July 17th, 2016

Money can buy love. That’s a given. Let’s stop pretending that it can’t. You can buy sex, you can pay someone to pretend to love you. Hell when you get wealthy you never know if people trulylove you for who are or if they simply just love your money. It’s sad but, it’s the world we live in. I don’t know how many times my affection has tried to be bought back. When you know you’ve done something wrong why not just admit to it and apologize. I know I’ve tried buying others affection unknowingly. I think even when you help someone financially, if you expect something in return (non monetary), then that counts too. That makes us a very pathetic society. And what makes it even worst is that we prance around making it such a cliché or calling it a bad thing, when people do it shamelessly, yet we’ve all done it at some point in our lives. I personally don’t care. Buy my love. Give me every dime you have and I will make you feel so loved, you’ll grow sick of love. That being said, of course it depends on who’s buying it. There are still boundaries. Relatives and loved ones should never try to buy your love. They should just do right by you. Anyone else is fair game.



November 30th, 2015

I don’t even know how to start. I’ve started working. It feels nice. My family still upsets me. I still have the days when I feel like dying, what else is new. They know now, my family, just the small details not the serious ones. It isn’t better, if anything it’s worst, now. I still don’t care about anything. And my 18th birthday is coming up soon. I’m excited, but I’m also scared, I’ve learned something about myself. It’s a scary thought, but it’s help me to understand who I am better. What I’ve realized is that, in this life all I want is to be loved. To feel loved, appreciated, and like I matter. To feel as though my life meant something to somebody. No matter what type of love it is. Even if it’s a false sense of the word I’ll still take it at this point in my life. That to me is dangerous. I see it as me allowing for someone to hurt me because, they say in order to be loved you have to let love in. I fully believe that love is dangerous, a powerful weapon, that can be used to control anyone it possesses. I want that but without getting hurt myself. I don’t even think that’s possible.


Lie to Me

October 24, 2015

Lie to me. Tell me things we both know aren’t true. Tell me I’m beautiful, that you love me, that there’s no one else out there for you. I only want to hear your lies, never any truths. Fuel my ego, I crave the boost in my self-esteem. I yearn for that false sense of confidence. It’s as if the lies are a necessity in my survival. I despise the truth. Such a sad and ugly brutality. The lies protect my heart and my mind. Does that make me delusional? Does it make me crazy? I just don’t think I’m strong enough to face the truth. My teacher says all the time “The truth hurts and lies heal”. It’s true, ironically. I’m too fragile to handle the truth. That scares me. I want to be invincible and capable of handling anything, but I’m not. I’m not indestructible, I’m human. I have feelings, I get hurt, I mess up. Maybe that’s why I need the lies. I’m in desperate need of a fantasy, the imaginative things I create in my mind, and the dreams I dream at night. Perhaps I need them to get through life. That’s why I like lies and being lied to. It took me a while to realize that.​



October 10th, 2015

He’s here, but not mentally or emotionally. He thinks he does so much, but really he does nothing for me at all. He’s like a piggy bank that has it’s limit. Just money, money has no emotional connection to anyone ever. I finally know what it really means when they say “Money can’t buy you happiness or love”. It sure can’t. It hasn’t. The house. The cars. The beds. The clothes. The food. These materialistic things he says he has worked so hard for, have not satisfied my hunger for the few things I needed most from him. Love, emotional support, an ear to hear me. I’m not being heard. Yes he’s been to graduations, and births, and when I’ve been in trouble at school he’s been my advocate, but what good is all that if at the end of the day I constantly feel like there were no emotions behind those actions. Like he does them because he thinks that’s what he’s suppose to do. I’ll always question for the rest of my life if I am loved paternally, or just a regret that he puts up with. And I feel this way everyday, especially now while I sit here with tears like open flood gates streaming down my face, I wish my mother had just aborted my mission. I wish either I hadn’t been born or that I didn’t know who he was. I just feel like not knowing him would mean being angry at him. Knowing him only brings pain. It’s easier to stop hating someone you don’t know, than to forgive the hurt you feel because of someone you’re naturally obligated to love. But in the way my life has panned out, I practically don’t know him so… I mean I truly have no idea who he really is. Who are you father? Sometimes I wish I could express these feelings, but he once told me we’re alike. Which is why I fear if I told him and he stepped out, he’d never come back. For our hearts are too fragile to withstand that kind of hurt, that I feel, he’d decide to leave this world. I wish I didn’t feel this way. I feel guilty, but it’s not my fault. He didn’t try. He never tried. He’d always work, he’d never talk, his face always looked distant or disinterested. He’d leave everytime we’d have a family discussion about our days. And then he’d feel hurt and want us to put in more of an effort to include him. I did! I did daddy! And you still didn’t try. You didn’t even meet me halfway. I always thought of you. I always tried to include you, talk to you, inform you about the things that went on in my life, about what interested me, what I cared about. Yet it still wasn’t good enough. And today you yelled at me, you told me you do so much and only ask for a little in return. I wanted to scream you don’t do enough. I wanted to say is your love too much to ask? You can say it however many times you want, but if I can never feel it how will I ever know? Will I ever know? Is it too late? I hope you fix it for them. I hope you do better to reverse what’s been done for them, because it’s not too late. But for me I think it is. It is too late, the damage has been done, and I can’t go back, or forget, and only time will help me to forgive and heal. Until then I do love you father, I’m sorry our relationship is the way it is, and I hope time does heal it. I hope it gets better. But I promise I do love you, no matter the hurt, I just, I can’t tell if your love was really true, or just an obligation. Because I feel it is, and your true love for me is out of reach.


Ms. DuBois

October 8th, 2015

Streetcar Named Desire, reads me so well.

Specially, Blanche.

Oh Blanche. She, she is me, and I, I am her. A number of similarities, as if Mr. Williams model her after me. She craves attention, even when it’s negative, she loves it from men and constantly seeks the approval of others. She is immensely insecure, and at times a bit of a petty bitch, yet has this awkward kindness to her at times. My teacher put it best: “she’s an actress”, he says. “She reads people very well” and then as if she possess some sort of magical shape-shifting ability, she molds “herself into what people want”.

I found every word of his description fascinating, because I identified with it so well. Before this, I use to always say to myself “you’re a sponge, you absorb the things around you, only to eventually become them.” I’d always sit and think how I would act in a relationship (never having been in one before), and it didn’t take long to realize in every scenario I’d changed my personality to match the wants of the guy I’d paired myself with. It’s kind of a scary thought. Like a dangerous superpower. I’m an etch-a-sketch. I draw what you want to see and wear that for a while, then when I’m done with you, I shake away the image and prepare for what the next person wants. Medically I believe the term for that would be Split Personality Disorder.

My teacher said its sort of amazing, Blanche’s behavior. He said “you could either love her because it’s kind of cool, or you could hate her because it’s kind of crazy and dangerously insane”. Is it sick how intriguing I find that phrase? “DANGEROUSLY INSANE”. A tremendously enchanting ideology. That one simple human being can possess character traits that are “dangerously insane”. To have this sort of power, I don’t know it excites me. Is that awful? To think that I, could and can manipulate people better than they try to manipulate me, gets me excited for my adult life. Like everyday I can put on a new personality and be someone different to so many different people. Oh boy! I guess that’s why the ideas of dressing up and cosplay and makeup, truly entice me. I mean if you’re unhappy with who you are now, then why not be someone else, someone who not only you, but everyone will adore. I think life is better that way. Blanche taught me something today. Fuck everybody. If they can’t see you for who you are, be something they’ll love to see. Something they’ll never forget. I think I did that today.

A boy. I’ve read him as very materialistic. He likes to look good, so that everyone will see. He stays up to date on all the latest lingo, and I feel he’s a bit arrogant, in more than an annoying way. He’s the true definition of a fuckboy. I felt as though he’d appreciate a more friendly and bubbly type of girl, you know the type that looks at you as if you’re some kind of deity and she’ll do anything for you. Now mind you I’m not the prettiest flower in the bunch, especially today with the ginormous bags under my eyes today, but nevertheless I figured a big bright smile, a few quick flashes of the tongue, and a bit of eye batting with doey looking eyes that said “I want to please you, Sir”, would go a long way with Mr. FB. And boy was I right.

You see the weakness for guys like this is some good ol’ fashioned ego stroking. In other words compliments. I fully believe males love compliments just as much, if not more than females do. For this boy all I had to say was “Nice shirt” while he passed by. And then the next time “nice shirt”, followed by, “you always dress so nice”. His eyes get happy, he likes it, he responds “oh thank you, you know I try” with a nice teethy smile. So I go further, because you know, I’m Blanche I like the attention. I go “are you going for best dress?”, and he keeps it going, he mentions he nominated himself after others told him he should (like I told you before, FUCKBOY, looks good so others will see, and I guess his efforts did not go to waste). Then the situation got even more entertaining because my beautiful distant friend is a Stella. She likes to compete with others over everything. She enjoys possessing the objects of others desires, no matter what they are. She has taken an interest in the fact that I’ve taken “interest” in this boy. Little does she know, my interest is just temporary and false, a charade that will fade by the end of this very class. The most interesting fact for me though is, that she has a boyfriend and she still wants to go tit-for-tat. I don’t mind it. I get to mess with them both. I get to mockingly boost this cute little boys ego, and challenge my “friend” and see how much I can make her do for this boys attention, which before this week she couldn’t have care anything about. People truly amuse me. They really do. And they never cease to amaze me.

Holy shit I just realized, this boy is a sadder version of Stanley.


She Asked What?

October 7th, 2015

My self-confidence is gone. I say that as if I ever had any or like this state of mind is something new for me. I’m on a personal high, feeling on top of the world and then, BAM someone or something smacks me right back down to earth. Today it came in the form of a very noisy and naïve classmate. Now before I continue, let me disclaim that I am a bit on the thicker side. My stomach is not washboard flat. Never mind that fact, it still scorched my ego when she asked if I was with child. Now this is not the first time so I guess, unfortunately, I’m getting used to it. She tried to make small talk about it, which made it worst. She goes “doesn’t it bother you when people ask”. Like she didn’t just ask me herself. Now as politely as I could I said to her “No” and to her shocked face I responded “Because I don’t care”. And for some crazy reason, I still can’t seem to understand, I felt bad for my remark and said, “Not to be mean or anything, I just don’t really pay attention to it that much”. She proceeded to asked if it was a medical condition, like honestly, all I could think was “What the actual fuck? I mean this cannot be happening”. This insensitive little girl was truly concerned about what was going on with my body. And as I write this now, I’m even more puzzled. I honestly can’t tell if I should be mad at the audacity of this girl, appreciative of her concern. I just can’t seem to figure it out.

However as I stated before this was not something I haven’t experienced before. To be exact this has happened to me about… 6 times throughout my high school career. Just about one time every year and it never seems to hurt less. I mean I’m not on any diet, but I attempt to eat right and exercise moderately, and my stomach has gone down has gone down A LOT since my freshman year, but every time someone asks me that question, it makes me feel like it’s still not enough – like I’m not good enough. Like I’ll never be good enough. I’m always comparing myself to every female I see. Trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. And when things like this happen it makes me even more paranoid. I start to ponder why people up and leave me. And why do they ignore me? Why do the people I cherish more than my own life take advantage of me or take me for granted? Why do they hurt me? Well it’s has to be me, right? I mean there has to be something that I can fix within myself, that would change all that. Sometimes I wish there was a magic pill I could take that would turn me into that woman I dream of becoming. Or a fairy godmother. Sometimes I even go as far as believing that I’m just going to wake up one day and this life I’ve been living will all be a bad dream. A horrid and awful nightmare, really, that I wish every day I could wake up from, and forget I ever had it.

It depresses me. There are times I start to feel like I’m not worthy of human life. On my most depressing occasions I have those deep, dark, and scary thoughts when I’m all alone and feeling beyond repair. I start telling myself that no one truly loves me. That they won’t notice I’m gone, I serve no true purpose in this world. The goals I’ve set for myself will never be achieved. I’ve convinced myself that I won’t ever find true happiness, so why not…

I guess I’m just to scared to do it. Because I’d never hang myself and knives fucking scare the living shit out of me. It’s actually really pathetic and in a sense tragic. To yearn for the bliss of death, and yet not want to feel the pain that, depending on which route you choose, can at times come with it. I have to say if I ever got past the fear of the pain, and did do it, I’d fill my body with a wonderful deadly cocktail. No pain. Just a beautiful numbness. That’s how I’d want it. Numb, no feelings. I long for the ability to be numb to these pains and insecurities everyday of my horribly forsaken life.

But of course every time I think about it, suicide or substance abuse, no matter what I always feel guilty. I start to feel bad. Like I’d upset the people closest to me. I think about my mom, I think about my dad, then my siblings, and the people I call friends, and I chicken out. I can’t do it. I won’t, but I damn sure want to and wish I had the guts to. You see I’m just not happy. I can pretend all I want, but it’s ignorance like that girls that make me remember, bringing me back to my sad reality. I honestly feel like now I don’t want to know what true happiness is. I no longer crave the falsehood of being okay and being happy, only to have it snatched away by moments like this.

*Sigh* honestly my life…. I can’t even put it into words. It’s truly comical because even now while I’m typing this, I feel guilty, I feel like I should just be appreciative of the life I do have. I ask myself everyday: What Is Wrong With Me? Am I Crazy? Do I need help, like professional Help? as well as medication? Do I have a mental illness? And that leads me to the fact that I’m black and no matter what anyone else has to say I am convinced, that African-American families ignore mental illness. Like it doesn’t exist. I remember seeing a tumblr post that confirmed this idea. You see no matter how many times I hoot and holler, about how I might actually be crazy, my parents never listen, or they shut me down like I’m just being silly. I just don’t understand. But that’s my “God” awful life, so why would I expect help to get better.


Angelina Jolie Quote about Self-Worth. Digital image. SELF ESTEEM OR SELF CONFIDENCE – KNOW THE DIFFERENCE. N.p., n.d. Web.7 Oct. 2015.

Is it Me?

October 6th, 2015

People ditch me. It’s something I’ve grown to get used to. Maybe its me. Maybe I’m not good enough. Or at least that’s what I begin to believe when they ignore me. All my life I’ve never truly felt good enough. I always feel less than, like I don’t matter. Sometimes I wonder if it’s all in my head. Like I’m just blowing things out of portion. Then there are times when people I know will say hi to someone right next to me and pretend like I was never even there. This has done significant damage to my ego. Then there’s the people who use me, for their own convenience and selfish agendas. When they need something they ask and I give. I’ve been used and taken for granted so many times I’ve lost count. This of course hurts, it’s worst because I sit and think about it all the time. Why don’t people like me? Is it my personality, is it the way I look? What is it? Contemplating these ideas as if I could change them in any way, like I can fix who I am. I can’t fix me, nor do I want to. Sometimes I like who I am. Then again sometimes I wish I was who I’ve always wanted to be. She is confident. With beauty, inside and out. She is beyond intelligent and wise. She’s fit and healthy. This magnificent being is envied by all. She’s a wonderful communicator, and treats everyone with the upmost respect and compassion. No one can compare to her. She’s never vain or arrogant, always modest and humble. She’s understanding, does her best to be nonjudgmental, and she admires as well as respects where people come from no matter what. The women I yearn to be is loved and wanted. She’s almost perfect, however she is still human so she’s perfectly imperfect. Someday she will be me.


Mother Teresa. Pictures tagged “unloved” Digital image. Picture Quotes, n.d. Web. 6 Oct. 2015.

The Drive to Dream

I have these dreams. Huge, crazy goals, I can’t allow myself not to achieve. No matter what I have to make it big. People have always tried to tear me down. They’ve made the dreams necessities. Achievements I will accomplish. They’ve paved the way for me to have a successful prosperous life, at max 10 years from now. These “wonderful” people have instilled within me a drive that will never diminish. I drive that I know will one day make number 1 on Forbes’s richest list. A drive that will cause everyone in Hollywood to know my name. A drive that will not only make me a living legend, but create a beautiful legacy, unlike anything anyone’s every heard of. Because of these people, I will strive to be the greatest to ever live. I will perfect my writing, sharpen my talents of singing and acting, as well as refine my artistic skills to become the greatest talent the world has ever known. I will drive to be the person I’ve always dreamed of becoming and the one they all hoped I would never become. Today I will embark on a journey to love and become a better me. And I cannot wait for the day when I can say I truly destroyed those “wonderful” people.