So.
I will admit that I've told the story of how I came to read the Twilight series, so many times that even I have believed that it's true. In fact, I didn't even realize that it was a lie until last night, as I was walking away from the theatre, having finally seen the last installment of the film adaptation. Truth is - we gulity pleasured our way through that series together. I remember finding it at the corner of your bed, immediately launching into almost merciless teasing, and being walloped over the head with a pillow several times until I finally agreed to read the first chapter at least....
I will admit that walking away from the movie without you on my arm, felt a little like being unfaithful - and I still don't know what to do about that. These days you are like a splinter in my mind that there aren't tweezers strong enough to extract.
--
*sigh*
I'm sitting at my friends's house, staring at a picture of a boat on a dock in a town that looks rather New Englandy, and I'm really wishing that I painted. I feel like I could knock out some pretty angsty post-modern abstract expressionist something or other with a black stripe and a lot of swirls or something.
Peace Be
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Adventures in Education Reform
So.
The school where I work is one of three in the county that serves the at-risk communities in the area. To paint the picture: more than 90% of our kids are on free/reduced lunch; more than 75% have performed below grade level in math & reading during their entire middle school careers; more than 50% learned English as a second language....and other statistics that send most teachers in the other direction....
At some point, I'll talk to you about the complete failure of the American public education system - how the people that make educational policy have no idea what the implications of their policies are on what happens in a classroom; how the push towards "equitable" education, specifically the way we handle students with physical handicaps or learning disabilities, is doing a disservice to students without those challenges and an even greater disservice to the students we're supposed to be helping; how zoning within a district and tracking within a school limits the perceived potential of a child and dictates the quality of education a child is going to receive; how nearly 30% of the school year is devoted to standardized testing; how testing is a multi-billion dollar industry; how passing/failing a standardized test is not a true measurement of how much material a student knows, nor a measure of whether or not they are prepared for the next grade/course; and how "teacher accountability" cannot mean the same thing as "good test scores".
But there's no time for that today. Today's educational travesty is centered around these children believing the hype of the American dream, without understanding the reality of American struggle.
And of course these kids understand struggle. Some of their daily lives are horror stories that most folks couldn't stomach long enough to read, but they see no connection between scholastic success, and success in their lives as adult. Case in point: Asked the question, hat do you want to be when you finish high school?" to one of my Seniors (pause - I teach (9th grade Pre-Algebra and Algebra 1) - his very sincere answer, "Either like, a real estate agent, or an accountant." Others chimed in: "Lawyer," "Pediatrician," and other such occupations, because at some point, some adult in their lives told them, "you can be whatever you put your mind to," which is very true - but then the education system gives them the okie doke by convincing them that they don't have to work for it. Why would you?
Here's the part where I admit to having an above-average level of laziness. So if I figured out in 5th grade, that I was going to go to 6th whether I passed or not...I would have set my mind to "coast" and doodled all day. (Well, no I wouldn't have....because Mom and Pop would have taken a foot/belt/frying pan/extension cord to me until I did better...but that's another conversation).
We tell students they have to complete a task in one hour, and if they don't - we give themm two additional hours without penalty. We tell them that they have to make certain grades to pass on to the next grade; when they don't - we pass them anyway with no explanation. Students are passed through from exam to exam - grade to grade, perceiving that every standard set for them is a vague suggestion at best, at worst, a complete waste of air and energy, and so they believe that they can make failing grades in every course, every year of high school....and somehow still graduate on time, attend college, and obtain the advanced degrees necessary to move into high-powered careers.
The need for education reform is real. The need for education reformers who actually understand education is even more real.
Peace Be
The school where I work is one of three in the county that serves the at-risk communities in the area. To paint the picture: more than 90% of our kids are on free/reduced lunch; more than 75% have performed below grade level in math & reading during their entire middle school careers; more than 50% learned English as a second language....and other statistics that send most teachers in the other direction....
At some point, I'll talk to you about the complete failure of the American public education system - how the people that make educational policy have no idea what the implications of their policies are on what happens in a classroom; how the push towards "equitable" education, specifically the way we handle students with physical handicaps or learning disabilities, is doing a disservice to students without those challenges and an even greater disservice to the students we're supposed to be helping; how zoning within a district and tracking within a school limits the perceived potential of a child and dictates the quality of education a child is going to receive; how nearly 30% of the school year is devoted to standardized testing; how testing is a multi-billion dollar industry; how passing/failing a standardized test is not a true measurement of how much material a student knows, nor a measure of whether or not they are prepared for the next grade/course; and how "teacher accountability" cannot mean the same thing as "good test scores".
But there's no time for that today. Today's educational travesty is centered around these children believing the hype of the American dream, without understanding the reality of American struggle.
And of course these kids understand struggle. Some of their daily lives are horror stories that most folks couldn't stomach long enough to read, but they see no connection between scholastic success, and success in their lives as adult. Case in point: Asked the question, hat do you want to be when you finish high school?" to one of my Seniors (pause - I teach (9th grade Pre-Algebra and Algebra 1) - his very sincere answer, "Either like, a real estate agent, or an accountant." Others chimed in: "Lawyer," "Pediatrician," and other such occupations, because at some point, some adult in their lives told them, "you can be whatever you put your mind to," which is very true - but then the education system gives them the okie doke by convincing them that they don't have to work for it. Why would you?
Here's the part where I admit to having an above-average level of laziness. So if I figured out in 5th grade, that I was going to go to 6th whether I passed or not...I would have set my mind to "coast" and doodled all day. (Well, no I wouldn't have....because Mom and Pop would have taken a foot/belt/frying pan/extension cord to me until I did better...but that's another conversation).
We tell students they have to complete a task in one hour, and if they don't - we give themm two additional hours without penalty. We tell them that they have to make certain grades to pass on to the next grade; when they don't - we pass them anyway with no explanation. Students are passed through from exam to exam - grade to grade, perceiving that every standard set for them is a vague suggestion at best, at worst, a complete waste of air and energy, and so they believe that they can make failing grades in every course, every year of high school....and somehow still graduate on time, attend college, and obtain the advanced degrees necessary to move into high-powered careers.
The need for education reform is real. The need for education reformers who actually understand education is even more real.
Peace Be
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Adventures in Change
So.
For those who haven't been keeping up: I've recently started teaching a new subject, to a new grade level, at a new school, gotten a new apartment - both in new cities, and am trying to navigate some new rules for an old relationship....hmmm...For those who have been keeping up...we know that I don't deal well with new.
This is where Chriss (and everyone else in my inner circle) will tell me that a line of medical defense would be extraordinarly helpful against this state of depression I've been choosing to "beat back" with cookie dough and sleep. But you don't have to know me well at all to know what my response to that looks like.
What does this mean?
Be on the look out for some really bad, really angsty poetry...or maybe some really hostile pseudo-political rants here in the near future. And if are one of the "chosen few" that edits my stuff for me (is it wrong to say groupies? Are you mad? You can call me your groupie too if it helps)....be on the lookout for something honest.
Speaking of poetry - guess who decided to take a year from Slam? This is not a throwback to the time I took off from writing (Do you remember that foolishness?) - this is a "it really isn't cute to disappear from your job to spend all of your money acting like you're 20 with a group of poets also pretending that they're 20." Next year, when I've built some cred with the boss and have *gasp* set aside some money for this kind of trip, I'll take my spot on the team back. Because that's not arrogant. I'll compete again, and hopefully be able to get a spot amongst the best that Piedmont's got to offer.
More to say, but I'm...tired of talking. So.
Peace Be
For those who haven't been keeping up: I've recently started teaching a new subject, to a new grade level, at a new school, gotten a new apartment - both in new cities, and am trying to navigate some new rules for an old relationship....hmmm...For those who have been keeping up...we know that I don't deal well with new.
This is where Chriss (and everyone else in my inner circle) will tell me that a line of medical defense would be extraordinarly helpful against this state of depression I've been choosing to "beat back" with cookie dough and sleep. But you don't have to know me well at all to know what my response to that looks like.
What does this mean?
Be on the look out for some really bad, really angsty poetry...or maybe some really hostile pseudo-political rants here in the near future. And if are one of the "chosen few" that edits my stuff for me (is it wrong to say groupies? Are you mad? You can call me your groupie too if it helps)....be on the lookout for something honest.
Speaking of poetry - guess who decided to take a year from Slam? This is not a throwback to the time I took off from writing (Do you remember that foolishness?) - this is a "it really isn't cute to disappear from your job to spend all of your money acting like you're 20 with a group of poets also pretending that they're 20." Next year, when I've built some cred with the boss and have *gasp* set aside some money for this kind of trip, I'll take my spot on the team back. Because that's not arrogant. I'll compete again, and hopefully be able to get a spot amongst the best that Piedmont's got to offer.
More to say, but I'm...tired of talking. So.
Peace Be
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Adventures in Poetry
on Monday
the word is alarm clock
mine a shrill pounding on the head of my ear drum
a war cry awakening aimed at beating the sleep away from my body
it is twisted sheet and snooze button
and praying I set the coffee timer
cautious hand reaching to brush the hair away from your gentle face
the way I would when the wake up call was good morning
and a kiss
on Tuesday
the word is tantrum
since it's your turn to do the dishes
and I did them yesterday
and will be made to do them tomorrow
do you know the weight of dishwater
when you can't stop cooking for two
on Wednesday
it is pep talk
from anyone paying attention
to the way I refuse to go home after work
a seething cauldron of empty words
boiling into a witches' brew
on Thursday
the word is usually regret
which washes into Friday's reckless
eleven shots of anything strong enough for my heart as target practice
jukebox and table dance
and sloppy on the bar stool
it is lip and teeth and tongue and hands
to whomever presents themselves willing first
it is knowing memories are a dime a dozen
and paying the cost to be forgetful
Saturday morning
the word is mirror
and how the reflection grays in the frame
a dull whisper in the sag of my eyelids
each with the weight of the world on its lash
and I force myself to be still
to stand heavy and broken
lost and unsure
as to how to cull smiles from the ache in my throat
to shed tears
and not see your face
there is no word
for how I miss you on Sunday
hands raised during morning worship
a chorus of church folks calling on God
when all I want is to scream your name
their tears
a connection to something holy
mine
a desperate longing to hold you
to hold you
and be made whole again
and have no need to find words
the word is alarm clock
mine a shrill pounding on the head of my ear drum
a war cry awakening aimed at beating the sleep away from my body
it is twisted sheet and snooze button
and praying I set the coffee timer
cautious hand reaching to brush the hair away from your gentle face
the way I would when the wake up call was good morning
and a kiss
on Tuesday
the word is tantrum
since it's your turn to do the dishes
and I did them yesterday
and will be made to do them tomorrow
do you know the weight of dishwater
when you can't stop cooking for two
on Wednesday
it is pep talk
from anyone paying attention
to the way I refuse to go home after work
a seething cauldron of empty words
boiling into a witches' brew
on Thursday
the word is usually regret
which washes into Friday's reckless
eleven shots of anything strong enough for my heart as target practice
jukebox and table dance
and sloppy on the bar stool
it is lip and teeth and tongue and hands
to whomever presents themselves willing first
it is knowing memories are a dime a dozen
and paying the cost to be forgetful
Saturday morning
the word is mirror
and how the reflection grays in the frame
a dull whisper in the sag of my eyelids
each with the weight of the world on its lash
and I force myself to be still
to stand heavy and broken
lost and unsure
as to how to cull smiles from the ache in my throat
to shed tears
and not see your face
there is no word
for how I miss you on Sunday
hands raised during morning worship
a chorus of church folks calling on God
when all I want is to scream your name
their tears
a connection to something holy
mine
a desperate longing to hold you
to hold you
and be made whole again
and have no need to find words
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Adventures in Roadtrips
So.
Piedmont Slam (minus Kross and E, plus iShine and Mel) are heading to DC for the Beltway slam, which is a good time, but is full of inside jokes I'm not really privy to. And so, instead of feeling lame the entire trip, I pulled out the notebook and crafted this little ditty. No title yet, but I think its more or less finished. Enjoy.
Before my brother or I
were ideas in candlelight
my family folded into eastern Kentucky
like a 20 dollar bill in your first money clip
that will not go emerald at its edges
The photographs themselves are storybook enough
for a bedtime story or a history class
and the couch from these days sits in our garage
like a relic from earlier times
And something about the tattered and thin
still feels like home
Like the view from I-64 at sunrise years later on a mission to shed your skin
in the arms of a lover who curves your body like a swan dive into still water
Home
is the first swell of oxygen
in a body blue-blooded to the tips of its fingers
and the cold in its touch
reminding you sometimes
away is the only direction
In Kentucky
is the only poet I know who is ever more honest than me
along with a broken heart
The tattered and thin of its atria
just a few beats away from arrest
and I have stopped willing myself not to miss you
I see home in the smiles of our photographs
like a romance novel I've not finished yet
And they are still doing construction on I-64
There was a rock slide after our last goodbye
It put something solid on the fissure in my heart
And this is how we never love the same way twice
Not like skipping stones on the smooth of a river
Or curling yourself into a favored chair
Not like thumbprint pressed to the edges of a fading photo
Not like this
Not like home
--
Peace Be
Piedmont Slam (minus Kross and E, plus iShine and Mel) are heading to DC for the Beltway slam, which is a good time, but is full of inside jokes I'm not really privy to. And so, instead of feeling lame the entire trip, I pulled out the notebook and crafted this little ditty. No title yet, but I think its more or less finished. Enjoy.
Before my brother or I
were ideas in candlelight
my family folded into eastern Kentucky
like a 20 dollar bill in your first money clip
that will not go emerald at its edges
The photographs themselves are storybook enough
for a bedtime story or a history class
and the couch from these days sits in our garage
like a relic from earlier times
And something about the tattered and thin
still feels like home
Like the view from I-64 at sunrise years later on a mission to shed your skin
in the arms of a lover who curves your body like a swan dive into still water
Home
is the first swell of oxygen
in a body blue-blooded to the tips of its fingers
and the cold in its touch
reminding you sometimes
away is the only direction
In Kentucky
is the only poet I know who is ever more honest than me
along with a broken heart
The tattered and thin of its atria
just a few beats away from arrest
and I have stopped willing myself not to miss you
I see home in the smiles of our photographs
like a romance novel I've not finished yet
And they are still doing construction on I-64
There was a rock slide after our last goodbye
It put something solid on the fissure in my heart
And this is how we never love the same way twice
Not like skipping stones on the smooth of a river
Or curling yourself into a favored chair
Not like thumbprint pressed to the edges of a fading photo
Not like this
Not like home
--
Peace Be
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Adventures in Violence
So.
A blood vessel burst in my eye. And after the initial trauma of envisioning myself blind, hypertensive, an ultimately dying from some sort of brain bleed, I (along with a medical professional) decided that it was no big deal. except for the itching. and watering. and the fact that my eye was so bloodshot that other people began to look pained and nauseous when they glanced in my direction. this reaction, inspired me to wear sunglasses until such time as my medicated drops can do the magic of medicated drops.
The experience of wearing shades at all times has provided some interesting commentary on how the people I interact with on a daily basis perceive violence - specifically when i'm perceived to be a victim of violence - which is to say several of women from my church and most of my male students came to me and whispered in hushed tones: "Is everything ok?" And when i responded that I was ok, they would come closer and say, "No really...is everything ok....like...did someone hit you?" I found that whole exchange to be oddly sweet, especially when it was one of my students - because I understood that they were trying to be protective in some way. What proved to be more disturbing, was the men who would see me from a distance, ask rather loudly if i had been knocked around, and then chuckle as they passed by. Who....does that? Why would you imagine that it's ok for you to announce something so personal and appalling and then laugh about it?
I remember the first time I was really hit by a boyfriend in high school, and how horrific it was, even though it was an isolated event. There are people close to me who've had to experience the trauma of living with an abusive partner, and I just can't wrap my mind around how there are still people that can react to someone has been victimized with anything that veers away from the side of empathy.
Most of the men where I work are jerks.
Peace Be
A blood vessel burst in my eye. And after the initial trauma of envisioning myself blind, hypertensive, an ultimately dying from some sort of brain bleed, I (along with a medical professional) decided that it was no big deal. except for the itching. and watering. and the fact that my eye was so bloodshot that other people began to look pained and nauseous when they glanced in my direction. this reaction, inspired me to wear sunglasses until such time as my medicated drops can do the magic of medicated drops.
The experience of wearing shades at all times has provided some interesting commentary on how the people I interact with on a daily basis perceive violence - specifically when i'm perceived to be a victim of violence - which is to say several of women from my church and most of my male students came to me and whispered in hushed tones: "Is everything ok?" And when i responded that I was ok, they would come closer and say, "No really...is everything ok....like...did someone hit you?" I found that whole exchange to be oddly sweet, especially when it was one of my students - because I understood that they were trying to be protective in some way. What proved to be more disturbing, was the men who would see me from a distance, ask rather loudly if i had been knocked around, and then chuckle as they passed by. Who....does that? Why would you imagine that it's ok for you to announce something so personal and appalling and then laugh about it?
I remember the first time I was really hit by a boyfriend in high school, and how horrific it was, even though it was an isolated event. There are people close to me who've had to experience the trauma of living with an abusive partner, and I just can't wrap my mind around how there are still people that can react to someone has been victimized with anything that veers away from the side of empathy.
Most of the men where I work are jerks.
Peace Be
Monday, April 30, 2012
Adventures in 26 - 28/30 - the look. i'm doing my best edition
26 .
middle school students
are a study in chaos
entropy revealed
27.
i have this tendency of seeing beauty
where other folks see mistakes
like the rubble of almost floating
near a lighthouse after a storm
and i have always said that you
are the most beautiful i've ever seen
which is warning sign enough
for anyone paying attention
so tell me what my firsts are writing
at dawn when the moon is still full in the sky
my heart is a fault line on the brink of crumble
and i tire
of making things pretty
28.
he may be as cute
as he already believs
when his voice changes
middle school students
are a study in chaos
entropy revealed
27.
i have this tendency of seeing beauty
where other folks see mistakes
like the rubble of almost floating
near a lighthouse after a storm
and i have always said that you
are the most beautiful i've ever seen
which is warning sign enough
for anyone paying attention
so tell me what my firsts are writing
at dawn when the moon is still full in the sky
my heart is a fault line on the brink of crumble
and i tire
of making things pretty
28.
he may be as cute
as he already believs
when his voice changes
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Adventures in 25/30 - Late Edition
Kadiatou Diallo to Sybrina Fulton
because they do not know the difference between party and protest
do not begrudge them this time
this cause
they are making of your catastrophe
is the new fad with which they entertain themselves
see how informed they are
how aware
how much passion spills over in their blood
i bet a few poets have uncapped their pens for him
to add to their hoodies
and their one dollar teas
through all of this
keep your cool
put a flame beneath the stone of your eyes
whenever you step outside of your door
stand straight-backed
and tight-lipped
like there is a new steel to the spine of you
do not measure the worth of these happenings with anything you hear in the press
this is festival
the next big thing
a reality show they are proud to watch
the names of black men like sitcoms on the brink of cancellation
just wait
they will soon change the channel
see the remote already in their hands
after they have pulled the meme from him
they will hand back a mangled memory
hold it close
crumble away the pieces you know cannot be truth
use the dust of it to dampen the flame in your stomach
melt into the arms of the folk you have left
and remember him
the way you did before he was a symbol
or a martyr
or a justice undone
now that they are done with him
you may grieve for your son
because they do not know the difference between party and protest
do not begrudge them this time
this cause
they are making of your catastrophe
is the new fad with which they entertain themselves
see how informed they are
how aware
how much passion spills over in their blood
i bet a few poets have uncapped their pens for him
to add to their hoodies
and their one dollar teas
through all of this
keep your cool
put a flame beneath the stone of your eyes
whenever you step outside of your door
stand straight-backed
and tight-lipped
like there is a new steel to the spine of you
do not measure the worth of these happenings with anything you hear in the press
this is festival
the next big thing
a reality show they are proud to watch
the names of black men like sitcoms on the brink of cancellation
just wait
they will soon change the channel
see the remote already in their hands
after they have pulled the meme from him
they will hand back a mangled memory
hold it close
crumble away the pieces you know cannot be truth
use the dust of it to dampen the flame in your stomach
melt into the arms of the folk you have left
and remember him
the way you did before he was a symbol
or a martyr
or a justice undone
now that they are done with him
you may grieve for your son
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Adventures in 24/30 - Late Edition
the skyline around here is a water tower
and a cross affixed to a baptist church
it is gentle pink kissed to lavender
and swirl of cottonseed still in the air
it does not apologize for the haze of starlight
and moon fastened bright against the sky
painting the earth a shade of blue
and we rest here
which is to say languid
that is a refusal to quicken our pace here
we are front porch until dusk
and lemonade
and we know your mother's maiden name
we master the rhythm of slow drag
the same time we put a drawl in our speech
and we grow here
like sunflowers
on borrowed time and tobacco
watching the seasons change in the clay
the scent of willows bowed low in the air
and a cool breeze on a warm day
are bustle enough when we understand
this miracle of moving slow
and a cross affixed to a baptist church
it is gentle pink kissed to lavender
and swirl of cottonseed still in the air
it does not apologize for the haze of starlight
and moon fastened bright against the sky
painting the earth a shade of blue
and we rest here
which is to say languid
that is a refusal to quicken our pace here
we are front porch until dusk
and lemonade
and we know your mother's maiden name
we master the rhythm of slow drag
the same time we put a drawl in our speech
and we grow here
like sunflowers
on borrowed time and tobacco
watching the seasons change in the clay
the scent of willows bowed low in the air
and a cool breeze on a warm day
are bustle enough when we understand
this miracle of moving slow
Monday, April 23, 2012
Adventures in 23/30
when i tell them that tupac is really dead
it is as though i have conjured some secret alchemy
words like "hologram"
are the tome of the antichrist
and i am of something unholy
they remind me the illuminati is more powerful than me
they draw pyramids on print-outs of tupac lyrics
they have no need for the nonsense i will teach them from my books
this is the new world
their savior is alive
it is as though i have conjured some secret alchemy
words like "hologram"
are the tome of the antichrist
and i am of something unholy
they remind me the illuminati is more powerful than me
they draw pyramids on print-outs of tupac lyrics
they have no need for the nonsense i will teach them from my books
this is the new world
their savior is alive
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Adventures in 22/30
"Sometimes a demonstration is better than an answer"
~J.C. McClurkin
even children understand show&tell
to be an inseparable pairing
there is no interest in only the noun of things
and this is how i love
like a hurricane
like sudden
powerful
and outward in all directions
to travel any distance
to make a business of impression
and i have no use
for language when it comes with no display
what good is a love
that is merely a word
~J.C. McClurkin
even children understand show&tell
to be an inseparable pairing
there is no interest in only the noun of things
and this is how i love
like a hurricane
like sudden
powerful
and outward in all directions
to travel any distance
to make a business of impression
and i have no use
for language when it comes with no display
what good is a love
that is merely a word
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Adventures in 21/30
when there is nothing on the radio
i pretend i am invincible
press my foot to the gas pedal
and long for a cigarette
i improvise poems
that begin 'turn my swag up'
to the top of the crescent moon
hung in my voice box
my stomach is a country
of two-tongued people
making a dance
of the music in my lungs
my love is the valley
they testify to crossing
when other folks ask them
why the heartbeat won't stop
i rock huge sunglasses
even if its dark out
and dare other drivers
to look more than twice
i say:
"i have battled more addictions
than you have ridden miles on this highway
and this is how i celebrate
the still being alive"
i pretend i am invincible
press my foot to the gas pedal
and long for a cigarette
i improvise poems
that begin 'turn my swag up'
to the top of the crescent moon
hung in my voice box
my stomach is a country
of two-tongued people
making a dance
of the music in my lungs
my love is the valley
they testify to crossing
when other folks ask them
why the heartbeat won't stop
i rock huge sunglasses
even if its dark out
and dare other drivers
to look more than twice
i say:
"i have battled more addictions
than you have ridden miles on this highway
and this is how i celebrate
the still being alive"
Adventures in 20/30 - the I promise I wrote this yesterday edition
if that's what you need
fine. I'll tell you I love you
whatever. why not
fine. I'll tell you I love you
whatever. why not
Friday, April 20, 2012
Adventures in 19/30 - Late Edition
the days i pretend that i don't hate you
are days that i do hate myself
i do not miss the way we danced
at twilight around the truth
i heard a love song the other day
pretended it reminded me of you
wished that there was something pleasant
for me to remember us by
instead of all this heartache
are days that i do hate myself
i do not miss the way we danced
at twilight around the truth
i heard a love song the other day
pretended it reminded me of you
wished that there was something pleasant
for me to remember us by
instead of all this heartache
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Adventures in 18/30 - Late Edition
after you show her the venom in a man
how it curdles at the slightest offense
how the lip and snarl and teeth and thrust
is thy byproduct of something masculine
tell her
what she must do to appease it
what sacrifices she must make
what fear must linger at the base of her throat
like a choir perched ready to scream
tell her
not walk by herself at night
not on campus or to the store
not even the parking lot of her church
can be sanctified against happenings such as these
teach her
to carry her drink at parties
to make a flirtation of keeping it in her eyeline
tell her [tell her]
about that one time
you were out with your friends
and there was that girl
who put her cup down
explain how they never found out who did it
even though everyone knows his name
teach her
to dress like a lady
remind her they still may call her a whore
that a sundress is tantamount to invitation
more risque and they'll say she's asking for it
tell her
that every two minutes
someone yells "fire"
while they scream and punch and claw and kick
hoping that something like help will appear
and if no help comes
if no help comes
tell her
she must lay still
make sure she knows this
like the phone number and address she learned when she was five
even though none of this matters
not unless you also tell him
no means no
every time
how it curdles at the slightest offense
how the lip and snarl and teeth and thrust
is thy byproduct of something masculine
tell her
what she must do to appease it
what sacrifices she must make
what fear must linger at the base of her throat
like a choir perched ready to scream
tell her
not walk by herself at night
not on campus or to the store
not even the parking lot of her church
can be sanctified against happenings such as these
teach her
to carry her drink at parties
to make a flirtation of keeping it in her eyeline
tell her [tell her]
about that one time
you were out with your friends
and there was that girl
who put her cup down
explain how they never found out who did it
even though everyone knows his name
teach her
to dress like a lady
remind her they still may call her a whore
that a sundress is tantamount to invitation
more risque and they'll say she's asking for it
tell her
that every two minutes
someone yells "fire"
while they scream and punch and claw and kick
hoping that something like help will appear
and if no help comes
if no help comes
tell her
she must lay still
make sure she knows this
like the phone number and address she learned when she was five
even though none of this matters
not unless you also tell him
no means no
every time
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Adventures in 17/30
because the sky around here
is carolina blue
we don't say things like fan
we understand everything true about ourselves
can be said by a team
or t-shirt
we pledge our allegiances early
we love here like religion
is carolina blue
we don't say things like fan
we understand everything true about ourselves
can be said by a team
or t-shirt
we pledge our allegiances early
we love here like religion
Adventures in 16/30 - Late Edition
i know a thing or two
about sweat and ache
and the fever pitch
of a heart newly broken
a dance of pillow
and teeth and tears
and why did i go all in
in the first place
a thunderbolt of want
and want and want
and i miss you
no matter who breaks my heart
about sweat and ache
and the fever pitch
of a heart newly broken
a dance of pillow
and teeth and tears
and why did i go all in
in the first place
a thunderbolt of want
and want and want
and i miss you
no matter who breaks my heart
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
Adventures in 13/30
as i peel back the heavy of cover and copyright
i remind myself
i am no fool
i see each of us
young, impressionable
gasping for breath
knowing this is what it means to be brown and woman
to be poet and protest
and somehow whole
to see the world in image and metaphor
and refuse to apologize for it
i wonder what still can be taught
what phrase will resonate like the holy of repetition
what saying will i secretly live by
or write by
still at 3am
caught up in the soundless grip of white space
it seems silly to say i am proud of you
when what i mean is i'm proud of me
to not be that girl at the edge of poet row
not the same
not anymore
i know something of myself now
know something of the poet i still plan to be
i trust that when the time comes
the arena can be left to me
i remind myself
i am no fool
i see each of us
young, impressionable
gasping for breath
knowing this is what it means to be brown and woman
to be poet and protest
and somehow whole
to see the world in image and metaphor
and refuse to apologize for it
i wonder what still can be taught
what phrase will resonate like the holy of repetition
what saying will i secretly live by
or write by
still at 3am
caught up in the soundless grip of white space
it seems silly to say i am proud of you
when what i mean is i'm proud of me
to not be that girl at the edge of poet row
not the same
not anymore
i know something of myself now
know something of the poet i still plan to be
i trust that when the time comes
the arena can be left to me
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Adventures in 12/30
your name is the answer to every question
most folks are embarrassed to ask
it's something like muscle memory
on a rainy afternoon
between march and mid july
it is the song stuck
near my subconscious self
on repeat
without a clear picture of the words
your name is the star north of orion's belt
so i can always find my way home
most folks are embarrassed to ask
it's something like muscle memory
on a rainy afternoon
between march and mid july
it is the song stuck
near my subconscious self
on repeat
without a clear picture of the words
your name is the star north of orion's belt
so i can always find my way home
Adventures in 11/30 - Late Edition
i draw a stick figure on a coordinate plane
as a joke in my math class
my students say
it's christ on the cross
a few break into chorus
a few lift their hands
one boy giggles and shakes his head
"that's not jesus and a cross
it's a stripper and a pole"
the few lost in praise
drop their hands
and agree
this is how the world breaks my heart
as a joke in my math class
my students say
it's christ on the cross
a few break into chorus
a few lift their hands
one boy giggles and shakes his head
"that's not jesus and a cross
it's a stripper and a pole"
the few lost in praise
drop their hands
and agree
this is how the world breaks my heart
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Adventures in 10/30
memory
will change the shape of a room
fade colors
fray edges of lines
it will make 64 west a picturesque highway
moments after a major rock slide
it will stand you up
on a college campus in kentucky
with no shoes or cash
but still warm and full
it will be the smile tucked under your tongue
to camouflage the taste of what actually was
it will say 'love'
over and over
until you forget desperate
and longing
and lust
memory
will be for you amnesia
remind you
of the peace in forgetting
will change the shape of a room
fade colors
fray edges of lines
it will make 64 west a picturesque highway
moments after a major rock slide
it will stand you up
on a college campus in kentucky
with no shoes or cash
but still warm and full
it will be the smile tucked under your tongue
to camouflage the taste of what actually was
it will say 'love'
over and over
until you forget desperate
and longing
and lust
memory
will be for you amnesia
remind you
of the peace in forgetting
Monday, April 9, 2012
Adventures in 9/30
i imagine our guardian angels trade war stories while we sleep
about the cuts and scrapes we still collect despite their best intentions
on most days
these count as black marks against their records
on others
just the necessary pain along the way
i imagine my angel wants to speak face to face
about the things he's had to watch me do to myself
and i'll tell him
stupid and young are great reasons
to set a few ping pong balls on fire
or drive headlong to a wall of brick
while someone screams to turn
and he'll answer
something like suicidal
and i'll say
hey baby, not on your watch
then he'll get back to the business of guiding me along this life
i imagine our guardian angels know the exact moment we will die
so that no one will be unlucky enough to have a nervous angel
so when we slam on brakes at we think is the last second
they just laugh
at our thinking this was actually our time
because on that day
that day i imagine the guarding would be a bit different
like an urgent whisper to say "i love you"
as much as you could
to count the wind as precious
each time it filled your lungs
to put everything on the line
because everything is all there was
to thank your guardian angel
for carrying you home
about the cuts and scrapes we still collect despite their best intentions
on most days
these count as black marks against their records
on others
just the necessary pain along the way
i imagine my angel wants to speak face to face
about the things he's had to watch me do to myself
and i'll tell him
stupid and young are great reasons
to set a few ping pong balls on fire
or drive headlong to a wall of brick
while someone screams to turn
and he'll answer
something like suicidal
and i'll say
hey baby, not on your watch
then he'll get back to the business of guiding me along this life
i imagine our guardian angels know the exact moment we will die
so that no one will be unlucky enough to have a nervous angel
so when we slam on brakes at we think is the last second
they just laugh
at our thinking this was actually our time
because on that day
that day i imagine the guarding would be a bit different
like an urgent whisper to say "i love you"
as much as you could
to count the wind as precious
each time it filled your lungs
to put everything on the line
because everything is all there was
to thank your guardian angel
for carrying you home
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Adventures in 7/30
days like today
are for whiskey
or tequila
razor blades
goodbye notes
a walk back to old vices
instead
i drink hot tea
reading novels by nightlight
thanking god for the boring
you have put in me
are for whiskey
or tequila
razor blades
goodbye notes
a walk back to old vices
instead
i drink hot tea
reading novels by nightlight
thanking god for the boring
you have put in me
Friday, April 6, 2012
Adventures in 6/30
Quick disclaimer: This poem is by no means finished. But it is my contribution to the goings on of this good Friday
christ
what have you done to your hands?
the same gentle of finger and bone
that kneaded the clay for a blind man's sight
broke bread in mercy to feed the poor
of a city gone hungry for truth
pressed palm to feet to wipe the dust
of a wayward disciple's journey home
when joseph was teaching you the tools of his trade
did you poke at your skin for calvary practice
did you ponder improvements
lord
for the design of cross
did the nails keep you up at night
to die is one thing
to sacrifice another
but to give yourself up
as meat for the dog
to be torn to the marrow
and hung on a tree
they say
crucifixion is the most painful way to die
yet we
still choose the most ungrateful ways to live
do you ever regret that the cost of redemption
feels to us like little more than scar tissue
sometimes i wonder
how could you be all-knowing
and still give yourself for a people like this
so much human
consumed in this body of death
so much broken
and wounded
and still
lord
your hands
of miracle flesh and tendon
trapped by the rust of nail and blood
what love to keep you hanging
what sacrifice for us
christ
what have you done to your hands?
the same gentle of finger and bone
that kneaded the clay for a blind man's sight
broke bread in mercy to feed the poor
of a city gone hungry for truth
pressed palm to feet to wipe the dust
of a wayward disciple's journey home
when joseph was teaching you the tools of his trade
did you poke at your skin for calvary practice
did you ponder improvements
lord
for the design of cross
did the nails keep you up at night
to die is one thing
to sacrifice another
but to give yourself up
as meat for the dog
to be torn to the marrow
and hung on a tree
they say
crucifixion is the most painful way to die
yet we
still choose the most ungrateful ways to live
do you ever regret that the cost of redemption
feels to us like little more than scar tissue
sometimes i wonder
how could you be all-knowing
and still give yourself for a people like this
so much human
consumed in this body of death
so much broken
and wounded
and still
lord
your hands
of miracle flesh and tendon
trapped by the rust of nail and blood
what love to keep you hanging
what sacrifice for us
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Adventures in 5/30
she says
"write a poem about how there's crack in my cupcakes"
i say
"but there's nothing poetic about crack"
she says
"does it have to be literal crack?"
i chuckle
she says
"can you do metaphoric crack?"
i ask
"have you ever seen a literal crackhead?
not like the ones people joke about
in stand-up routines?"
she asks
"have you?"
i think about the twitch in a brown girl's arm
as she loiters around a bus stop
she is more coal than cocoa this days
more aftershock
than quake
she says
"maybe we should stop joking
about there being crack in the cupcakes"
"write a poem about how there's crack in my cupcakes"
i say
"but there's nothing poetic about crack"
she says
"does it have to be literal crack?"
i chuckle
she says
"can you do metaphoric crack?"
i ask
"have you ever seen a literal crackhead?
not like the ones people joke about
in stand-up routines?"
she asks
"have you?"
i think about the twitch in a brown girl's arm
as she loiters around a bus stop
she is more coal than cocoa this days
more aftershock
than quake
she says
"maybe we should stop joking
about there being crack in the cupcakes"
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Adventures in 4/30
here now a body
a testament of light and sound
laid warm in a field like dandelion june
a gift of fingers an feet and eyes
that open and blink and suppose
a miracle of bone and blood and flesh
made perfect and small
like a comet in flight
or a kiss goodbye
made precious even still
a blessing made cursed
and unwanted
see now that body
an epitaph on a woman's heart
laid in waste like a chemical mass
a bio hazard
a disposal thing
more scar tissue than alive
then lifeless
not everything natural can be recycled
not all stains come out in the wash
the heart will carry the ghost of memory
long after a body is disposed of
hear now the echo
witness the nightmares
navigate the space between rock and hard place
see now a body
crouched in prayer position
laid prostrate before whatever god still hears
creating a kind of language
that equates mother
with murder
and mistake
seeking a place where a body is just a body
not what if
or what could have been
something made perfect and small
like a good night's sleep
or a miracle
like forgiveness
a testament of light and sound
laid warm in a field like dandelion june
a gift of fingers an feet and eyes
that open and blink and suppose
a miracle of bone and blood and flesh
made perfect and small
like a comet in flight
or a kiss goodbye
made precious even still
a blessing made cursed
and unwanted
see now that body
an epitaph on a woman's heart
laid in waste like a chemical mass
a bio hazard
a disposal thing
more scar tissue than alive
then lifeless
not everything natural can be recycled
not all stains come out in the wash
the heart will carry the ghost of memory
long after a body is disposed of
hear now the echo
witness the nightmares
navigate the space between rock and hard place
see now a body
crouched in prayer position
laid prostrate before whatever god still hears
creating a kind of language
that equates mother
with murder
and mistake
seeking a place where a body is just a body
not what if
or what could have been
something made perfect and small
like a good night's sleep
or a miracle
like forgiveness
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Adventures in 3/30
in the church where i grew up
there is a boy who carries a man bag
who knows the difference
between ascots and cravats
who wears plaid suits
with the pants too tight
all of the deacons shake their heads
whenever he comes to prayer
and he comes to prayer every week
he is usually the topic of conversation
just before the giggles go silent
then the silence cut
by the serrated edge of the question
"so is he?
or isn't he?
does anybody know?"
he does a perfect job
of clapping along
when the whole church erupts in praise
but sometimes he sits on the back row
sometimes he pulls too much at his tie
sometimes when he prays he reminds me of hannah
always filled with tears
and often no words
i think he has stopped believing
that our god
is a god of love
there is a boy who carries a man bag
who knows the difference
between ascots and cravats
who wears plaid suits
with the pants too tight
all of the deacons shake their heads
whenever he comes to prayer
and he comes to prayer every week
he is usually the topic of conversation
just before the giggles go silent
then the silence cut
by the serrated edge of the question
"so is he?
or isn't he?
does anybody know?"
he does a perfect job
of clapping along
when the whole church erupts in praise
but sometimes he sits on the back row
sometimes he pulls too much at his tie
sometimes when he prays he reminds me of hannah
always filled with tears
and often no words
i think he has stopped believing
that our god
is a god of love
Monday, April 2, 2012
Adventures in 2/30
no one may ever understand
how the words always come back to you
it's a tricky dichotomy
of love and regret
of false starts
and good intentions
the first poem i wrote
was meant to say goodbye
but came out
something like "im sorry"
the next
a ramble of reasons to stay
i never allowed myself to finish
there is a poem for you
on the fabric of a bus seat
somewhere in northern virginia
it is a fervent promise
to never break any promises again
on napkins
in 16 resteraunts
the first line was "i still love you"
but the second
still a secret at the bottom
of 16 garbage bins
the space
between the front of my journal
and the crack in its gentle spine
is a ping pong match
between past and future
between what is true
and a seductive lie
give me pens
there is another poem
still buried beneath all this surface
give me pens
i still need to write a poem for you
how the words always come back to you
it's a tricky dichotomy
of love and regret
of false starts
and good intentions
the first poem i wrote
was meant to say goodbye
but came out
something like "im sorry"
the next
a ramble of reasons to stay
i never allowed myself to finish
there is a poem for you
on the fabric of a bus seat
somewhere in northern virginia
it is a fervent promise
to never break any promises again
on napkins
in 16 resteraunts
the first line was "i still love you"
but the second
still a secret at the bottom
of 16 garbage bins
the space
between the front of my journal
and the crack in its gentle spine
is a ping pong match
between past and future
between what is true
and a seductive lie
give me pens
there is another poem
still buried beneath all this surface
give me pens
i still need to write a poem for you
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Adventures in 1/30
he said
that day i bought a fresh pack of cigarettes
placed it on the nightstand with the birth control and inhaler
here is how i played russian roulette with myself
sometimes i did not use condoms
other times i was still buzzed when i drove
most recent i placed a flame 3 inches from my face
and breathed slow
the savor of nicotine and suicide
like a bullet in the chamber
with a mighty slow spin
and something seductive in the pull
there is still a pack of parliaments
on the bookshelf
in my bedroom
in case i ever get trigger happy
eager to watch the world end in a puff of smoke
if you don’t quit smoking, you will die
like it was a fact
like there was no leeway
like the next drag
like the very next drag of my cigarette
would be the last thing i ever did on this earth
his friendly demeanor like dust in the ashtray
his white coat like a last-chance warning
like it was a fact
like there was no leeway
like the next drag
like the very next drag of my cigarette
would be the last thing i ever did on this earth
his friendly demeanor like dust in the ashtray
his white coat like a last-chance warning
hear me
he said
he said
you can quit, or you can die
that day i bought a fresh pack of cigarettes
placed it on the nightstand with the birth control and inhaler
here is how i played russian roulette with myself
sometimes i did not use condoms
other times i was still buzzed when i drove
most recent i placed a flame 3 inches from my face
and breathed slow
the savor of nicotine and suicide
like a bullet in the chamber
with a mighty slow spin
and something seductive in the pull
there is still a pack of parliaments
on the bookshelf
in my bedroom
in case i ever get trigger happy
eager to watch the world end in a puff of smoke
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Adventures in NaPoWrimo 2012
So.
Can we talk about how it's April already?
Can we talk about how I've only added 1 or 3 new po-ems to my repertoire since the conclusion of NaPoWriMo last April?
Can we talk about how I'm up to my earlobes in ideas, but still somewhere around my ankles in actual words?
Can we talk about how tragic that is?
*sigh*
We're three days out from NaPoWriMo 2012, and I'm so geeked up I can hardly see straight. Last year's 30/30 gave birth to some astounding awesomeness, including (but not limited to) {}At First Sight and a pretty dope award from the good folks at Franklin-Christoph.
Two things that will be different this year:
Until Sunday
Peace Be
---
P.S. I don't really know why she's on my mind today, but sidebar shout out to one of the old homies, Joyce, - one of the only women I know who is truly fearless in her creativity and unapologetic about how it is expressed. The part of me that still hides in my work, wants to be like her when it grows up.
Can we talk about how it's April already?
Can we talk about how I've only added 1 or 3 new po-ems to my repertoire since the conclusion of NaPoWriMo last April?
Can we talk about how I'm up to my earlobes in ideas, but still somewhere around my ankles in actual words?
Can we talk about how tragic that is?
*sigh*
We're three days out from NaPoWriMo 2012, and I'm so geeked up I can hardly see straight. Last year's 30/30 gave birth to some astounding awesomeness, including (but not limited to) {}At First Sight and a pretty dope award from the good folks at Franklin-Christoph.
Two things that will be different this year:
- Going to concentrate about a third of my efforts to po-ems for the stage, and leave the rest to po-ems for the page, and
- Going to write a pantoum this year. (Pantoums have been my secret poetry goal since I was 14 or so, and I have yet to create even the most humble beginnings of one)
Until Sunday
Peace Be
---
P.S. I don't really know why she's on my mind today, but sidebar shout out to one of the old homies, Joyce, - one of the only women I know who is truly fearless in her creativity and unapologetic about how it is expressed. The part of me that still hides in my work, wants to be like her when it grows up.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Adventures in Decision Making
So.
I want to tell the world about some of the new things that may (or may not) be coming down the pipe for me in the near future, but it would be unwise to do so.
But.
I will say that I have made a decision to walk away from something that has been a pretty huge part of my life the last few years, and just the act of making that decision has lifted a huge weight from my shoulders. I'll let you know more when I can.
In other news:
I haven't posted a po-em in for-e-ver (you've seen The Sandlot right?) and so here's something I wrote awhile back. I wish I could explain the space I was in when I wrote it...but I'm not even sure that I remember. Wherever that was - I'm glad not to be there anymore.
Peace Be
---
sometimes
being a poet means searching the sky for the right shade of blue
to call your eyes when the open each morning
other days it means saying goodbye
today
my pen taught me the difference between not saying yes
and saying no
is as boundless as the space between attempted
and suicide
here is the truth
poetry is the only worthwhile distraction
from the violence trying to weave a kind of music in my throat
what sounds like a lullaby
is a symphony of sadness
i would sing it to you
if only i could make out the words
I want to tell the world about some of the new things that may (or may not) be coming down the pipe for me in the near future, but it would be unwise to do so.
But.
I will say that I have made a decision to walk away from something that has been a pretty huge part of my life the last few years, and just the act of making that decision has lifted a huge weight from my shoulders. I'll let you know more when I can.
In other news:
I haven't posted a po-em in for-e-ver (you've seen The Sandlot right?) and so here's something I wrote awhile back. I wish I could explain the space I was in when I wrote it...but I'm not even sure that I remember. Wherever that was - I'm glad not to be there anymore.
Peace Be
---
sometimes
being a poet means searching the sky for the right shade of blue
to call your eyes when the open each morning
other days it means saying goodbye
today
my pen taught me the difference between not saying yes
and saying no
is as boundless as the space between attempted
and suicide
here is the truth
poetry is the only worthwhile distraction
from the violence trying to weave a kind of music in my throat
what sounds like a lullaby
is a symphony of sadness
i would sing it to you
if only i could make out the words
Friday, January 20, 2012
Adventures in Happy Endings
So.
A couple days ago I watched happythankyoumoreplease, which is a pretty decent flick that captures that sort of...snapshot of a moment when you realize you're an adult. And it's set in New York. And there's a woman with alopecia universalis. And a small negro. Which is always nice.
As usual, I ignore the larger themes of the movie and focus on the most obscure points in the plot to inform what I believe to be true about the world. In this case - the concept of the one-night stand.
I think that one-night stands are interesting...because they never tend to be as "one-night" as people would suppose. At least not here in your smaller cities or university campuses. I think we've all had that awkward moment where you run across "that guy from last week with the insert-identifying-traits-here"...and wondered how we could have been so naive to think that we could actually never see that person again. I mean never? Really? Especially now in the world of social networking and constant communication - I run into Kanye West's one night stands, my mother's ex boyfriend's one night stands, your one night stands...and yes, that guy from last week with the purply birthmark.
What's even more interesting, is that deep down, I don't know that anyone truly believes in the "one-nightedness" of the one-night stand. We secretly believe that "one-night" will turn into "first-date" will turn into "first anniversary" will become "happily-ever-after".
Which of course got me thinking about what "h-e-a" even means. Of course we're socialized to believe that it means a wedding and children and a marriage that lasts until someone dies...but is that really the only picture of a successful relationship? Can't a successful relationship also be one that only lasts for a few years...if at the end of that time, both people can make the healthy decision to separate from each other? If we accept that friendships grow and change, why can't we accept that in a romantic relationship, there may come a point where the couple (or "grouple" if you dig the polyamorous vibe) should separate? Why does it always have to be some tragic heartbreak that ends a relationship? Some grand event that takes what you thought might add up the greatest years of your life and shadow them with pain, distrust, and a whole host of other emotions that require vodka and cheesecake to set straight? I tend more towards the thinking that if we trust ourselves to see the right moment to enter a relationship, we should also trust ourselves to find the right space to exit.
Just watch the movie. It's worth the 100 minutes.
Peace Be
A couple days ago I watched happythankyoumoreplease, which is a pretty decent flick that captures that sort of...snapshot of a moment when you realize you're an adult. And it's set in New York. And there's a woman with alopecia universalis. And a small negro. Which is always nice.
As usual, I ignore the larger themes of the movie and focus on the most obscure points in the plot to inform what I believe to be true about the world. In this case - the concept of the one-night stand.
I think that one-night stands are interesting...because they never tend to be as "one-night" as people would suppose. At least not here in your smaller cities or university campuses. I think we've all had that awkward moment where you run across "that guy from last week with the insert-identifying-traits-here"...and wondered how we could have been so naive to think that we could actually never see that person again. I mean never? Really? Especially now in the world of social networking and constant communication - I run into Kanye West's one night stands, my mother's ex boyfriend's one night stands, your one night stands...and yes, that guy from last week with the purply birthmark.
What's even more interesting, is that deep down, I don't know that anyone truly believes in the "one-nightedness" of the one-night stand. We secretly believe that "one-night" will turn into "first-date" will turn into "first anniversary" will become "happily-ever-after".
Which of course got me thinking about what "h-e-a" even means. Of course we're socialized to believe that it means a wedding and children and a marriage that lasts until someone dies...but is that really the only picture of a successful relationship? Can't a successful relationship also be one that only lasts for a few years...if at the end of that time, both people can make the healthy decision to separate from each other? If we accept that friendships grow and change, why can't we accept that in a romantic relationship, there may come a point where the couple (or "grouple" if you dig the polyamorous vibe) should separate? Why does it always have to be some tragic heartbreak that ends a relationship? Some grand event that takes what you thought might add up the greatest years of your life and shadow them with pain, distrust, and a whole host of other emotions that require vodka and cheesecake to set straight? I tend more towards the thinking that if we trust ourselves to see the right moment to enter a relationship, we should also trust ourselves to find the right space to exit.
Just watch the movie. It's worth the 100 minutes.
Peace Be
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