So, this is kind of different. I kept my word and started doing yoga about a month and a half ago. I’m self-teaching (because I can’t afford classes right now; I’m optimistic about it though) and its been going well. I’m far from perfect but I do feel the changes in my mood, body, and awareness. On the one hand, I can’t wait to enhance my skills and on the other, I completely trust the process. Also, yoga+longuntiedhair = Big Mistake.
That last typo goes to show how fast I want summer to come, I meant to title it today’s date, of course. It also proves that I am not a writing robot. Which I guess can be hard to believe since I rarely journal about my day like bloggers do regularly. On that note, I’ll fix my error when I get to a computer. Have a nice day 🙂
I often question,
in a world
exhausted with people,
how could we feel so alone?
Promises of Blue
I celebrate your flowing curves, your life, your brain, your exotic movement, your grace. I celebrate your color; brown, black, white. Even on days that you feel gray. You can’t escape snide condemnatory assumptions and that’s nearly everyday. I celebrate your strength and courage to fight the will of being considered the “lesser than species”. You have been marked as property for generations and the strength of the femme has given us what God had already given them. A voice. A choice. The option to rejoice or to fight if we may. The working woman, I celebrate. A nine to five, half hour break, and only eighty cents worth of work is marked on her skin. The housewife, I celebrate. She is stripped of her dignity for choosing to care for the home you live in. Whatever the case, never forget that a woman carried you, held you, fed you, or gave you your name.
Happy International Women’s Day.
No matter how many times people have treated me poorly, I’ve never given up on the opportunity to meet people who may be better than the one before. I know that just as there are people who may not value you, there is also someone out there who will be completely taken with you. It is only a matter of time and self acceptance.
I’m at work, typing from my phone. I also want to make it my goal to write more often. As of late I’ve upped my posts to twice a week or more. Thanks for those of you who stick around. 🙂
I used to stay up most nights before bed and wonder why I liked you so much. I thought maybe it was your looks. But I’m not vain. I don’t fill myself with preconceived notions that beauty will lead to prosperity, although attraction is vital. Oh how there was one, ultimately. However, beauty has the potential to dissipate. I was aware of this even though my veins are not wired to follow egoistic values. What was previously a foggy skeptic’s idea became a belief.
I remember convincing myself that we had met in our previous lives. I remember thinking that I remembered you from one of them or all of them. That this inability to move forward was because ours was a connection built from the root of our souls to the soles of our feet. There was a way you looked at me the first day we saw each other… with recognition toward something you couldn’t explain. Maybe you mistook it for mere attraction too. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul; yours doesn’t remember me and mine can’t forget you.
“You’re my mosaic, my abstract, my layers, my darling.
The ripples, the shadows, a portrait, my landscape.
You’re a watercolored sky
among clear distinct mountains.
What kind of artist am I,
if not defined by my canvas?”
It seemed like I had spent an eternity barricaded at the corner of a cliff between who I forced myself to be and who I’m meant to be.
Who I forced myself to be: I conspired against myself to limit my unlimited mind. I created false boundaries, drew imaginary lines in my capabilities, and surrounded myself with people who encouraged this. I brought to life a dull gray version of myself. Frankenstein’s monster was more embellished than the one I had created. Even worse, I was forced to stare at mine in the mirror everyday. I repeated the mantra “This is normal.” until I began to believe it.
I’ve always been a metaphorical fighter (okay, physical too, sue me). There’s something about proving myself wrong that I’m addicted to.
Who I’m meant to be: I trained myself to build a resilient attitude toward the voice that nagged me for years on end. Told me that I couldn’t or shouldn’t or wouldn’t. The voice that silenced me, lowered my worth, and reprimanded me for having hopes and dreams. Slowly but surely, I silenced it and those around me. Today, after years of fighting, I finally learned that what I’m meant to do is to give love beautifully and abundantly. With the inner knowledge that treating others the way I feel I deserve will allow the universe to give me the same kind of abundance in return.