bad beginnings?

i drive him crazy. and we're not even dating. 

quit while we're ahead? 

confused.

anacaona

oh karma how i love thee

i won't elaborate too much. but i found out that a guy i used to talk to feels like he is getting played by some new girl he is talking to. and though i never wish anyone harm, karma is always good. hence the reason i dont wish people harm, cause karma really can bite you in the ass. 

note to self: write poem about karma.

random facts about me i've learned to love:

i have facial hair. embarrassing but it's me.

i know i'm about to get my period because i have an uncanny craving for chicharrones (pork rinds) and ice cream.

since going natural i really want someone to just spend the time playing with my hair.

my eyes swell after i cry.

in any chick flick, whenever the girl gets her heart broken, or left/abandoned...i cry. everytime without fail. even if i have seen the movie a million times. 

i want to fall in love but find it hard wanting something i don't believe in anymore.

old habits die hard.

i'm a social networking whore. i love meeting new people and putting myself out there, with boundaries of course.

i have about 200 pictures of myself on my macbook. i don't think its narcissism. i spent years thinking i was ugly and hated pictures. now i'm beautiful and i'll take pictures of myself for my own enjoyment.

i have never written a poem in spanish.

i have terrible stage fright. but i'm not very shy

i have a slight stutter.

i have a short temper. and insane anger issues but i keep them under control for the most part.

i have eczema. on my tummy and my neck. argh it sucks.

i've had a hickey once. never again. and it wasn't even that big or noticeable.

i wish i had a scent. something that i smelled like. as of now it seems to be sweet pea and shea butter/coconut oil. 

since cutting my hair, i'm into makeup and accessories.

i like my feet. but no one else's.

i wish i used my videochat more. 

im quirky.

anacaona

old habits die hard.

i need a new journal. granted my old one isn't finished, its about halfway done. but its uninspiring. but i have no funds to supply my journal habit. my birthday is in a month. maybe i'll ask my brother. 

soft cover.

preferably leather.

brown or black.

texture without design.

no lined paper.

thick.

perfection.

a fresh journal is like crack.

anacaona

"just say it"

so as expected he read my blog. and we talked on the phone for a good 15 minutes which he spent trying to get me to say it out loud. i wanted to curl up in a ball, crawl into a hole and stay there. too much pressure. i admitted it. granted it was in blog form but i put it out there somehow. and it wasn't enough. am i wrong? its been 3 years. he can't expect it to be that easy for me to just say it. i feel uncomfortable.

crawling into my hole now.

anacaona

looking back

Growing up happens in a heartbeat. One day you're in diapers; the next day you're gone. But the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul. the wonder years

i do miss the bliss of being young and not knowing, and having that be okay.

i was a cute baby.

anacaona

freewrite

on my date yesterday =] we went to go see Harry Potter because I still haven't seen it and I'm a HUGE Harry fan. the movie was a bit disappointing because they took out a good 3/4's of the book and changed up important details. but other than that it was still entertaining and conveyed the important stuff. after the movie, we talked and i told him about a poem i wanted to write. and on the train home, i wrote it.

I know that we are conditioned
to identify with the good guy:
the side that will undoubtedly prevail in a war of contradicting ideals
but what happens when you find yourself
identifying with the bad guy
i'm in the theater
trying to figure out
if fundamentally
a horcrux can actually exist
in a world existing outside of
platform 9 3/4
could i break my soul into pieces 
and protect its fragments
i can't help but feel as though
my soul has nomad coded into its genetics
and while my body craves stillness and breath
my soul has other ideas
they say rape victims
sometimes wear sneakers to sleep
and in the event that assault is more prevalent than dreams
sneaking up on them like grim reapers of pain
they have the tools necessary to escape
so maybe
given the amount of damage
that i've encountered
i'm subconsciously preparing the essence of my being to run
to at least have a fighting chance at survival
because sometimes
asking me to live is asking for too much
and this vessel, god-given and mad-made
seems ill equipped at protection
most times
i find myself tired
no amount of rest can cure a restless sprirt
i have to remind myself
that beds are for bodies
not souls
all of me can't seem to exist as one
there is no single unit here
just two sides of the same coin
like Harry
and Volde-- he who must not be named
I'm already in pieces
my reflection is my enemy
and if horcruxes are indeed evil
what will people say of my poetry
voldemort's first known horcrux was a journal
even evil knows the power of words
i wish simple people could too
i'm embedded in the punctuation
there is ink in my veins
and scars on my pages
language is as close to immortality as we can get
and when done right
my words manipulate feelings
my pages outweigh fate
and rewrite destiny
am i wrong for finding ways to preserve myself
and though i cut lines into my skin
like basilisk fangs in leatherbound books
i don't think i'll be okay with death being my final chapter
if there is no resurrection
then leave me be
i'll find ways to live beyond death
i'll keep using my pen as my magic wand
use journals for parchment
cast spells with titles
my soul is too restless to be acknowledged posthumously
and if i succeed
in tearing myself apart
will I ever be able to piece myself together?
immortality has its price.
so my soul can handle being broken
in ways my heart cant.

inspiration is everywhere.

anacaona

if i should be so bold

"And all I really want to do is to love you

A kind much closer than friends use

I still can't say it after all we've been though"

If It Kills Me - Jason Mraz

yeah, its like that.

anacaona

it creeps on you

this is going to be a short entry mostly because i'm confused about it. but i think i'm in love. this guy literally is one of my closest friends. he knows me, deals with me. at my best or at my worst, unconditionally. he gets frustrated with me because sometimes i'm a lot to handle but he's always there for me. and i like to think i'm there for him. i like making him smile. yesterday we went out on a date. it was effortless. at one point we just sat on some chairs for about an hour and just talked, took in the scenery and just sat in silence. we had our first kiss. it was sweet. i got butterflies. which is foreign to me because given the amount of hurt i've encountered sometimes i didn't think i had genuine feelings. this is the first time in a long time i've liked a good guy. but i can't admit that to him or to myself out loud even though i know he's going to read this blog and know its about him. argh. perhaps that's why i'm doing this. but i dont see myself being a girlfriend. that term scares me. i dont want to hurt him or damage our friendship. poor excuse i know if you can have the friendship and the romance then there should be nothing stopping you. so i guess bottom line is that i'm just scared. but i think i love him. he makes me happy. he's leaving back to baltimore tomorrow so i won't see him until Lord knows when and i don't like that. that makes me sad. 

weird. 

anacaona

public service announcement

So I just saw something that really bothered me. Lil Bow Wow's twitter. before I get started let me say that I DO NOT follow him but I do follow other people who mentioned it so I went on it. And he was talking about what presumably looks to be about Solange and her decision to cut off all her hair. He was ranting about how women should stop cutting their hair in an attempt to look like men and how he likes long hair and he's so over everyone trying to copy Amber Rose. I have issues with all these statements for varying reason. 7 months ago I cut off my hair. Maybe not a big chop but I cut off layers of relaxed hair in an attempt to free myself and just let go. So I would like to dedicate this post to the men who feel as Bow Wow. Let it be known, we do not cut our hair for you. WE ARE NOT HERE FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT. So personally I can care less if you don't like short hair, I like my short hair. I am not cutting my hair in an attempt to give the rib that I supposedly borrowed from you some masculinity. Personally Lil Bow Wow you used to have long hair, didn't you? And wouldn't that be a female trait? So stop jocking our shit. Now you cut your hair off and all of a sudden you are alpha male. Solange looks beautiful. I feel like ethnic women are always judged so harshly. Also, I resent that now every time women of color chop their hair off people attribute that to Amber Rose... pause. I knew beautiful black women with no hair on their hair long before Kanye brought her around. It bothers me. Since cutting my hair I have the most confidence I ever had in my life. This is not an attack to women with relaxed hair, I do not judge. But it just bothers me how the standard of beauty hasn't changed and people remained closeminded. If I have one more dude come up to me and asked me why I did this to myself, I'll compose myself and just say because I can. 

its just hair folks. get over yourself

anacaona

mommy's little girl

the relationship between my mother and me is complex. ups and downs, more downs than ups... love - hate. i use hate because sometimes i do. love because sometimes i love her. most times i do. and sometimes i really wish i was adopted. mind you, when i was younger, my mom was my best friend. i told this woman absolutely everything. and when i grew up, i just don't trust her the same. at least trust her to understand, she judges. harshly. so i wrote a poem about it.

to my mom:

I  wonder if I was worth the nine month wait

Cause my mother looks at me

Like she wished she stopped at three

But given her new found love of my father

She decided to rent out

Space in her womb for his seed

And my birth seemed more like an eviction

They say you can’t remember your birth

That the process of leaving

Doesn’t stay embedded in brain waves

But perhaps we just repress its memory

She made me for him

Not for herself

And in that hospital

I swore I confused doctor with daddy

Cause daddy wasn’t there

So my soul chooses to forget

Where I came from

The journey will never surpass the destination

If it lies outside the realm of recollection

My attachment to her left with my umbilical cord

Umbilical cords replaced by belts and extension cords

So the connection was temporary

But the scar tissues lies above bones

Hence they are useless for drying eyes

Blood never spilled from my skin

I kept it in like secrets

Youd hit until  the remnats of a family lay spilt beneath your feet

Find shelter in the cracks of our foundation

and you kept going

with even my shadow crying for me

you called it discipline

when I got out of line

so the lines bruised on my back were reminders

fuck post its

skin is the original paper

She told me I’m the spitting image of my father

That I must have lived in the womb that men forget they have

She claims none of my chromosomes

But wonders why daddy’s heartbeat is my lullaby

It seems that her blood flow

Just tried to drown me in her loneliness

And my placenta was poisonous

I might as well have been birthed in a grave yard

And my birthday was more like the day of resurrection

I don’t think I was meant to be

More like a formality

My mother’s arms are weary

It was my father that needed something to hold onto

And I needed something unconditional to latch onto

My mother never cried for me so

Her water broke instead

So the closest I got to feeling her tears

Escaped from her legs

Before I could see them fall

She even took that away from me

So now when she sobs at my feet

I just think she’s given birth to her guilt

A feud like this goes back like generations

That bicker without understanding it’s initial trigger

We fight like it’s our birthright

We fight like immune systems that gave on its body

We’re our own virus

That feed off our hosts of insecurities

She says she doesn’t know how to be a mother to me

That her proven techniques are just wasted on me

And I don’t know how to be her daughter

So we settle and become mirrors for each other

And screaming at your reflection

Does nothing to help the situation

Sometimes when we fight

Im reduced to the fetal position

Find myself nestles in the shrillness of harsh tones

And mangled words

And I was I was still born sometimes

Rebirthed into stillness

And it wouldn’t be an abortion

Cause had I known,

Had I been given insight instead of limbs

I could have spared you this pain

But still I was born

To you

You should never fight with your creator

They say our arms are too short to box with god

So I deemed my mother a worthy opponent

And though I mimick her image

Cause God’s in hiding

I don’t know when it was when she fell from grace

It could have been when her halo got tangled

Within my father’s bedsheets

Or when she laid in hospital garbs

Among white walls not resembling heaven

And when she gave birth to this angel

Perhaps I took her halo with me

A divorced woman is said to have no place in God’s kingdom

But you took the wedding ring shackles from your fingers

And your still not free

So maybe heaven isn’t the underground railroad

And there’s no candles declaring it your safe haven

So I’m sorry for proclaiming you scorned

When you were just hurt

And not appreciating the fresh water that came from salty tears

and though I appreciate your history

you made a mockery of our ancestors

cause when you called

I could never respond

Eyes hung low in submission

I endured

You are too beautiful to be master

Masters shouldn’t give birth to slaves

So forgive me when I feel inclined to runaway

You took your shackles off and replaced them with my halo

And called it tradition

So I spent years cultivating the artistry behind repressed anger

So for every time I was told to speak when spoken to

I’m here in front of you

Pretending I’m the speakers to your heart

So when you yell, I’ll yell louder

Amplify the sound

So you can hear yourself

And then maybe you’ll listen to me

maybe we can be best friends again,

anacaona

pack rat

I moved out of my apartment in philly. officially. so i am no longer there. and all my stuff from 4 years of boarding school and 2 years away at college are now in my tiny little room. there seems to be no space. and i started thinking about how much stuff i have accumulated in the past years. and mami wants me to throw a lot of stuff away but i just can't bear it. call me a hoarder, call me a pack rat but even the slightest things hold memories even if i have  no use for them. i have a hard time letting things go that i claim as mine. 

and these things can't come back to be reclaimed, once i throw them out... our paths will be separate. so this  entry is dedicated to the random teddy bear, the old nail polish, the earring with no backing and no pair... you will be missed.

too sentimental,

anacaona

freewrite

And because they keep us out of history books

I wonder what Negro spirituals sound like in Spanish

People forget we have them

That we have history

That lies underneath ground cloaked in darkness

And while America has modernized

We still build houses with roofs made out of hay

We still watch children run barefoot

On dirt roads

We still take shits outside

Among the animals

and when we cluster together

through underground networks

of distant relatives

we end up in jobs no one else will do

Do not tell me

That I cannot claim black

It’s just ignorant

We were plucked from African soil too

Genocide killed indigenous kings and queens

There are no graves for them

And no pages for them in history books.

soy Dominicana,

anacaona

gotta love your roots

i decided to go natural in january. i took both of these pictures this week. the picture with my hair straight is the first time i've had heat on my hair in 6 months. i rock my little baby fro mostly. and whenever i feel down, i let my fingers dance in my hair. instant mood lifter.

my soror said "i didn't know your hair was so long"

i told her "the fro holds secrets relaxed hair knows nothing of."

to all the natural beauties =]

anacaona

philosophy

people call me quirky. now i take this to mean i have a lot of nuances be it my vernacular, style of stress, attitude, humor... which makes me think of my beliefs. the things i have held on to no matter what. 

there are three basic things I believe in. 1 is myself. 2 is karma. 3 is the simplicity that lies in everything and how people for varying reasons make them complicated.

i may not believe in God all the time. i would like to but i find myself believing in God when i need something not because i genuinely want to and to me that's not belief, that's selfish. but back to the three i stated. i will always believe in myself. i am all i have. i mean this in the simplest terms. if you take everything away, i'll remain. that idea is the strongest idea someone can have. taken to the extreme it can give you a survivalist mentality and isolate you, but taken in the pure and honest way, it'll make you feel powerful. i believe in karma. the universe has an order, and when you violate that order... the universe will put it back into place. this thought helps me stay away from negativity and away from seeking revenge. like i can forgive and forget because i know that though things have shifted out of place, everything will go back. and lastly... i tend to overcomplicate things. i overthink and overfeel and when i remember that everything can be broken down into simple situations it keeps me in perspective. it lets me breathe.

i think everyone should be able to do a few things to ease stress... let your feet touch grass or sand. when you are standing above nature, you feel more grounded. hold someone's hand, even if it's your own. handwrite a letter. read a book with the intention of finishing it. remember what friendship feels like. let your innocence mature into genuine; everything needs to grow up but growing old and weary is a choice.

breathing youthfully,

anacaona

putting a little meat on dem bones

the title is in reference of my blog. ive been a little scarce lately mostly out of laziness. so i apologize for that. its a different kind of laziness. it's not cause i'm bored but mostly cause i'm too lazy to think. for the last few months my thoughts have been occupied by nonsense so now that i'm home and i can take a break from everything, i've given up on thinking. which also explains my hiatus in my poetry. i haven't really been on my poetry game as i should be. i can't even say that because it's not like i'm not up on my game, i haven't been writing period. however for all my lack of substantial writing i have been twittering and changing my facebook status like crazy. which got me to thinking about communication. my friends keep telling me to make a blog. which is funny because clearly i already have one and i play along like i don't. i don't know if i need all the people who know me reading my thoughts and what not. i put my poetry out there but it's different. even though i do feel my poetry is personal and emotional more so than this blog sometimes. they keep telling me to do like a pop culture commentary because when it comes to anything on television, music or the pop culture world that we live in i really do have a comment for everything. so my twitter and status keep getting updated feverishly. people tell me that my updates are hilarious and that they enjoy reading them. but with only a few words to convey a message i'd say communication nowadays is pitiful. people would rather read 140 characters than engage in actual conversation. one of my friends had the audacity to ask why i need another journal if i have a laptop. and i felt like that was a tremendous slap in the face. as a writer i appreciate the beauty of the craft and understand the history. shit if i could use papyrus or a stone tablet, i would. but i can't so i'll be content with a pen and paper. i mean i appreciate the convenience of the computer. and sometimes i do type my poems first but i always make sure to transfer them into a notebook. there is something honest about handwriting. it leaves more of a fingerprint. technology has really changed communication between people. while making us more accessible it has distanced us at the same time. the juxtaposition of those two is incredible. i feel like writing a poem about it. i mean think about it. i have like 1000 "friends" on facebook. people who have access to my pictures, to my frequently updated status, who can send me messages and these boundaries are reciprocated. i have friends from elementary school, my kindergarden class yet we don't really talk. people make plans on facebook and when you don't show up they were like well i facebook invited you. that's not a real invitation but still socially acceptable. and i tell myself that i want to take breaks from facebook and twitter but when i do, i really do lose contact with everyone. it's like i moved to the middle of the rainforest. and the fact that even while sleeping, you miss out on so much its distubring. rifuckingdiculous. 

i wonder what the next innovation is going to be. holograms?

anacaona

without consent

I often wondered why rape
affects us so much
why it rots our insides
making us less than human
until we are standing 
on nothing more than the 
promise that
time heals all wounds
We women are more than human
We take ribs
and clone them into children
We have ovaries that perform
modern day alchemy
gold is simply not of much use these days
so this womb
opted to be a home
for future babies
and to men
seeking wetness in the form of something
other 
than
tears
to my tenants
i was temporary shelter
never meant to last more than
a few hours on cold nights
or nine months while limbs developed
but he
fucked me something permanent
just like a thief
he burglarized this home
entered through locked doors
he was not welcomed here
the space between these walls
are unsafe
my property has been redlined by blood trickling down thighs
my value is shot to hell
i might as well be worthless
my sexuality meant nothing
and that is why it hurts
because
we are taught 
as little girls
that our chastity is precious
virginity is close to sainthood
and to guard it with our life
but we chose
to engage in relations 
with men who have forgotten what innocence feels like
we renounce our sainthood
for their piece of mind
and he now walks
with shoulder blades prominent
cause he stripped me of my wings
and now carries them on his back
he was never meant to fuck angels
i never gave him that right
he wanted to be closer to God
used me to ascend to the heavens
leapt from the cliff of humanity
and was resurrected a monster
there are no ghost stories about this kind of sin
no boogeymen equivalent for him
my body became the source of my fear
four limbs
torso
spine
could not save me 
what kind of redemption does God hold
for rapists and their victims?
and though a part of me died that day
there are no obituaries for the death of angels
no convictions for the theft of wings
there's no justice it seems
perhaps she was raped too
chose blindness to escape her own reflection
she only saw him
so we women
are affected by rape
because whatever doesn't kill you
sometimes makes you wish it had
just to see
if our tainted and broken souls
will still be allowed into heaven
though we can no longer fly.

there are some thing you don't get over. 

anacaona

being a grown up

Sometimes the hardest but most rewarding thing to do is to realize you need a clean break from an unhealthy situation and to realize that starting over doesn't mean you failed. Currently this is my life. Sorry for the hiatus but I had to take a break. So I found myself back at home and it feels good. Even with my parents overbearing rules, I'm still much happier. 

This past summer has been terrible for me so far. Exhibit A: my hair is falling out. from stress Exhibit B: i lost 15 lbs. understand the severity of it: i'm a small person, my "heaviest" is 125 lbs. my healthy weight i suppose is 120. so i'm currently 10 lbs underweight. i look like a rail.

change is good,

anacaona