Open Season

I cover my body
no skin left to see,
Only My face uncovered, the tips
of my Fingers. They peek
just out of my Sweater.

I can’t breathe, the Weight of my clothes
like the weight the Sins
of those who stripped me.
Those who left me vulnerable,

I was left so naked, alone
Open to all the elements
the world could throw at me.
Open. So open, in fact
It left me


Santa Fe

Another shooting,
Another day.
22 this year,
Its only May.

Its nothing new,
Those kids were not surprised.
Our senators, our congressmen
They won’t fight for our lives.

How many more;
Have to mourn?

I had a nightmare Last Night…

Last Night I had a nightmare.
I woke up sweating, screaming,
Kicking at my sheets. My face pale
And creased with horrifying
Confusion. Why didn’t I say no?
Why didn’t he know?

“It’s not my fault, It’s not my fault.”
I repeat over and over, but
The men at church don’t call it sexual assault.
“You should’ve just kept you legs shut!”
I should’ve said no,
Why didn’t he know?

“Boys will be boys!”

“Boys will be boys.” The lady says as her son throws dirt at the other children on the playground.

“Boys will be boys.” She thinks when she sees her sons eyes glow with excitement as they pass by the video game section.

“Boys will be boys.” Says the lady whose son has been hitting girls at school “to show he likes them”.

“Boys will be boys.” She murmurs when her son comes home with a black eye and school suspension for getting in a fight with another classmate.

“Boys will be boys.” She thinks while her son stares at the cashiers chest, instead of acknowledging her “Good day.”

“Boys will be boys, and dressing like that only suggested that she wanted it.” She tells the jury, sitting in the witnesses chair, defending her sons actions.


I walk through the forest at a slow pace, taking in the luminescence of this nature. The leaves are already starting to change color, but haven’t began to fall yet. Brilliant sprouts of light reflect the color of leaves, leaving comet-tail like streams of reds, golds, and greens. I’ve never experienced nature quite like this before, so bright and beautiful. I look around and see a lizard scurrying up a tree, its tail flicking from side to side as it sets upon a bird. The feathers fall down and caress my face like a soft, downy pillow. The trees loom above me so high, holding each other tightly together by jagged branches that arch along the sky and seem to also stroke the horizon, as if tucking the sun in to bed. A rabbit walks across a meadow, while a family of deer seem to hop along the tree line on their hind legs. I fall onto the grass and it wavers beneath me, giving in to my weight ever so slightly and rippling out into the trees. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, letting the light warm my face.

“Hellllooooo.” I hear a tiny voice, like a faeries, drifting through my mind.

“Hi.” I whisper, opening my eyes.

“Come with me, your lost.”

I look around, but see no one. Confused, I stand, and a rush of joy overtakes my body when I fell a tiny hand touch my shoulder. A tiny human, no bigger than a chihuahua flits around in front of me holding her hand out. I take it and she leads me towards the woods, and once more I am captivated with it. She brings me to a bonfire, where other tiny humans dance around this fire, singing songs and passing a pipe around. I am amazed at how tall I stand before them, but they seem to not notice at all.

“Hey, she’s back! We thought we lost you; you can’t run around by yourself out here, especially when your high.”


I sit in my local Starbucks, scrolling through twitter and sipping on my mini white mocha frappaccino, as one slightly preppy, middle-class white girl would. I see a post on twitter that reads, “Got beer. ne 1 wnat to party?” I sigh just low enough that no one will hear me over the coffee machines and late 2012’s music, can’t people find a better way to let off steam than drinking and using drugs? I put my phone down and silently observe the people sitting around me, looking out the window every so often to make it seem as if I’m waiting for someone to show up. Of course no one is actually coming, but I wouldn’t want someone to just assume I’m being a loner. I notice a middle-aged dude directly in front of me fiercely tapping the keys on his computer; to the left of me is a group of 3 older women talking about their child’s latest achievement. One of them looks pretty normal, with a t-shirt and jeans. The other one is wearing a tank top 2 sizes to small with a bra 2 sizes too big, and the other with hair piled on top of her head so high it could be mistaken for a beehive. “My daughter was just nominated to be class president.” The beehive lady says. She has a smug look that says,I raised my daughter better than all of you.  The lady with wardrobe issues says,”Well, my son is being nominated for home-coming king.”
“My daughter made honor roll this year… Again.” Says the fairly normal looking one.
“That’s wonderful!” Says the beehive lady, “but my son is being offered a position in the NHS. Do you girls know that stands for? N is National, H is for Honors, and S is for Society.” She says this last part slowly, like the others were 5 and didn’t know what an acronym was. I look away, slightly annoyed that these women think they’re kids were the shit compared to every one else. They probably have orgies and do drugs when you’re not home, I think to myself, rolling my eyes. My eyes finally land on the chubby worker who just sat down diagonally from me, in front of the 3 ladies. He immediately grabs his phone from his apron, furiously scrolling through his social media like there might be some very important news in one of the posts. He has 3 drinks in front of him, a water, a frappaccino, and an iced coffee. No doubt drinks that were messed up, and not able to be given to the customer. He also has a blueberry muffin that he hurriedly picks at with his left hand. He can’t seem to stop shaking his legs and frantically snapping his left hand fingers after every bite he takes. He must be OCD. Or possibly have social anxiety. What other explanation is there?
After a while I stop looking at him, the most interesting thing he did was switch his phone from his right hand to his left. I began to daydream, thinking about what my future apartment would look like, what my next dogs name should be, what was on my to-do list that day, nothing extremely important or interesting for that matter, when I noticed that there was another low groaning sound that sounded like a chair was being drug across the hardwood floor. I looked up to where they make drinks, but everyone was just standing around talking. I looked around slowly trying to figure out where the noise was coming from. Was it a flushed toilet? But no, it kept going and going, getting louder by the second now. Something was different about my surroundings, I was sure of it. I looked at the people around me but no one seemed to notice, or care. HNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG. It was really loud now, and people were starting to look over their shoulders to see what the noise was. There, seated diagonally from me, was the chubby barista who had now stopped moving all together. His head hung low, but i could see that his lips were parted every so slightly and eyes squinted as if straining. People were starting to freak out, wondering if this random guy was mentally retarded or having some kind of episode. The lady with the beehive hair stood up and walked over to him, no doubt trying to act like the good citizen that saves the day.
“Honey, are you okay?” No response.
“Do you need some air? Or some water?” Said the fairly normal woman, but again, no response.
The noise had risen now, almost a scream.  People were starting to crowd around this guy, wondering if they should help, but never would out of fear of being “That person”. I stayed back, slightly scared, but I wasn’t going to leave because I wanted to see what would happen to this guy.
All of the sudden the dude jerks his head up and stares straight at the ceiling, he stops screaming but says in a faint voice,”Finally free.” His whole body relaxes, urine soaking his pants followed by a foul smell. There was a small squeak from the back of his throat, and then there was blood splatter everywhere. A small chunk of flesh with what looked like half an ear and some hair hit me right in the chest falling into my lap. Another piece flew into my cup, knocking it over. This one covered by hair completely. These chunks were everywhere, in the beehive lady’s hair, on the laptop of the fierce typist… just everywhere. When I looked up at the guy, his body was slumped against the table, only his entire head was missing. There was only a hole where his neck used to be. It was almost as if a bomb had gone off inside his head, ending all his frantic emotions for ever. That is, unless, he believes in reincarnation.

“Equality For All (Enter race, sex, or sexual orientation here)”

Anonymous At 16

Join hands for peace. Join hands for peace.

Let me start off by saying this: equality for a group of people, does not mean their social status should be “higher up the ladder” than anyone else. Equality, by definition, means, “the state of being equal, especially in status, rights, and opportunities.“; and if you don’t know what equal means, it is when “a person or thing considered to be the same as another in status or quality.” You learn something new everyday!

Now that we got that out of the way, on to the issue. I just read an article about “Straight Pride” and why homosexuals are furious about it. Now i’m not saying every single gay person in the world is angry about this, but the select few who are, shouldn’t be. Many people who are homosexual, feminist, and yes even African Americans, claim to be proud of their…

View original post 408 more words

Meditation In Hell

As I sat there with my back against the wall and my legs crossed loosely, I let myself relax. My chest jutted out as my head slides down the wall, putting my neck in a vulnerable position. No doubt very awkward looking, but my body is relaxed nevertheless. I hear the mans deep voice play over the scratchy speakers of my laptop, but i do not listen to the words he is saying. I feel my heart beating fast, most likely from the caffeinated pills I took to numb the pain in my lower abdomen, alongside with the Pepsi’s I’ve been drinking nonstop since yesterday. It could also be stress causing my heart rate to quicken, depression to worsen, and my aspiration to drop to the bottom of the ocean. I sit in one of my grandmas cramped guest bedrooms my family has been living in since July and I let the room open up. Watching as the too-big furniture slides down into the floor, disappearing into the abyss below. Soon it is only me in the room, still in a vulnerable position with my back against the wall. I still feel my heart beating just a little to fast, but that’s it. I no longer feel the wall behind my back or the carpet scratching my bare feet, I don’t know if I feel like I’m floating to the top or sinking to the bottom. The sound of the 30-year-old air-conditioner hums loudly around me, but I quickly block the noise out, just like the man’s voice. The smell is the hardest thing to ignore. A putrid smell wafts around me, making me want to vomit. It smells of cow manure and perfume, always faintly around the house; something you can only get used to if you live on a farm or your grandma has IBS. I picture myself laying in a meadow, with honeysuckle and magnolia trees all around, but the smell is still faintly there. I can feel the suns warmth caressing my olive-toned skin, the grass tickling the back of my neck, and the wind tousleing my golden brown hair. For a moment that’s all I can feel, along with the smile playing at the edges of my thin lips. I am relaxed and content, with a feeling that everything will be okay. When I realize the mans voice has stopped, I open my eyes and I am once again in the cramped room with the putrid smell and too-big furniture.

A Very Inspiring Story With Very little Attention

Humans of New York is a very popular blog that gives you a more intimate look into the lives of everyday New Yorkers. Recently the man behind it all has been working with a young man, Vidal, to raise money for his school: Mott Hall Bridges Academy. They have raised over a million dollars in donations so that over the summer the students will be able to take a tour of Harvard University. The principal, Ms. Lopez, has big ideas for her students at this school. Instead of suspending kids for messing up, or just not dealing with the problems in her school she would make them spend a day with a mentor or talk to them about why they are having trouble. Ms. Lopez, Vidal, and all the teachers at Mott Hall Bridges Academy are some of the most inspiring people I have heard of.

Recently, Vidal has been on The Ellen DeGeneres Show, and was invited to meet with the president. Since the beginning of this whole project, I have seen very little news coverage on this. I’ve been wondering, why have we not been talking about? This project is a big deal. Anyone who has donated or supported this project in any way is showing these kids that there is more to life than where they are. This project is showing these kids what kind of future they can have, and there is very little media coverage over this.

This project is an example of what we should be covering on the news. Instead of reporting on how some white cop shot a black kid, but we don’t really know if it was self-defense or not because the black did have a knife but witnesses say that he wasn’t going to harm the cop but were not really sure because he does have record but he really was a good kid and he doesn’t do drugs because people say so but they have picture showing that he did and it was in his bloodstream but he really didn’t ever make trouble.

My point is that instead of showing the bad, we should show the good. The stuff like this project that is giving these kids another chance, things that show how far we’ve come as a society and how far we will eventually go. All of this media coverage is doing nothing but holding us back from moving forward.

Stereotypes are good, people are bad.

Stereotypes are annoying and sometimes offensive. They can present the wrong idea about people and cause many problems, but are stereotypes actually the root problem to racism or sexism? Many people might think so, but there is a lot more to them than you think.

Stereotypes are actually, in most cases, good. Stereotypes are our brains way of being able to make split second decisions. Without stereotypes, we would hardly be able to make decisions or survive like we do. You may not believe me quite yet, but lets look at some situations where stereotypes are good and bad, but you have to remember stereotypes are oversimplified generalizations about someone or something.

Soda can Gen

Here we have blank cans. Now I ask you, what  are these cans used for?


Many of you might go for the seemingly obvious answer, “To hold drinks”, but what if I told you that is not in fact what they are being used for in this picture? They could be being used to hold soup, or dangerous chemicals, or as a vase for hand-picked flowers, but how would you know that just by looking at the outside of the cans? Now, if you saw a picture of a beaker with a mysterious liquid inside, you might say that it was being used to hold dangerous chemicals. All of these assumptions are mostly made by past experiences and you make general assumptions about these objects, i.e. the cans hold a drinkable liquid, while the beaker holds dangerous chemicals. These assumptions are oversimplified generalizations of an object. What is a different word for oversimplified generalizations? I can’t seem to think of one, but its on the tip of my tongue… Oh, wait! I think I remember, it starts with a S I think… Sterilize? Stereo? Oh, I remember now, stereotype. Now apply these situations with the beaker and the cans to real life situations and you might just get the point I’m making.

Although stereotypes can be good(see above), they can be bad. You can assume that the girl you saw wearing an oversize sweater and drinking Starbucks is dumb or “basic”, when she may very well be a rocket scientist. The black guy applying for a job that is wearing Jordan’s and has his pants sagging could be at the top of his class, graduating valedictorian.

Stereotypes are not bad, they are in fact good. It is how you use them that really matters.