the sound of his laugh.
The walk over the stoney path was silent, and cold. My thick legs shook under the short piece of fabric barely covering my ass.
"You have nice legs."
"Uhm, thank you," I giggled. The compliment wasn't unfamiliar, but I never imagined that a man of so much suave would recognise my minor blessing.
I sat on the table with my legs crossed as I watched him bake a frozen pizza.
"Can you cook?" he asked me.
"I can make toast and eggs, if that counts for anything," I blushed.
"I can't make you my wife then."
The pause was awkward. I looked at him. My eyes must've given away that I was speechless.
"You were meant to laugh," he giggled.
"Oh. ha," I forced out, "I was laughing in my head."
He laughed at the statement, and I laughed at the look on his face. I'd never seen someone look so handsome while laughing so frantically.
I stared at his face while we ate. Assessing the contours of his bone structure, assessing the size of his hands and watching the gestures he made while he spoke. For a moment he stopped, and just looked at me. I looked away shyly, scared of what he might be thinking. He grinned and got up to leave.
We walked over the stoney path again. Saying nothing, only breathing. I was sure he could hear my heart thump against my chest. It was so loud..
We walked, and it thumped.....thumped....thumped....thumped........thumped...
Until we reached the front door, and I reached my arm out to open it. I closed my eyes as I felt the cold sensation grip my waist and spin me over, and gushed out a loud breath of air as my back thumped against the wall and his breathe was on my neck. My heart stopped and his face smiled. A grin so devious and mysterious that it scared me a little bit; but at the same time, his scent and his sinister darkness drew me closer until I could feel his soft lips against mine and taste the sweet, cigarette mixed sap of his being. I felt warm and the cold was suddenly non-existent, and the contours of his body laid so perfectly against mine. I turned my head, and I laughed. He laughed. The cold came back, and my heart beat frantically.
"I like you," he whispered.
"I like you too," I smiled.

Sometimes, in my sleep. I feel that moment wrapping itself around me. The feel of the breeze that hit my skin that night, and his cold hands holding onto my hips. I can feel the hard wall pounding against my back, and the smell of cigarettes smoke flowing off his being.
Sometimes I can feel him here, and I can smell him here, yet more than just a few miles and a few oceans hold us apart. But, sometimes, I can feel him here.

Contemplating love

Silently contemplating,
While my mind is meditating
About a time where I could change it,
Like a caterpillar meta-morphing,
Where the tears were merely raindrops
From clouds of mixed emotions.
And love was just a letter,
Remnants of the alphabet.
So while I'm silently contemplating,
Our minds can keep meditating.
And remember that you once told me, you loved me.
You once told me you loved me.

Because you tried to beat me down...

There are times when I sit occupied in my own thoughts that ring so loudly in my mind that it makes me want to scream. I try to block out the music, and I mask the hurt but there is so much more within that I can't disregard.

They say that happiness is a state of mind and strength is developed. However, I've been trying for the past few months and it hasn't come to me. I've chosen the smiles and roses, and the sunbeams in the sky. I let the light hit my face at an angle, and reflect happiness I can't deny. But when you're hurt is so tremendous, that you're eyes hold back salty swells of tears, and your mouth does that curve that pulls down your cheeks and spills the fills; there's not too much more you can do but cry.

So I'll cry when I need to and smile when I see you because pain isn't something I'd show you. No, you won't see it from me. You won't see me hurt when you throw your words at me. You won't see me hurt when you doubt my honestly. You won't see me hurt, and I won't let you. But I'll let you read this note and understand what you've done, and hope that your conscious is strong enough to eat you up.

October 29 2011

You know how when you find a certain thing, you feel as though it can help you move on from the pain, the drama….and just everything? Well, how distraught you’d become when you find out that this thing only ends up ruining what you had, to the point that it can’t be fixed, and it fills your life with all the shit you were running away from. This is the story of my life, and I don’t know how much more of it I can take.

It was a perfect story. I was the new girl, just trying my best to be accepted. There’s nothing worse than transferring and being rejected like a bad organ. – I dealt with it. I was myself. I said what I wanted, did what I wanted and wore what I wanted… I didn’t trail the trends. I just did my own thing. Despite all that, my self confidence was below average…but I hid it well. People thought I was vane and strong and everything I was not. I was just a tattered little girl running away from everything I didn’t want to face and everything I didn’t want to have to deal with.  

Then I met him, this boy, who I could see sprouting out into a wide chested, god of a man. Like a peacock pursuing his mate, chest stuck out, beautiful feathers spread across the blue of the horizon. Beauty in all its elements; physical, emotional, mental. A handsome man, with a pinch of sensitivity and sensuality, and the intelligence of a conqueror. Was he perfect, or was he beyond it?
To me; he was it. He was everything. I reckon this is when I started to fall,, but I wouldn’t admit it.

As stories go, this peacock was with someone else. A girl I had recently met and made friends with. I was new, and I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, so I backed off. Moved away from it and took a different angle. You know how people say “best friends can never have something, and still try to keep the friendship”? Well, at the time I didn’t think about it, and at some point I figured it was a lie, and only now that I’m at the end of the stretch, do I realize it’s true.  When you make this mistake, you throw everything away. A year of work, a year of loyalty, a year of trust, a year of sharing, and a year of bearing it all. You throw it all away before it even begins…and the sad thing is, you don’t even realize what you’ve done till the deal is sealed.

So that’s what I did. I played the best friend angle. We started talking for days at a time; making sure to fit each other into our daily schedules, even just for half an hour of conversation. We knew what it was, and we were happy with it, happy to put a label on it. “Best friends,” we’d tell everyone. We were proud of what we had. I was happy with what we had. I mean, I couldn’t out wrestle the peahen from her peacock. I was merely an insignificant figure in the romance of two striking creatures. I was merely a middle man. I was the girl she’d have sleepovers with and tell about her romance, and the girl he’d tell everything to and talk about his romance. A middleman; but I dealt with it. I cut off my heart from the growing emotion, and I mentally convinced myself there would never be more to it, and I was convinced. I was convinced until the day our 'best friend' banter and silly 'hand' games turned into cuddlesome chatter, and lengths of sleep in each others arms.

Everything grew out, or rather, spread out in my favour. The peahen was dismissed, and I was the topic of discussion. We never spoke about us, and often we spoke about others. I reckon that was just us trying to cut off emotion for the greater good. The smarter thing to do was move past anything, and not linger; build walls that two “best friends” couldn't cross, and hope that somewhere along it all, that wall would stay standing and the friendship could remain….but how stupid were we? We chose to go with the latter. All through December we spoke while he was gone for the break, I went with the peahen to a holiday destination for New Years celebrations. We were biffles, and she was over him. She knew we were sprouting into something, and I denied it to the death of me.  January came fast, and before I knew it, he chopped down the wall. He broke down the barrier, he lingered on a moment and he recreated it, time after time. Two people: one a masculine design from the god Adonis, and the other, just a trifling excuse for a being,, binding into one another’s thoughts and emotions; joys, kisses, cuddles, “I love you’s”…murmurs of something so beautiful. It felt surreal. I was in too deep…I needed to get out, and I did. Minimal talking time I left for him, minimal time for him at all.. – I pushed him away, shoved him out and hid behind a closed door, but he hung about. Waiting for me to retreat this confined space of fear and leap into his arms where just by his touch my joy and lust would be reignited…but I hid out for awhile; a long while. By my birthday he was 11 681.34km away from me, and my heart felt the distance. I cried for him; day after day, after day. –
I’m pretty sure he didn’t cry for me, but I wasn’t too concerned about what his thoughts were and how he felt. All that mattered were the “I love you’s” regardless of the context. I loved him too…forget the context. We loved each other, but we were scared. I was scared to be hurt, to go in too deep and reach a point of no return; a point where when everything fell apart, I would fall apart too.  This was my defense mechanism. I had to protect myself somehow and I did…by shrugging him off. I loved how persistent he was. He kept waiting, kept pushing. I would yell and scream, “I hate you” and he’d be there, in his humility, waiting for me to leap into his arms crying out apologies. I loved him.

All through summer, I knew I loved him. I knew he loved me; I believed he meant it when he said, “I love you Nalene.” Foolish of me to think words of that magnitude could be true. Foolish of me to think. All through the summer, we made plans for our reunion. We were both so keen to see each other again. – I knew it was something real, a sure thing and I figured it was time to open up and get it all out there. Bare my deepest and most hidden emotions, expose my soul, and tear down all borders; I let everything out, raw and naked, all truths. Everything I felt, everything I wanted to see, and everything I wanted to do. Enter. Through time loops and cyber walls of communication, delivered neatly into the mailbox of his email account…Days on end passed, and I waited, I waited for him to jump out into the cold with me, bare; naked…but nothing. Walls put up again. I ignored it. I forgot it and I erased it. I found myself a few foreign blokes to fill my mind and build up my distraction, and how well it worked. Naturally, somewhere in my mind, or heart, these painful thoughts still lingered. Everything I didn’t want to happen, happened. Everything I thought I’d never share, were exposed, and the response to my emotional gamble, was silence; stone cold, chilly silence. Summer came to an end, and I needed to proceed back to my life..and how fearful I was to have to face the rejection. I was terrified.

 The funny thing about rejection is, it changes you. You become this whole other being, this wholee other entity. It’s as though it sucks your soul, your glow out of you, and leaves you a frozen, walking corpse with not even an ounce of feeling. It leaves you numb for the longest time, and I reckon it might kill you if you give it enough time to. I didn’t. I found another way to deal… I always find a way to deal. I built up walls and I hid behind them. I threw stones at anyone who tried to get over and comfort me, and some days I’d sit at the top with a bloke or two, fleeting my emotions for a moment, and just living in that moment…up until one day I sat on this wall with a bloke of a higher degree, a bloke with dirty blonde locks, and soft, misty green eyes; a bloke who I shared a moment with and have now grown attached to. A bloke I think I could love, and cherish and be happy with,, but he’s just a bloke. A bloke with none whatsoever interest in me. A bloke who sees my insignificance and steps aside for a more alluring lassie to come along and snatch; a bloke way out of my league and way out of my reach. It always seem that I pick them wrong, and perhaps I do, but while on this arduous search for true, everlasting love, I need to bump into all the wrong blokes to find the right one.

At the end of it all I’m stuck here. Eating out my brain on how pathetic I am, how insignificant and how unappealing to most I am. I may hide a lot of emotion under layers of cover up and a smile, a huge ego and a loud personality bursting with self confidence and all, but I am just a broken girl, sitting in a corner trying to harness as many beautiful moments, trying to shed an old skin and start a fresh..trying to find someone or something. However, in this life, we can never get what we want, so for the moment I’ll clutch my knees and drown in my own tears.

A Blur Fades

For the past few months I've been crying about things I've lost, and I've tried to work them out. See, people always say someone steps into your life for a reason, and when they leave, there's a reason behind it too.. Yet, as hard as I try, I don't see how some of the characters that have walked into and out of my life have taught me anything. These characters are like ghosts, and the memories you have with them haunt you. Haunt you to a breaking point. A point where you feel like everything inside of you has been drained out dry, and you kinda just fall to your knees because your legs have become so weak, and you just cry openly because hiding it stabs you right in the chest and you're forced to deal with this internal emotional bleeding.

So what if someone walks in and out, and means nothing? What if they haven't had any qualitative value in your life? What then?... Why are you still crying? Shouldn't you spare your tears to water something that still has the potential to bloom instead of wasting them on a tree flower that's already withered out and scorned? See, tears do mean you care because when you're crying, you're hurt; and if something has the power to hurt you, then you cared. So, if they're not crying, then they didn't care, right? Well, you ought to know they are not crying for you. Not a tear has been shed for you. Not an ounce of a care has been given. So, pick yourself up off your scraped knees, and wipe away the tears; because, once you wipe away the salty tears that blur your view, you'll be greeted by familiar faces. You'll have your best friend; for me, this is someone that has been in my life since pre-grade. The girl I spent 3 through 5 with, baking mud cakes in the sand. The girl that provided a shoulder for crying since the days we were in a convent and that has been there for all the drama and somehow managed to stick around. You'll see the girl that has been by your side all through grade school; who lives miles away and still manages to make sure you're alive on a daily basis. You'll see the guy that has been there for you, though sparsely, all through your life. The boy that your mom loves and has become so much like family that not even time, nor distance can force you apart. You'll see the faces of the friends you left behind when you moved on to a new school and a new life, and they'll be there to pick you up when you need it. Indefinitely, you'll meet new people on your audacious walk through life, and when you wipe away the blur, their faces will be there too. Yes, the people that really matter will be there. They'll be there even after you neglect them for months on end to deal with yourself. They'll be there after you yell at them and call them a "bitch". They'll be there even after you swear you're through with them; because those are the people that matter, and those are the ones who care. They are the people you should spend your tears on.

Life is a journey, and all journeys encounter bumps and you can count on there being bumps on the road. The occasional character that walks in, turns your life upside down, then walks out the second work needs to be done. These character choose the easy way out, and if you're like me, a difficult person to have to deal with, you need to get used to these walk-through's, and teach yourself not to be bother once they leave. Yes, once someone walks in then out, it hurts. It breaks you down in ways that are unimaginable if you don't mentally prepare yourself; but I'm here, hoping that I can use my experiences to teach someone else, and hopefully, the pain won't be as bad.

It's not the easiest thing to do, but sometimes, easy isn't the right way out. So, here's to letting the blur fade, and seeing all that's around you for what it is. Emancipate yourself from the sadness, and do what makes you happy. Find a focus, and live for it. Surround yourself with people that matter, and those that make you happy. See, I believe happiness is a state of mind, and if you chose to be happy, you will make decisions that will lead you on a path of just being happy. So choose this path and go for it. You can have your happiness today if you chose to let the blur fade.

Because tears burn my eyes

It's 5 o'clock in the morning... literally...and I can't sleep.
This state of insomnia has given me the chance to think and put a lot into perspective.

This has been the worst school year of my life. Both literally, and emotionally. My head has been somewhere else and hasn't been the least bit focused, and I failed to achieve my best. I failed at life...and all for what?
I failed at life because I chose nights out partying over days spent home, cramming. However, I don't think it was completely my fault. No, there's no one else to blame but myself because I made the decision; but there are so many other factors that contributed. I'd prefer not to be at home, not that there's anything wrong with home, just that I'd prefer not to be there. Being around my family, in this house, carries a vibe that I don't appreciate nor enjoy. For some reason, this house depresses me. It's like moving in a slow river of blackness, just drifting in its darkness and cold, somehow seeking for comfort and warmth. Unfortunately, it is in my tears that I usually find this comfort and warmth, and the drown myself into long hours of sleep.

I believe I am unhappy. Simply, unhappy. I've had many 'conditions' diagnosed. I've been told I'm "depressed", or "bipolar". Some say I just have a ton of mood swings and when no one knows what to say, they tell me I have issues. Maybe I do, I wouldn't really know, but just having these things said makes everything worse. I definitely don't know what wrong with me, or what could be the cause of it. All I know is there it's hard to deal with life. This thought in itself is frustrating, because honestly, I've got everything I could ask for. My life isn't perfect, but there are a ton of things I should be grateful for that I have which many people don't. Yet, despite all this, I still happen to wallow in my own sadness, and this is pushing so close to a sharp edge, and I'm scared of the pain that I'll feel when I fall.

I remember having my life all planned out. I know exactly what I wanted, where I wanted to be and how I was going to get there. I was so sure of what I was going to become, and now, I'm just lost and confused. Everyday I hear about everyone else's plans and I need to sit back for a moment to evaluate what I want. It saddens me so much, that my life has gone off the path it was meant to follow, and now I'm walking through the dark, hoping to eventually see a light that might carry me forward to brighter things. But, if this light is only at the end of the tunnel, how am I meant to not stumble every 3 meters? Do I really deserve to stub my toe every step I take? Is it necessary for me to feel the cold gnawing at my skin? Or, does the dark really have to creep within in me, making me dark and soulless in places that once carried the golden rays of a warm summer's day?

I've tried talking to someone, but talking to people about myself is not something I can do easily. However, writing about it all is something I can do with ease. So, I continue to write, and even in my insomniac state of realization, I can say I somehow find joy. I find joy in writing, and being able to let the tears transform to words. Even when everything is stripped away from me, I can find comfort in writing, and knowing that somewhere, someone can understand my feelings once I put them into words. I'm constantly hoping that the words thrown at me will be erased once people understand, but my hopes are never met.

At the end of the day, I just really want to know what's in all this for me. Is there a life lesson I'm meant to learn? Will this somehow benefit me in years to come? I'm not sure... but for not, I know what I need to do and what I need to eradicate from my life and hopefully this senior year can be as exciting as it's meant to be. I'm not too sure about my future, but I'm hoping that once I get my 38 IB points (I'm being ambitious); my life will sort itself out. I'm hoping that once I start focusing more on me, and less on what everyone else around me is doing, or where they're going, my life will work out just fine. I say to myself everyday, that "If I'm still here, I'm still meant to do something". - and I'm hoping this is true.

I think that all I needed was the time away from the books, and the people to just sit down and think about it. Someone once told me, "It means nothing to talk about it, if you're not going to do anything to fix it," and now that I've got the time, I can fix 'it' and I can fix me.

I will fix me.
 

I bleed for you

You bring me to my knees,
And make me cry, make me cry;
because I bleed for you,
my blood streams for you.
But in my eyes you can't tell,
that at night I've been crying for you,
Crying for you.
And now you hold her,
Stroke her hair,
and let me stand there,
Blankly I stare.
So let me cry, let me cry;
Because I bleed for you
and my blood streams for you,
....and that's fine.

My tumblr is the other half of me:
http://iamarlanoe.tumblr.com/

Of the Nigger

They say my hair is kinky,

and eyes black as the night. 

 They say my hands are scaly, 

and the dryness pulls them tight. 

They say my lips are teeming,

and my nose broader than my face.

They say my skin is ugly;

They deem me a disgrace.

Black child,

Black girl.

Black woman

They don't make mannequins of me,

Or parade my flaws on runways

on posters of cities.

Big brown piercing eyes,

staring into a cold, blue world,

Coffee streaming down dark cheeks 

as they cheer,

NiggerNegroPretaNeger....

NiggerNegroPretaNeger...

Cold

My bed may be cold and lonely,
but the wind carries with it a breeze of ice,
and the scorn of abandonment.

Even the Heavens

Even the heavens cry,
Even the heavens storm,
Even the heavens try,
To seek after God,
Even the heavens stray far from.

Of life and times

Often in life, you reach a moment of clarity where you look at the pros and cons of your life and decide that despite everything happening, you're going to be happy and smile; and no longer cry yourself to sleep. Then one day, a hurricane storms through and throws everything you've built normalcy around, completely out of place; leaving you to break down into a sea of salty tears and turbulent headaches.

People never get tired of ruining everything you try so hard to maintain. All the anger you have perched up in trees in the forests of your soul decide to glide with the wild wind swaying leaves within you, all the hate you've been trying to suppress is violently pulled out of the treasure chest you've been hiding. All this because one person is unhappy and chooses to let their unhappiness steal all the visible rays of light from someone else's fading nightmare. They allow you're strong hold to run out on you, and let your strength be sucked away. They make your hands quiver and reach for sharp knives in hope that you can continuously stab them in the heart, in and out, and in and out because you have THAT much hate. You hate them, and everything they stand for and everything they're letting rest on you without even realizing the effect of their screw ups. They're letting your madre's tears moisten your shoulders. They're letting you watch someone else die before their time, because they do not care about anyone else but themselves, and their demons and internal tribulations.

These demons allow you to become the murderer you've never wanted to be. In a society where exorcism will be labeled murder and disciplinary beatings will be called abuse; there is not much one can do but live to tolerate the monsters of narcotics and the demons of the dark. All these feelings must once again be locked up in treasure chests, hidden deep beneath the waves of your soul's oceans, filled day by day by the tears of your madre...but forget not, that you will go to bed with a moistened shoulder, and moistened eyes on a moist pillow case. Yet, if you open your eyes to a new day, with blue and grey skies singing out golden hymns led by the sun, and birds staring deep into your eyes chirping passages from a far away place; you are living today for a purpose. Be it to stand as a pillar for the madre, or to exorcise the demons that haunt this La Familia; you are still alive for a reason and until the day you die, that purpose will not have been lived out. Be it that you find yourself in a precinct for first degree murder, a mental asylum for schizophrenia -- you have not yet lived out your purpose. And let that thought fuel your boat and soul over the turbulent seas that still lie before you. You are going somewhere; and only once you've reached that destination will the afterlife take you.

Thoughts on a Porch

There are nights when you come to certain realizations... Certain thoughts you've had come back to mind, and are confirmed. These realizations make sense, and provide you with a feeling of "...and I'm okay with that"; These life changing moments that switch up your entire world. This moment was last night.

When living in a little city, tucked in the dim lights of a little African country, the entertainment can become, well, mundane. Yes, we've got a handful of good clubs and bars to go to, dance the night away till 4am or last call; indulge in the thrill of narcotics and meet types of guys that tickle your interest. But being young and alive means wanting a change. A change in scene, a change in entertainment, a change in appearance and a change in face. So when someone decides to switch it up and do something more cozy, surrounded with more familiar faces you take the chance and go for it. But what do you do when even this becomes the ordinary? When even this becomes the same routine, with the same people, same scene, same behaviour, same substance abuse and same physical abuse? What do you do when what is meant to be fun and exciting becomes tedious and unchanged?

The question has hindered me for a long time. Being a girl who enjoys going at and dancing as much as she enjoys writing poetry and blogging, who enjoys meeting new people and being chatted up by the stud from across the room as much as she enjoys taking pictures of lemons glistening in the sun or catching the tinkling sound of water running down a stream in a picture; having a social life is equally as important as getting into Yale or Harvard. However, when the thrill and excitement of the excursion is lost, is there really any point anymore? Is it worth it to leave the warm comfort of your bed and bedroom to be a in a place that reeks of burnt Rizzla and fresh "dank", and the smell of mixed alcohols spilled on the floor with people who wouldn't even care less to pick up the phone and send you a simple "hi"? Is it really worth it? Last night was the answer to all my doubt.... Last night said no. No, it's no longer worth it.

The point of getting dressed up was to have a good time, enjoy oneself, come home with a stack of memories in hand, whether on camera or locked away in your internal memory. Yet, for the past 2 months the point has simply been to be seen out, sit on a white couch and sulk by yourself at how pathetic the night is. The point has been to try to relive the excitement and thrill once felt from the bass pumping through your feet, finally reaching your arms, throwing them up in surges of energy while your waist turns in circular motions to the beat and rhythm of the music. The point was to be a part of the scene, to feel like a part of a community, and to feel like you are somewhere. But these reasons no longer seem appropriate. There's no point in being out and not enjoying oneself when there's a stack of homework, assignments and deadlines heaped up on your study table that will eventually carry you to the thing that gives you bliss. Though tedious, and uninspiring, this work will one day be the reason you're sitting on a private jet flying off to the Arab lands of oil, where you'll vacation on beaches of white sands sipping only the finest of wines from golden goblets. At the end of the day, that will be worth it. That will be worth more than the boring nights, temporary friendships and unnecessary scandal.

I'm not one to preach, because I haven't been the most laid back and motivational character, but I've reached a point at which I can say, "Yes, I only live once.... I'm only young once. But that doesn't mean I need to waste my nights on useless, unsatisfying nights out, with people who couldn't give less of a damn, girls who lend out their bodies to boys who pork them out cos their too lazy to find themselves real, wholly satisfying relationships, and boys who smell like alcohol and piss that tug at your arm and short skirt in a manner that would make any female specimen feel less secure and powerful". I've reached a point at which I've realized that in my last year home, I'd like to spend my Friday nights with people that make me laugh, take an interest in my well-being and care about me past 2am when they're in search of a hook up. With senior year fast approaching, real friendships and relationships are what I am in search for; and being who I am, I will pursue this. This is what I am in search for, and this is what will satisfy me.

Sincerely,
Arlana PS

A story of a 9-year old reject

Sometimes it's hard to comprehend a situation, understand what you feel and put a finger on it. Sometimes you lack the strength to fully understand and comprehend the situation unfolding before you. However, sometimes it's your own emotional fear of hurt, pain and realization that prevent your mind from opening up and accepting what is. The pain builds up to be too immense, something bigger than your physical, emotional and mental abilities can deal with. When a situation at hand seems trivial, you tell yourself that you can't cry about it, or be upset about it. You put on this facade for yourself to be stronger than what you know you are and allowing a small thing to break you is weakness in your eyes; but what if there's a feeling in your gut that moves in a circular motion, continuously? Almost like a spiral burning through your entire being. What do you do then? Do you continue to be eaten inside, and grow weaker from the core? A core that once broken through cannot be fixed, replaced....it'll be gone. Or do you rather allow the external walls to fracture into pieces so minute, and then take the time to rebuild the structure in a manner that has more strength, that can sustain the forces of bad weather and salty rain?

Imagine being a young girl, somewhat of an outcast. Teased for your dark skin, teased for wearing glasses, teased for having braces and teased for having afro hair. A girl continuously deceived by fraudulent friendships and constant rejection. One would imagine such a girl would be broken down, constantly crying and constantly closing herself off from the people and the pain. However, this same girl comes from a loving family; parents who would give her the world. Parents who have given her the world, despite where they've been. Parents who have seen and experienced things so gruesome that it's hard to believe they are the same people that smile so joyfully, day in and day out, continuously giving their children the best despite the disrespect reciprocated; and the disappointment handed to them on silver platters. They deal with it and keep smiling so that this little girl could grow up knowing that despite everything, her parents would be there and would give her what they could. She knew it; she knew that they loved her uncountable amounts and this was the reason she closed off. This was the reason she kept her pain inside, this was the reason she turned to alcohol in her teens and this was the reason she'd cry herself to sleep at night. Parents aren't perfect and they make mistakes like all human beings do. However, she knew that in light of their imperfection these parents were perfect. Perfect for her, and who their alleged "God" intended her to be. This was the reason she felt guilt. People always say guilt eats away at you, and one never truly understands the saying until you have guilt gnawing away at your insides and your conscience. How could a girl with everything be so broken inside? How could a girl with so much happiness cry every night? How could a girl this stable be so unstable? The answer is simple: Social existence. At the end of the day, it is always important to people where they stand in a social setting, the effect of friendships and the existence of intimate social relationships; and despite having happiness in her parents, this girl was broken for all those reasons.

From a young age, she had gone through social trauma; being called names, being teased about her complexion and appearance. Naturally, she'd come home crying to mom and dad. What else was a 9 year old supposed to do..? They'd assure her that the only reason people treated her like this was because she was beautiful and, at the same time, smart. Intelligence never seemed important to her because her ditsy group of friends ranked it with the lowest priority. Her parent's encouragement meant nothing because she was not beautiful like all the other girls, nor was she light skinned like all the other girls, nor did she have long hair like the other girls. No; she was a black girl with big lips, dark eyes and a flat nose. Afro hair that could barely be dealt with and ugly toes as the other girls often pointed out. She was a beast. - She would sit alone in a corner watching her friends have fun kissing boys and cuddling while she sat rejected.

Growing up, relationships developed and eventually she had a best friend. One who loved her just for the amazing person she was, in all her flaws called her beautiful and defended her despite people's snide comments. She loved her. Things were good. She had a best friend, and she slowly started to realize her beauty. Although the bullying continued in high school, she took the experience and turned it into a life lesson. She learned to stand up for herself, be confident, and believe in everything she was. She was beautiful, she was smart and she could become anything she wanted to be. She had the determination and she had the force. She was growing up. She gained respect and she gained a voice; she had a stand in society. Naturally, the power was over whelming. An attitude developed, so rude and snide. She became the people that broke her down, and she would break other people down too. There was something comforting in knowing she could say something uncouth  to someone and no one would call her on it. Instead, people would laugh at her snide comments and agree unwillingly. There was somewhat of a comfort in knowing that she could hurt someone else in the same way she had been hurt before. Misery needs company as they say. In this confidence, vanity began to emerge. Or so people believed. Little did they know that at 16, this girl was still a broken, insecure 9 year old, trying to deal with the rebuff thrown at her. However, in her confidence there was beauty and that beauty attracted specimens she had never thought would cross her paths. In this way she met her first love. She was 15 when it happened. A young boy, somewhat tall, tanned skin, light brown eyes, dark hair.... Perfect you would think, yet to her, it wasn't good enough. No, she wanted someone more masculine, more something. She wasn't certain what this extra something might have been, but he was lacking it. Over two years, their friendship grew into something so real and so emotional. He became a pillar for the inside part of her, the broken part of her. He understood the disguise she put on, because he did the same. He understood the pain she felt that would make her want to sleep for 13 hours straight. He understood the wall she built up to keep him out when she felt he was getting too close. He understood her, and she deemed him her best friend. Not often in life do you meet someone who sticks around even though you treat them with such disregard; you drag them through the mud, make them feel worthless and make them feel like they have no place or importance in your life.. but for her, he did. He stuck around. He'd put her back into place when she fell off the wagon and became a psychotic "bitch" and he'd be there when she wanted to talk or cry or laugh or sing about getting married "under the rosebush tree". He'd listen to her unremitting rants and give her advice when need be, regardless of how cruel it was, he'd be honest with her. He was a true being, a true friend. She loved him, so much that it was hard to accept, so she denied it. Denied it to herself and to everyone else. She denied it till he stopped caring. Yes, in life there comes a day when even the person you figured to be the most unlikely candidate gives up on you; and there came a day when he gave up on her and went off to pursue another minx. One less dependent, one less broken and one less dramatic. And that was the day she broke too....

Realizing you love someone too late is one of the most painful experiences on can encounter. Not being able to tell this person you love them because they've moved forward and have laid their priorities in different directions. So when this happened, she broke. Seeing this person made her heart jump. She knew that this had to be real love. Well, she thought it was love. How can one ever be sure? It was this odd feeling that she didn't want to feel; a feeling that she couldn't get herself to feel for anyone else. It was a painful feeling because in as much as she tried to be happy and show him that she was doing just fine without him, this piece of her puzzle was missing. How can life change so drastically when you don't speak to someone everyday anymore, nor do they greet you or show any sign of any sort of affection? How was someone meant to find warmth and comfort when they were left out in the cold? She didn't know what to do, and it made her want to cry. She wanted to cry, all the time. But she had an appearance to keep up with, a face to show him and the world. She didn't care, she never would, he didn't matter.. They didn't matter. Nothing mattered. How is it that this one person became the center of her world and she couldn't see herself without him, yet somehow she had to. She had to deal with the pain of seeing him with someone else, happy with someone else. Happy in a way he never was when she was around. He was never that happy when she was around. All this energy was flowing out to nowhere to be nothing with no one. She had this emptiness eating away at her. Although she'd only ever had herself, her solitude; she somehow felt more empty. More isolated, more rejected. She was spiraling to a place she wasn't even certain of anymore.... She was loosing herself in someone that couldn't care less.

See, life has a way of creeping up on you and changing up the game before the last one was done. Somehow all the blue skies, sunny days and white smiles are soaked up into a mass of grey and black emptiness that is so cold and unavoidable. Somehow, an organ protected by so many individual layers is ripped out and broken in half, and somehow she is expected to live. This 9 year old reject, was washed up by the oceans of life's continuously changing waves and left to lie dead on the cold sands of the beach with pain and sadness lapping over her and the grey sky reminding her of all the things she did wrong. Somehow, she was alone again. And somehow, she was expected to get up and put the pieces back together. Somehow she was expected to collect all the pieces of this shattered glass and build a fort with out ever cutting through her own skin and letting her tears bleed out. Somehow she was expected to rise above it all and be a doting creature that shared laughs and smiles and tears of joy with people that didn't matter as much.. Somehow she was expected to live... and somehow she would.