in progress: what i've learned

i learned that drunken girls get exploited by overeager guys and in the aftermath try to hide that they were victimized
its always hard to look through a victims eyes, and harder for them to let pride subside
so they mask pain, find comfort within lies, espouse laughter find terror within cries
embedded in their psyche is that their feelins don't matter so their shortage of self appreciation is only a natural disaster
i learned that most college girls are tryna find themselves, but look for men to determine their self wealth
so their expedition turns into a search for mr wright
on that wrong plight
They determine that they cant be fine by themselves
i learned that most girls hearts are in relationships with dudes their mind knows they shouldn't have relations with
i learned that most dudes are kids satisfied with doing anything they can get away with,
their conscience needs growth, they have humility just need that tough luv to get them to display it
i learned that most dudes are smarter than woman ever give them credit for, females point out our immaturity to hide their insecurities, to convince themselves they havent settled for grown men they abhor
i learned that sometimes bein distant will render u as different
as haters conspire, fulfill their desire to make others seem inferior
Its merely to compensate for shallowness, they need something to fill their interior
and though its hard not to reproach, i adopted the approach to still show love, breakin the barrier

side bar
people say you hate the one's you love. i fear that most love those who they should hate. Their relationships are technically flawed, trying to establish a relation with hatred. disregarding the ugly truth, that they are looking for the beauty that relationships exemplify, in someone they abhor. but their eyes are blind, because thats how love is. so in an attempt to feel out, feel loved and feel comforted, they feel pain. desperately searchin for solid ground, but remain dwelling in a place uncertainty, slipping and losing their desire to get back up on their OWN two feet.... must be black ice, or a silver lining that they choose to consistently ignore.

As a journalism student about to embark on my senor year at the University of Massachusetts,I feel its only right to ne a bit reflective on my college experience. As a freshman I entered the vast campus as an undeclared student with equally prodigous aspirations, incapable of being told that my goal to fix all the problems in the world was a bit far fetched. My two loving parents
uttered words that many others in their position would, urging mme to stay grounded, relating the fact that a secure future is something that you want to bank on.
I swear I wasn't trying to be rebellious when I chose journalism as my career path.
My three years at Umass has been an invaluable experience, as I have been able to pick the minds, and delve into the bank of knowledge of some of the finest journalism mines the school has to offer. The process has been eye opening, as it has introduced me to a world, that is emerging and subletting at the same time. One that remains unbounded with no glass ceiling, one that satisfies my desires to utilize the skills that the university has equipped me with and
accomplish something illustrious. This summer of 2009, I became a member of the Media Giraffe Project, in attempt to help in their effort to shed light on those creating a better tommorow for others. Being able to profile others who made such innovative ideas come to fruition for the sake of democracy is full of worth.

ive got an idea

I am really excited that I have caught a breeze of inspiration to start writing again. It has been quite awhile, and even though my last post was quite random, I think it sparked something. For some time I have been really discouraged about writing my story about my sister. The words don't come out right, and its been a struggle between my soul and my brain. I want to write it so bad, and feel like the more time that passes, the more inaccurate my account of everything that happened is going to be. At the same time it just doesn't feel right to write about it when my thoughts aren't racing to come out while I punch the keys. So I have been at a stand still with that.

Due to this form of what you could call "writer's block," I have been deliberating on trying to write something fiction. I have never really written in this genre before and find it very intimidating. I am not sure if I have the imagination to come up with a whole story on my own. Plus I want it to be good, so that adds a whole other layer to dig through. It just seems like a smart thing to try out. So whenever I am pondering, which is usually while I am in bed, or in the middle of doing something, I think of ideas to write about. Tonight while I was laying in bed, pouting over the fact that I was ditched in a way from a dinner date, and watching tv, an idea randomly popped into my head.

A book. That is my idea. To write about being a book. I mean, it sounds kind of lame. But think about it. Being a book is almost like being a fly on a wall or invisible. It connects with the person while they read the story. We are almost conversing with the book while we read it. We are talking inside of our heads, and reacting to the words the book says. I catch myself laughing out loud while reading all the time as if the book made a joke. And crying too, as if it broke my heart. I think watching a person while they read says a lot about who they are. So I want to write a story through the metaphorical eyes of a book. I am actually really excited about the idea, because it is stirring so many thoughts in my head! It could actually be really good.

Now all I gotta do, is start..... oye

MS

a new start

Today is a new start to the rest of the year for me. Seems weird since it is the middle of July, but school is just a month away, and a huge change is in the process. Tony, the love of my life, officially moved out of my apartment last night. It felt so lonely and weird after we said goodbye. It could have been the meds I am taking for this asthma-related illness I have that was intensifying the reality of the situation, but I was alone again.

We decided to give our relationship to God. That was the way we put it, instead of saying we are simply breaking up. Maybe that is the problem. I don't know what to think about it. I am single, but still committed to one person. Is he? I am not sure. We said we are going to work on our relationship, start over and build it back up. But what if he decides he likes his freedom being single? We may never come back together.

I know I am thinking too hard about this. I am not good adapting to new situations, especially when it means I am alone again. It is not all bad though, this whole independence thing coming back. I have realized that I need to refocus my life. My world revolved around him. But now it has to be all about me. I need to hang out with my friends more. Make more friends too. I need to focus on my Senior year in college, and look forward to a career. I need to refocus my faith. No it did not take a back seat or get weakened by my relationship. I feel like I hindered it from growing even stronger.

So once I get physically healthy again, I am going to work on getting emotionally, mentally, and socially healthy again. I need that superwoman power I once had back. And maybe when that is complete, my love will come back to me.

MS

Shist
I just saw cupid shoot his arrow
its heading in my direction and i dont know what to do
who openly accepts getting speared
with no armor to protect
the only thing that keeps you going
i must runaway
or is that an aimless plight like a runaway's
can't avoid the inevitable
so why delay, dismay my soul
guess ill take it like a man
and watch luv unfold

mj tribute

Even these words I type in the aftermath are a far too calculated attempt to capture the raw emotions that overwhelmed my mind and body when my mother broke the news.
Ironically she alerted in her native tongue, which on most days I struggle to comprehend, but the death of Michael Jackson transcends, impacting the world. My brothers accounts of Jackson sounded mythical, like long legends, but now the world is pop legend less.
Death, the simplest word to read, yet hardest one to grasps had me feeling so……awkward for lack of a better term. It wasn’t as though I didn’t feel like everyone elses facebook status, but even my usual urge to let the ink bleed was tempered by this surreal state of being. I was discovering that the news coverage and not the actual news was making me kind of… angry.
The contrived expressions of remorse felt about as authentic as one of those news anchors trying to Moonwalk. My biggest problem with America is that it’s the constant counter puncher, always reacting to the harshest blows adequately, but never taking precaution to avoid them in the first place. I’m sick of the world’s wrongs being accepted as right. Sick of the insatiable being coerced into my mouth, and being told that’s just how life is.. I’m just mad that it had to take death for people to look past the face and inside the musical soul that Michael possessed. The menacing media needs a facelift as its distorted attempts to save face in the wake of Jackson’s death garner anomalous feelings. It was the media who sought to dehumanize him and portray him as a monster, but now its their incessant attempts to belittle that haunts my ability to remember his life.
The BET and MTV marathons were running away from the way they had previously presented Jackson to a younger generation. It’s as if after only after his passing his named had earned legitimacy, because legitimately, I can’t remember those stations bringing up his name unless it was the part of a joke. They are party responsible for the stigma attached to his name, the void that a younger generation has in understanding the power of Michael Jackson’s music. So their attempt to make me remember the times, only had my mind remembering the punch lines, and the unprecedented scrutiny that MJ had been under for most of my lifetime.
No doubt, Michael had a lot that were far too visible. I had become adept to were the jokes and spectacle that replaced the genius and prodigal image that Michael Jackson once represented. But all it took was a couple songs to make me become sentimental, for my eyes to engage in battle to fight off tears.
The scary thing is that it wasn’t a classic, or one of those songs that made you really remember Mike. My oversensitive self was getting teary eyed listening to “You Rock My World.” The emptiness came back, bullying my usually jovial spirits and the pit of my stomach became filled with guilt. I wanted to partake in the remembrance, wanted to relive his classics, wanted to remember exactly he became a global icon. But why did he have to die to make me understand, what I should’ve never taken for granted. God’s gifts. Now people claim he left to early, but he left on God's time.

nothing

nothing to write
nothing to say
not feelin right
and its the same every day

wake up
work
no play
cuz when we make up
it doesnt work
and we go back to the same old ways
we bicker
fight
ignore the issues
then i get sicker
of sittin tight
and lookin for tissues