Friday, 25 May 2012

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.

Wednesday, 23 May 2012

My tumblr is the other half of me:

Monday, 21 May 2012

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,



Sunday, 20 May 2012


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

Saturday, 19 May 2012

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.

Friday, 18 May 2012

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.

Sunday, 6 May 2012

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.

Arlana PS

Saturday, 5 May 2012

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,'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.