Read Me

If you could only understand my language. I don’t mean the sounds that leave my opening and closing lips (although you cannot understand those all the same), but I mean my heart. It is quite unfortunate that you are not a mind reader, my clueless love, because my mouth may move far too much, but my mind moves miles and covers much more important ground. If you could see yourself from my eyes you might see the beauty I see in you even when we’re at our worst. Then, you might understand my anger, so rash and incomprehensible to your sane mind. See, my mind is not sane, love. It’s so wrapped up in your being that it forgets my own needs.

So, if you could only read the language my body speaks then you’d understand me eternally. If you could see the way me leaning towards you when we are near means I want you to hold me. If you could understand the sadness in my swift and angry movements when we argue. If you could feel the warmth of my hand placed “randomly” (but strategically) on your leg, arm, shoulder, and face and understand this means “I want you”.

I love your whole being in so many more ways than words can depict. Unfortunately, the real me is stowed away inside of my head and my emotions for you are tucked safely even deeper for use in every gesture. The same gestures you do not understand. If I may have a moment to explain this love, it would never make as much sense as if you could one day read me like you read my words,


But with more understanding.

4/29/11

I miss your kisses like love notes on my pillow each morning.
I'd embrace them with the open arms of my heart.
A half full vessel that has long been forgotten in the midst of your heart's desires.
That would be the problem,
that your heart in all it's longing for the world and all it has to offer
does not bemoan my lack of presence.
It does not reach for mine, but in the middle of the night.
But in the middle of the night my eyes are heavy with the days burden of missing you.
My body is sore from holding the weight of a relationship
that is two miscommunications away from breaking my back.
So I can't rise at night to feed your desires my love.
I need all the rest I can get so that I can rise early
to start my long, longing days, each day until your heart is mine
or my back is broken.
I can feel my spine grow weak and contorted as you let the moments pass us by.

On Curly [natural] Hair (taken from my Tumblr)

The post I was going to write was about the fact that it’s really hard to maintain this look because there are little to no positive images of curly (or “natural hair”) at all. I’m a huge magazine collector and how dumb of me to think that at least one magazine I collect, only one, would have tips for girls without straight/wavy hair besides to straighten it. Oh, or make the curl look better by first straightening it and then curling it through various methods.

How about no? How about I revel in all my glorious frizzy ringlets that stand on end and fall awkwardly when I throw them in a direction they’re not used to. I can hardly find pictures without straight or processed to be straight (or wavy) hair. Fuck that, I guess I’ve been reading the wrong magazines my whole life because these obviously don’t fit me. I’m not a girl on any one of these pages besides in the article in one of my magazines has about mixed girls and their societal appeal recently. They have so much societal appeal in fact that they have surpassed the ol’ blond hair, blue eyes. Yeah?

Our beauty precedes them now, but only as a spectacle or only when we give in to their standards of beauty. So, (I speak for) we, specifically my Dominican woman although others can most definitely relate, relax our hair to make it “better”. Our thick, luscious curls are too much for them, yeah? Mixed girls have so much more appeal because ‘they’re different’, eh? What’s in right now is the weird, the abnormal, and the different, but what makes us these things? Our hair has always been this way, our features, though a mixture of different cultures, are still the features of those cultures, and our look is only weird because it’s not their ideal. We’re only different because they’d normally shun us and our features, but since we’re in for the moment it’s okay to be us… to a point.

As much as I’d like to be happy for the acceptance, I can’t. It’s not genuine, it’s only curiosity and I’m nobody’s spectacle. Please show me the place where we’re actually accepted and supported. Show me my rightful place because it’s not up on some shelf for all to look at and wonder. I’m not different. I’m just the same. However, the same treatment is too much to ask for. I want it all, I won’t run with some. I am not satisfied with some.

Always

Always
I am not jealous
of what came before me.

Come with a man
on your shoulders,
come with a hundred men in your hair,
come with a thousand men between your breasts and your feet,
come like a river
full of drowned men
which flows down to the wild sea,
to the eternal surf, to Time!

Bring them all
to where I am waiting for you;
we shall always be alone,
we shall always be you and I
alone on earth,
to start our life!

Pablo Neruda

I love this.

Carnal apple, Woman filled, burning moon,
dark smell of seaweed, crush of mud and light,
what secret knowledge is clasped between your pillars?
What primal night does Man touch with his senses?
Ay, Love is a journey through waters and stars,
through suffocating air, sharp tempests of grain:
Love is a war of lightning,
and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.
Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity,
your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages,
and a genital fire, transformed by delight,
slips through the narrow channels of blood
to precipitate a nocturnal carnation,
to be, and be nothing but light in the dark.

Pablo Neruda

Dreams

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Langston Hughes