Twenty-First Lovely

    "Dad!" I jumped. I lifted my head to see my son staring down at me as I lay down.
    As my nerves calmed, I sat up. "Hey...I thought you and Couro were on a walk with Dot." 
    "We were," he drawled. Hesitantly, he made his way to my bedpost. "But then Serena came outside and she and Couro wanted to play with him together." I gave him a moment to continue and tell me that he didn't leave my eight-year-old daughter alone on a whim. When he didn't say anything, I started to worry. 
    Pushing myself off the bed, I asked, "...Where are they now?"
He shrugged. "Told them not to leave the area though, so they can't be too far." Taken aback, I stared at him for a moment. It wasn't as if she'd never played outside alone before. I just preferred to take precautions, such as giving her an old phone, setting a curfew, and giving her firm playing boundaries. 'The area' was too loosely defined for my liking.
    Sighing, I reached for a jacket and quickly put it on. "Gora--"
    "Wait!" He jumped into my walking path. "I, uh, actually wanted to talk to you. About Mom." His desperate brown eyes begged me to stay and I gave in. I let the jacket slip off my arms and leaned against my bedpost.
    "What in particular?"
    "You never gave me the details of it," he said finally. "Told me almost the same story you told Couro." Thinking back, I remembered how important it was to Kutu that Gora wasn't fully aware of her condition. She believed that she'd one day get better and didn't want to scare him. Right after her passing, it was a mixture of grief and fear that kept me from telling him anything. 
    Since then, it was just fear. Something I was slowly realizing I was gonna have to start facing to fix my mistakes. "Gora..." I took a deep breath, "I have been so scared of telling you. Scared of pitting you two against each other. Scared that Couro might blame herself."
    "What?" Pausing, I beckoned him to come and sit on the edge of my bed with me. He delayed for a moment--it had been years since he last sat on the bed--but he eventually joined me. It reminded me of when Kutu would push me to make him sleep in his own room as a toddler. All I wanted back then was to never let go of my son. We would sit on this very side of the bed, whining and complaining to Kutu, begging her to allow him to sleep between us. She would giggle from the opposite end, mock scolding us until I picked Gora up, threw him over my shoulder, and carried him to his room. We were only joking, I once had a talk with him to make sure he knew that his mother had a valid point. A three-year-old Gora then looked up at me from his rocket ship bedding and told me that he knew. "Mommy's only trying to help me."
    I looked at Gora now, around thirteen years after that memory. "Taking care of the three of you was hard," I started. "I had been your mother's organizer for so long, I never really considered anything else. But she didn't make any art for those last few years. And you can only do the same shows over and over before people get bored. Picked up a dozen or so strange jobs in those years. I had a rapidly growing toddler, a rapidly changing adolescent, and a rapidly dying wife--all depending on a sinking business and several crummy part times that I kept losing and picking back up. I was falling apart at the seams and had some morbid thoughts here and there. I can remember coming home after a dozen or so hours of working to an infant Couro crying for her mother who was too sick to even stand. I looked my baby--my baby, Gora--in her eyes and briefly wished she had never been born.
    "I don't want you to look at Couro and feel that way. The twisted relief I sometimes felt in the months after Kutu's death..."
    "Relief?" The crack in his voice brought in a wave of shame. I put my hand up, asking for a moment to recollect. On the dresser beside the bed was my half filled water bottle. I stretched over to get it and downed what was left.

    Refreshed, I explained, "It was sepsis. Technically postpartum. Back in 2010, your aunt Gigi had fallen sick with infectious pneumonia and Kutu rushed to be by her side the moment she heard. As Gigi recovered, Kutu started to not feel well and next thing I know, she's in the hospital too. I don't know, maybe something wrong with the IV, but then we're being told she had a blood infection. It was then, early 2011, that Kutu told me she was pregnant. It wasn't too bad at first. But her sickle cell and pregnancy made it worse. Three days after Couro's birth, it was full-blown sepsis. 

    "Couro wasn't really affected. She had unrelated breathing problems and a bit of flat head later on. Also, she inherited Kutu's sickle cell. After two weeks in the ICU--she couldn't breathe and her mother couldn't feed--I had to take her home alone. Kutu stayed much longer. The sepsis did a number on her lungs and immunity. Over the next few years she was constantly falling sick and hospitalized four more times due to me not knowing what to do. About a year before her death, a lung failed, then we had to constantly treat her at home. I remember how much she hated it. Sometimes, she'd ask me to just let her die and focus on you two. 

    "One day, we were out shopping for pumpkins. We had Gigi watching you two--she felt so guilty and always offered to help any way she could. Kutu was eyeing a particularly large pumpkin and I was holding her hand until she just...fell. A stranger called the ambulance while I did everything I could to wake her up. Then they came and took her away. A white stretcher and a matching pillow. Kutu looked so...hollow. And just like that, I have a funeral to plan. I don't remember which treatment she missed, but it was intentional. The police tried to blame me, seeing as I was her sole caretaker. That was a whole another heartbreak, but they let me go eventually once they pieced it together. 

    "But suddenly, every thing eased up. We still had older hospital bills, but they stopped charging us more. No more juggling medications and therapy and treatment. Longtime gallery visitors heard and were willing to offer up donations and condolences. I was able to drop down to just two part times and finally had time to search for an employer. It allowed me to mourn in peace. But honestly, there would be days when I wouldn't even feel the grief. I would just be so numb and checked out of everything, and on those days, I felt relief at how much less I had to do."

    Gora let the words hang in the air, taking in every bit of what I just said. I could almost see his brain processing everything. "I... I think I remember that. I remember how much I just wanted you to acknowledge Mom's death. You wouldn't. I seesawed between hating and loving you for that."
    "Even in my frenzy, we still spent so much time together back then." I scoffed and playfully pushed him "Well, more than we do now." 
    While he bobbed back up, I could see his nerves relaxing. He looked at me, it was the same look I had given him earlier. "No, Dad. We just used to actually get along."
    I swallowed my smile. "Why don't we now?"
    "You don't like to listen." He waited for a moment, before huffing and sliding off the bed. Almost immediately, I grabbed his arm.
    "Wait, no, I'm sorry," I begged. "Please, talk to me."
    Rolling his eyes, he shook my arm off of him. He then sat back down and explained, "I'm not saying you're a bad father. I see how you are with Couro, you're a good one, really. But I had a couple issues going on a while ago, and you've just never let them go. I was fourteen when I lost my mother, Dad. I lashed out because I was barely processing. But ever since my freshman year outburst, you've always seen me as if I'm about to do something. In your eyes I'm always plotting, always unhappy, always looking to irritate you and Couro. I want to do better, but I can't if my own father doesn't believe I can or will.

    "Don't get me wrong, I fuck up a lot. A lot. And I'm not going to say you're responsible for any of it. But you're not at all helpful. You get so mad at me for the littlest things and I sometimes can almost see the hatred coming out your ears. It hurts. Makes me not really care because apparently, I have to make extravagant gestures for you to not suspect me." He gestured towards the red wrapping in the corner of the room, from the sweaters he bought a few weeks ago.
    I hung my head. "I am a shit father sometimes--"
    "And there you go not listening again," he raised his voice. But his eyes weren't angry. It was a mixture of fear and frustration. "Very first thing I said was that you're a good dad. I'm pretty sure you do this subconsciously because of how I behaved. I was a shit child--still am--and you do is treat me like one. It's my fault." His eyes started to well with tears. I tried to pull him in but he fought me. "Remember Casey?" he hiccupped. "You said she was just toying with me and my dumb ass snuck out to go dump my birthday money."

    "...You did that?"
    "My point exactly," he laughed. "And, uh, remember Kylie Rivers? Tall--taller than me, actually--red, waist-length hair, dark brown eyes, pale skin. She's sixteen now." We shared a face, one that confirmed my assumption.

    I smiled at him, "Hey, she's in your age range this time."
    He nodded, wiping his eyes, "I've been meaning to mention it. Among other things...like how I really need help finding a job."
    "Anything in mind?"
    "If it pays, I'll look at it." Clicking my tongue, an idea came to me. I pulled out my phone and printed out a flyer Mr. Evans had been passing around. I signaled to the door and Gora got up and went downstairs. He came back analyzing a piece of paper. "So what, I'll be working for you?"
    "On the same floor as me, sometimes," I confirmed. "And if you sign up soon enough they might ask you to help out at this year's holiday showing."
    Keeping his eyes on the flyer, he slowly eased out of the room. "Thanks, I'll think about it." He closed the door on his way out, leaving me in the silence on my room once again.  
    I fell back onto the bed, sighing, only able to think one thing: I needed to go get my kid.

My Dearest, Darling - "Portrait" Colde x Anderson Paak R&B Type Beat prod. wavytrbl

 My dearest, darling--

with a comma after dearest, applaud it.

I hope that I've caught you

in the best-est of feelings, good vibes.

If not, it's alright.

But that's something to be fixed, yeah adjusted.

Cause you, darling you,

deserve the happiest of moods.

Whatever you want, whatever you need,

we'll figure it out just talk to me.

And I'll be right here, help you prepare

for any bullshit you can imagine.

I want you to smile, I want you to dream. 

I want your face to glow that pink.

I want you to laugh, want you to relax, 

and take a moment to think of--

Our fantasy world, running in the terrain.

Where we cuddle up against the pain.

I'm sorry it's like this.

Nevertheless,

despite the distance,

loving like this-- 

it's something precious.

Let us make it until the end.

So darling, dearest,

won't you be

my official boyfriend? 

Beat That Inspired This: Colde x Anderson Paak R&B Type Beat ''Portrait'' (0:21-1:23)

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Poem Prompt: Terror

 Don't think I can't hear the faintest of footsteps.

You mortals all bore me with your "latest" inventions.

A millennia I've been here, somewhat new to the vineyard.

Yet, I've seen it all before, all your famous explorers

who died at my feet, imploring for mercy.

And still evermore, you ignore their losses--

my sympathy's all gone, good luck scoring more.

So go on, try and surprise me, maybe I won't roll my eyes.

Put on all your fancy gear and suit up for your demise.

But once that door opens--be sure that I'll sense it.

Just like my father taught me, I'll relay my family's rhymes,

smiling because I know my music's echoing in your mind.

In fear you'll start to tremble

before we even reach confrontation,

you humans are so cute when you've neared your damnation.

And when you see me, hell will truly break free.

All your nightmares come alive in me.

Your delicate life will barely be able to comprehend

the sight of a demon waiting for your descend.

You'll feel your mind start chipping,

you'll feel your reality slipping.

I'll pull out my fangs and it'll be time for my favorite part of the day.

As I inch closer, your humanity slowly fades

to spare itself, your soul escapes, and bends at my gaze.

I could turn you, if I feel generous, spare another useless mortal

or have some fun instead and watch you get emotional.

I sink my teeth into your neck, drawing up the blood

press in deeper, pierce your vein--I know you won't survive--

but it's so entertaining to watch the terror in your eyes.

Relentless, I eat up until you can't get up.

And when you're down, just for good measure, I may rip your heart out.

And you'll scream when you die like the last I be rid of.

Happy Birthday 'Rona

    Today marks a year since the first traceable corona case. As of today, there are 11.6M total American cases with 250K deaths and 55.6M global cases with 1.34M deaths. On November 16, 2020, there were 1,724 new cases on America soil alone. A 55-year-old from Hubei, China is the closest that we have to the first corona case. Although, we aren't even sure on this and it could have easily originated elsewhere earlier. Scientists are sure it started in the pangolian bat, but which human had it first and how is still uncertain. The 55-year-old's case was already more than a month prior to the first corona cases documented by doctors in December. There were up to five to sixty new cases every day in that one-month time period. 

    I bring this up as a reminder to myself, and consequently others, of the current situation. Online, I see many people that have simply...given up on quarantine. People are taking vacations, having weddings, going to parties, etc. And I get it, it's summer and this whole thing was meant to be over back in May. But it didn't end. Covid is still here, killing hundreds every day, and the vaccine we have is still in the testing phase. It was slowly getting under control, but because of a reckless summer, it's spiked again. My state and several others are going back into Phase 1 with no signs of progressing any time soon. Prisoners are being hired to bury dead covid bodies

    And no, I'm not saying covid is the end of the world. Honestly, it shouldn't be. But it very well could. With a 99.7% recovery rate, it really should've been as simple as to control the spread and get a vaccine. Once herd immunity is established, we can go ahead and start treating the virus like the flu. But because of how stubborn and reckless this country can be, here we are. A new spike, a new thread, a new statistic. And everyday I fear more and more that this might become our new way of life. There are babies who were born in March who are now approaching nine months. Nine-month-old infants who have lived entirely in quarantine.

    Eventually the virus will die down, yes. But this is generational trauma. More Gen Z and Millennials will be afraid to touch, afraid to go out, afraid of another outbreak. Yes we joke about it, but we're all so scared of losing lives to it. Even those who pretend it isn't there, their whole shtick is "don't let covid control your life." The fear of not living has pushed them to risk even being alive. But the way I see it, we've already lost everything to this virus. We've already lost an entire year--no way it'll be resolved by March 2021--and we're on the projectile to lose more. The world is operating completely virtually in some places. Who's to say it'll ever go back? The reliance on electronics and wi-fi has skyrocketed, but people are getting comfortable with their screen time nearly tripling. If we are ever free again, would we really want to go back? How many kids would go back to school? How many with options to work from him would start going into the office? How many clubs or extracurricular would re-set themselves up physically? 

    Humans are notoriously lazy creatures and have spent the past thousands of years gradually making life easier. In the past few decades we've seen a decrease in actual human contact with all the other options available. While I don't mean to whine about how terrible phones are, it's undeniable that they've transformed how we socialize.  I know it's changed how I socialize. And I truly fear that if I get comfortable with an entire relationship being over a screen and never be able to fully feel an intrapersonal bond again.

~~~

LiveScience

John Hopkins Corona Map

CDC | 8 Things to Know about Vaccine Planning

~~~

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Twentieth Lovely

Two days later, Gora had won. Couro felt the need to specify where she and Gora had growing up versus where I and Kutu had grown up. It was slightly irritating but made for an extra few lines to her presentation speech. And even though it irritated me, I couldn't deny that she needed more of those. So in between revising my show plans, I offered to help her out. With the speech done and reviewed, it was time for her poster.
It shouldn't have been too difficult. Her teacher had made and emailed out templates for their posters and all the kids had to do was fill in the blanks and customize the empty space. Couro and I spent an hour printing out pictures that represented our small family unit and Couro herself. I lamented them for her and she covered them all in glitter. They were just pictures of the food we liked to eat, games we played, certain days Couro valued--stuff like that.

I'll admit, I got more than a bit emotional going through and listening to her limited memories. It was mostly just stories of back when Gora and I got along. While our relationship had gone downhill since Kutu's death, we were able to be civil enough to give Couro a few years of good times together. And when she talked about taking a picture with her mother on the first day of pre-school, I had to choke back tears. It was the only thing she could remember of Kutu--and the most vivid. She so well encaptured Kutu's hazel eyes, her brown upwards coils, her contagious smile. I was normally much better with talking about Kutu--years of grief allowed me to come to peace with what happened. But something about watching Coro talk about her was made me so emotional. It wasn't until Dot ran into my arms that I managed to pull myself together.

Behind him, Gora followed, putting his leash back in the drawer.

I smiled at him, "Thanks again for taking him out."

Gora just grunted, then tossed a few pieces of paper between Couro and I. "Here's the template for the poster." They were printed sheets of the boxes Couro's teacher emailed out. All we had to do was fill them in, cut them out, and put them on the poster we just finished personalizing.

"Wonderful. Can you take Dot?" Again, he only grunted then shuffled away. Sighing, I scooped up the puppy. "Alright then..."

Couro got to work and started filling out the boxes while I watched. As she did, a certain pair had caught my eye. Two frames side by side labeled 'mom' and 'dad.' Eventually, she got to them, and I hyperfocused on her when she did. In 'dad,' she confidently scribbled my name. The way she wrote it, it was as if she had heard and seen it a million times. Her pen just glided through 'Samba Miske' as if it was her own name. When she got to the other label, she paused, her brain going blank. She looked up at me, her eyes asking for help. 

"Kutu Miske," I muttered. "K-U-T-U. Miske." 

While writing in the 'mom' space, she asked, "Daddy, what happened to Mommy?"
"She got sick." The same answer I always gave her. Telling her about the P.P.S. could lead to her blaming herself and that was the last thing this family needed. "She couldn't recover well and her body gave up." Couro made a face at me, clearly wanting a more detailed answer. I didn't answer and starring into Dot's coat, letting her curiosity die.
A moment later, she picked up a laminated label. 'کورو' This one, in particular, was her favorite. While gluing it down to the poster, she asked me, "Did Mommy speak Arabic?"

I smiled, remember Kutu and I's first meeting and conversation, which was purely in Hassānīya since we both passing through Assaba at the time. I chuckled at how awkward and embarrassed we both were, seeing as we really weren't supposed to have been talking at all. My Imam would have crucified me if he had heard of the encounter. It was an old feeling seeing where we had ended up...teenage me would've never seen any of this coming. "Yeah, fluently, actually."

"Can I learn?" 

So, I decided to teach her what I knew. Put Dot in a cage I had picked up and sat her down beside her finished poster. For about an hour, we sat on the floor, going back and forth with pronunciation and basic letters. Watching her eyes light up whenever I showed her new letters and how to pronounce them...it was so cathartic. All of my worries about the show, Dot, Rachel, the up and coming Thanksgiving--they just all fizzled away. In her interest, I saw Gora's eyes. Back when he was a small, little boy who loved when Daddy told him stories about where his family was from. Back when Kutu's sisters all lived minutes away from us and Gora would play with all thirteen of his cousins. Back when Kutu would fill the house with new murals every month.

Almost ten years ago.

"Daddy?" she asked, pulling on my arm. "How come you're so good at Arabic?"
"I grew up speaking it, sweetie. It was my first language." I shrugged her off. "I just don't really use it."
"Why not?" Her face turned, the way little kids did when they don't understand something. But I just shrugged again.
"Won't you forget?"
"You never forget your mother tongue. No matter what I teach you, you'll always have your English." Placing my hand on her head, I toyed with her brown coils. So similar to her mother's.
Right then, her stomach growled and she giggled at it.
"What's 'food'?"
"طَعام" 

I heard a scruffled laugh from behind me. Sulking and leaning on the doorframe, was my one and only son. "Gora..."

He didn't look at me at first. Instead, he walked over and stooped next to Couro, studying her crooked writing. "You used to teach me. Remember? I made a whole speech to the class once in, admittedly, very broken Arabic. No one understood me except for the one kid who was actually fluent. Man, did I shamed for that." 

He let out a raspy laugh and I couldn't help but chuckle along. "Was I that bad a teacher?"
"You're alright. Mom never wanted me to focus on it. I don't blame her. Monte's the only non-relative I've met who speaks--and he's back in Little Rock." Kutu was very adamant that the kids grew up in their homes and not ours. She didn't want Gora and Couro to be defined by their roots. We still spoke in front of them--immersing in their culture was always meant to be an option--but she didn't want it to be everything.

Abruptly Couro gasped. She whipped her head over to Gora, "You should join us."
"Sure."

"I'll go get Gora a pen." She scrambled to her feet and ran out of the room.

While she was gone, I so desperately wanted to talk to Gora. Seeing him in Couro reminded me of what our relationship used to be and I was willing to do anything to have that back. 

But just as I was about to say something, he dropped to the spot right next to me. Gulping, he sat up and looked dead at me.

"Hey, Dad. Sorry if it seemed like I was one-upping you the other day. It's just hard being the son of immigrants and not really knowing where you're from. Like I know you're from Mauritania but that's about it. I'm not immersed in the culture, barely know the language...my roots are here, Dad. And since we're not gonna be in Little Rock anymore, the only place I've really called home...it sucks, y'know? Probably only lashed out at you from frustration. So, I'm sorry."

For a minute, I just stared at him. Confused, but relieved, I pulled him into a hug. He squirmed a bit--a lot--but I was not about to let go. "I'm sorry too. I'm sorry that I let it get to this point, I really am. It never should have been like this." 

"Hugs!" I felt another pair of arms, admittedly tinier, wrap around my neck. Gora laughed and finally relaxed into the embrace.

Overdue Poem - "feel good" Rex Orange County ft. Brakence Type Beat [indie] prod. heydium

 I never wrote you a poem

in the time that I knew you.

Stop asking me why. Oh why, I

never thought I'd need to.

I'm on the edge of it all now,

thinking of our time together.

Emotions start bubbling, memories start flooding--

I'll hold on forever.

If I had wrote you that poem,

your long overdue lyrics,

I'm sure you would have smiled.

Maybe, now you'd even miss it.

But that's not the case...

I know it's all my own damn fault.

but if I wrote you that poem,

I'm sure it would have gone like:

Thank you for what you have done for me,

you truthfully helped me erase out some pain

that had been piling up cause of the month of love.

Stuff had come up, I was drowning above--

felt I wasn't enough, only made things worse,

my security blurred, thought for sure this was it.

Thank you for stepping up, always trying your best for yours...

Oh, truly, my biggest regret was 

rushing into it,

knowing we wouldn't last--

but that's not what's wrong.

I long forsaw that chapter. 

Happily ever after

wasn't where we were heading.

We simply enjoyed it, you sensed it I know it.

The end should have been crystal.

But because of me and my reckless deeds,

this became an entire thing.

I don't miss you, I'm sorry, 

just glad that you've started moving right along.

I only wish you the best, 

and I really regret never having told your story 

in one of my songs.

So here we are:

your overdue poem.

Beat Which Inspired This: (FREE) Rex Orange Country Ft. Brakece Type Beat "feel good" [indie] prod. heydium

Short Film Review - Shine

    Shine is a short, barely over four minutes, animated film. Released back in 2016 and as of November 12, 2020, has a 6.3/10 IMDb rating. It was uploaded to Filmalademie Baden-Württemberg's YouTube Channel. From the looks of things, the studio is fairly busy. See here. The film officially falls under the "short/animation" category, though I personally would also categorize it under romance as well. It was directed by Alexander Dietrich and Johannes Flick and produced by Mareike Keller. Here is all of Dietrich's previous work. 

   This video itself was very well-made if you asked me. However, I'm not a professional and simply just admired the aesthetics. Especially when "Shine" was drawn on the screen, it just gave me massive New Orleans late-night golden jazz vibes. Then when the unnamed creatures were shown harnessing light in the latern-lit sky my eyes just never wanted to leave the screen. Everything about it was just so pretty. It had me hooked. Then came time for the plot.

    If we're being honest here, it was a bit basic and kind of barebone. It was your typical guy wants girl but feels intimidated by a subjectively better guy. Their ability to harness light is really only used as a non-verbal way to show the competition between the two, essentially like peacocks. I was a bit disappointed seeing that was all they did with it, felt too much like wasted potential. But then again, it was a 4-minute video and the last full minute was dedicated to credits.

    There really isn't much to say here. They relied on stereotypes for any type of personality--attractive girl who wants what she wants, insecure guy who reaches, and overconfident macho--and the light competition and the cuddling at the end were the only relationships we saw. Which, by the way, they don't make it clear if macho man died or not. I was expected to see him burnt and barely alive somewhere in the credits, but we didn't. We just see him flying off and now there's this special light dust above the other two. I'm not saying they are, but you cannot deny that they could very easily be cuddling in this man's ashes right now.

    This is the description provided:
    "Two male, glowing creatures start a fight over trying to impress a female. Each one of them wants to win her over by giving a better light show than his competitor. 'Shine" is a visual love story showing the importance of healthy competition. The film shows that it is not always the strongest, fastest or most attractive that wins as sometimes it is the inner light that shines the brightest. The film brings a fresh perspective to the age-old story of men vying for the love of a beautiful woman, however in this instance, the men are two furry creatures who battle with the power of self-illumination. The battle to glow brightest is intense and the combat fierce. They are on fire... until one gets burned!"

    So it's canon that he was burned....

~~~

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Poem Prompt: Allure

"I don't even deserve you," she sings, knowing very well it was the wrong way.

"Yet here you are with me."

When I look into her grayed eyes I see the eye of the hurricane

that has tormented me for years.

Every blasted storm I've ever been caught in--

they all cease at her command.

My sense of reality crumbles apart and every worry fades into

the slight lines that align the sides of her smile.

So then tell me why is that when I leave her side

eveything comes back.

Life cracks its whip at me again and I fear what I could do to her.

I try to warn her--I do.

But her laughing snort is so enticing,

so encapsing, so alluring.

I fall apart when I hear it and I ask myself,

"How could you ever think of abandoning her?"

And I know she deserves better,

but she says she wants me and I'm sure as hell she doesn't want pain.

So I promise I'll make myself better, if not for me, 

then to protect her.

Childhood

    The prime foundation of humanity--childhood. Our personalities, beliefs, instincts, habits, etc. are all rooted in our first experiences in this world. Many people might have the wildest fears due to an unfortunate encounter when they were six. Some find themselves stuck in a similar routine that was instilled into them. And still, some spend years undoing what had been drilled into their head from birth. 

    Just look around and you’ll see what an influence childhood exposure has on a person. So many of the world’s problems are rooted in traditionalism and simply following what you’ve been told to do without question. Note, this isn’t an attack on traditionalist ideas as a whole. They are perfectly okay as long as you take into account how you’re affecting others. Which, is really a rule of thumb for any belief set. Consider the consequences of devoutly following any movement, religion, traditions, etc. As long as you as a human acknowledge that you could be harming yourself or others and actively avoid doing so, there is no issue. What I just described takes a hell of a lot of thinking, compassion, awareness, and processing skills. Something that young children do not have.
    While it is entirely possible to rope an adult into believing anything when they are in a vulnerable state--i.e. cults--childhood is eighteen years of vulnerability. More if you allot the extra six to eight years it takes for a human brain to fully develop. Teaching a child is teaching a person who is perpetually in a vulnerable state. That is why what a child absorbs is so critically important. Anything they hear or see they will soak it up like a walking sponge and it will affect their psyche. Really, anything you ever interact with or pick up affects you somehow, just less and less as you age. The elderly have a tendency to be so stubborn and unwavering because of the decades of life they have as a belief base. I myself have just over fifteen years. It makes perfect sense for me to question everything constantly because I haven’t established myself yet. And what I absorb and experience now will likely decide which hills I’ll be ready to die on in my seventies and eighties. This is especially true for young toddlers and infants, who have barely developed any sense of comprehension. Anything you tell them, they say--well, gargle--it right back and hold steadfast on it until challenged. While you have certain things that just come encoded into your being, a large majority of your personality and who you are is shaped by your reactions to your environment. And the environment that affects a person the most is the very first one.

~~~

    It has been a rough past few months and honestly, all my 2020 resolutions have gone down the drain. With it, so did my motivation to really do much of anything. It wasn't a depressive state per se, just a lack of will to put effort into anything that wasn't school. However, I still enjoyed doing the things that I saw as effortless. So really, maybe I've just been lazy.
    What brought me back here was a school competition. Write-A-Book. Seeing it got my creative juices flowing and reminded me how great it felt to express myself creatively. It doesn't even need to be the elaborate metaphor I'm construing for my entry. Just sitting down and writing what's on my mind, my opinions, what I see in the world, etc. just makes me feel so...released. I've drafted and scheduled posts for the rest of the year, and even if I miss a few or don't put up my best quality, I'm happy to say that I'm ready to finish off 2020. Maybe not "strong," but I'm ready to move forward.

Follow Me!: Instagram, Twitter, Wattpad

I just felt this was important

I know I'm only a child and I don't have much standing in the world, in my country, or in my city. Hell, I can't even leave my own house without permission from someone above me. But, I am a human being. Regardless of my race, sex, religion, beliefs, or lifestyle, I care about other human beings. And it would be downright wrong for me to continue to not say anything. Because saying absolutely nothing letting others speak louder. And looking at those in power right now, the world needs more voices. And as time continues, I realize that late truly is better than never. I didn't want to sing this week, I only wanted to spread these sounds. Take them in, listen, support, and remember. I know BLM isn't trending as much anymore, but please know: people's lives aren't politics. And it's not just black lives being wrongfully robbed and ended. Too many people to name are being oppressed by others for trivial reasons.

And if all I can do is spread awareness, then I will.

6lack x Drake Type Beat – "No Air" | Soulful R&B Type Instrumental 2020

BLACK LIVES MATTER | donating proceeds to Peoples City Council Freedom Fund LA & Campaign Zero

WATCH TO DONATE TO BLACK LIVES MATTER | FITNESS MARATHON | how to financially help blm with no money

DONATE with NO MONEY to the STARVING children of YEMEN

WATCH to DONATE to Beirut (LEBANON)

WATCH to DONATE to the dying children of PALESTINE

My Hair

I speak on my hair a lot. Like, a lot. It's a huge focus in my life right now because I am a little over a year into growing it out and I'm still learning about how to care for it. I've picked up a few habits and dropped a lot of them. I've started braiding and twisting my hair on my own and practiced parting on my sister a few good times. Yet, despite all this, the most important thing I wish I could tell my old self is to stop idolizing the hair community. It has done wonders for me in introducing me to new brands, new products, new methods, new styles, etc. But it's also shoved damaging traps in my face and me, being a baby natural, fell for it. 

Beauty bloggers will hype up things that I've either already personally canceled or am hesitant to try due to what I know about my hair. I am low porosity, high density, type 4b-4c with finer individual strands. Thick sealants are something I actively stay away from and I dislike when people ask why I don't use heavy oils or thick leave-ins. Especially coconut oil. My God, coconut oil is like the natural hair holy grail, but it's never been good for my hair. Coconut oil was probably my first lesson in learning how to cater my routine to my hair wants and needs, not to what's popular.

My second lesson was in protective styles. I know that wash n' go's, twist outs, knot outs, puffs, etc. are all extremely cute and extremely trendy. Lots of long-haired type 4 girls love wearing this style to show off their special gift. And I get it, I really do. The first thing I did once my hair started growing back was attempt--and finally achieve--two puffs. But to maintain these kinds of styles on my hair meant constant detangling, stretching, and fluffing. In that order and when made a routine, these three things lead to major breakage for me. I'm not sure if it's due to leftover processing damage or my finer strands--or maybe my strands are fine because of processing damage(dun, dun, dunnnn)--but I know it's a bad choice for my hair. I only touch my hair once every 3-4 weeks because I try to keep it in protective styles. Sure, I use colored hair for it, but I find my hair tends to grow, color or no color. I refuse to use any heat right now because I also had a couple doses of heat damage. This includes blow-drying, combing, and deep conditioning. I plan on hitting two years natural before I include heat in my deep conditioning routine. I know it might be paranoia, but it works. My hair has grown so much recently, and I can't wait to check it when I take out my twists this weekend for wash day.

So, the segway? For any other naturals out there--baby or veteran--learn your hair. No one's hair is the same and your strands will never grow unless your routine is for your strands.

Distract - "ROSES" Chance the Rapper ft Smino, Aminé Type Beat Hip-Hop Rap Instrumental 2019

 I'm still looking for a way to distract these

thoughts they're impacting

and I can't handle this snide.

Like some parasites, they're taking up time.

Clouding my mind, won't let it be mine.

I'm still looking for a way to float up

the tides they go up,

drowning every boat in their sight.

They're roping me up when I'm in their stride.

How do I roll on an uphill climb?

I'm still looking for a way to relax my-

self when I act out. Babe, I'm losing time. 

I'm struggling, I'm helpless, I can't unwind.

Can't you see, rewind, darling cause-- 

Distraction.

A small distraction.

I just need a distraction.

A little distraction to

tilt my focus off, turn my soul back on.

Just something to distract me from...

everything.

Beat That Inspired This: Chance the Rapper ft Smino, Aminé Type Beat ''ROSES'' (0:07-1:50)

Movie Review: The Kissing Booth

When I say I struggled through this one, I mean I struggled.

The Kissing Booth is a high school romance/comedy which was released on May 11, 2018. So, yes, I am very late in watching and reviewing it. It was a one-hour-and-fifty-minute long feature movie that was put up as a Netflix Original. It was directed and written by Vince Marcello and advertised as TV-14.

The main character, Elle Evans, is played by Joey King. King has acted in many other shows and movies like 2019's The Act and 2013's The Conjuring. Elle's best friend, Lee Flynn, is played by Joel Courtney, from 2017's F*&% the Prom(I've been meaning to do this movie) and 2014's Sins of Our Youth. The love interest, Noah Flynn, is played by Jacob Elordi, from 2017's Pirates of the Caribbean and the ongoing Euphoria. This is all to say that as far as I know, they've all had much better roles and are genuinely good, even amazing actors when given a solid script to work with. 

This was not one of those cases. To put it lightly, it feels like a rushed adaptation of a Wattpad teen romance.

The movie starts well enough. We see a newborn Elle and Lee being born side by side and raised together as their moms were "BFFs before people even started using the term." Then follows a collage of them growing up together which, while cliche, was well done and captivating. My only issue was that they stressed that these two families were like brothers, but they still had Noah be the love interest? He repeatedly refers to her as a little sister several times, he's the older brother of what is basically her twin, and she still likes him? Why not pick someone else? They can't even play the "older brother" card to explain the difference. Noah and Lee go to the same high school with Lee being a junior and Noah being a senior. They are barely a year apart. Lee, Elle, and Noah all should have been raised relatively together unless Noah was neglected by both families--which would explain his violent nature.

But, Noah does specify in the beginning that Elle is like a little sister to him, so he wasn't pushed completely out of the picture. Though, a neglected Noah is starting to make more sense in my head.

Anyhow, the movie continues, and we see a 16-year-old Elle and Lee hanging out at the Flynn's pool. Because they're rich. Obviously. And, already, we have a joke about a teenage girl's breasts that's used to introduce Noah and paint his douchery. Jokes like this are made extremely often in more overt ways, and considering this was written by a grown man--yikes.

We then jump into the pair's first day of eleventh grade. And...another inappropriate joke. Elle's pants are in the dry cleaners and her last pair ripped...so now she has to "fit an eleventh-grade body into a ninth-grade skirt." It goes exactly as you'd imagine, except she is assaulted and Noah steps in to pummel the guy who's responsible. And, as a terrible movie, they attempt to paint Noah's response as an example of him being violent. Don't get me wrong, he is and they show better examples, but if anyone touched my younger sister I'd do the very same. And then, Noah has the audacity to say that "she's asking for it." He acknowledged how sexist the comment was and stopped in his tracks. This is a perfect example of Noah's character. He does something distasteful, and then the movie poorly tries to redeem him. It's infuriating and really just made me hate him more. Though, if my abusive theory is true, this perfectly showcases a two-faced, manipulative snake.

Also, Elle gets in trouble for breaking the dress code. Which is understandable as her underwear was showing. But, is kinda weird to say at a uniform school. During the dressing scene, we see plenty of Elle's clothes, but she searches for a certain one that matches what both she, Lee, and Noah are wearing, implying there's a uniform. Yet after she's punished and goes into the lunchroom, no one matches. They're not even street clothes, just different uniforms. There's a girl in the background shown in a navy blue skirt. And there's a good length navy blue skirt shown in the closet scene!

That's only the ridiculousness of this school. For a fundraiser, they allowed the dance team to do a kissing booth. First off, WHAT SCHOOL. Secondly, why would the dance team do anything other than a performance??? You're dancers, so dance for money. Thirdly, Elle is never shown to have any connection to the dance team except when she represents them. She doesn't dance, never attends practice, and has no mentioned relationship with anyone who does dance. So why does she speak for them???

Next, we see Elle forcing her way into Noah's house party, drinking(the OMG girls were supposed to have pressured her into it, but all they said was "c'mon, girl!"), and stripping on the pool table. Like I said, the constant sexual tension around a sixteen-year-old made me uncomfortable. Honestly, unless it's a mature movie, this much sexual tension shouldn't be around any character. It's unnecessary and gross. This is about where I stopped, I was disgusted.

Lastly, I just want to reiterate how idiotic Elle's crush is if this is the romance it's advertised as. Even if you forget the family thing, she clearly watched him grow up into this bad boy life that she clearly doesn't approve of. She comments on how he's always fighting and is so irresponsible, and yet, she doesn't stay away. She knows he sleeps around and sees her as inferior to him, but the audience is made to believe that his looks and few positive moments should be enough for the relationship I could tell was coming.

If my theory holds up, however, I could very well let this slide. Noah bashes and degrades her while never letting her go and keeping her on a string. But I never watched to see how they addressed it, and a romance movie wouldn't have their main relationship be painted as toxic--that's for drama and realism. Point is, there was potential...lmao no there wasn't.

Poem Prompt: Celebrate

 Celebrate the good times

that we can remember

from before the world fell apart.

Remember the bike rides,

the beach days, the city strolls and the afternoons spent together.

Celebrate the people we met then

and hold onto now.

Never stop celebrating the person

who will hold your hand when the door opens up again.

Prepare for the quieter celebrations

we will hold in our lonesome abodes,

nothing compared to the feasts we used to hold.

But for now, we settle.

We settle for less, in hopes for more.

Prepare to dine like kings once more

after all of this is over.

But until then,

sit down, love.

Together we celebrate everything we have--

just you and me.

Undefined Curls and Edges

At the time of me writing this, it has been 15 months since I last relaxed my hair. And, as far as I can see, that was likely the last time ever will. 

I've talked about my journey stepping into the natural hair community several times before, but it was always from this perspective of "the grass is greener on the other side." Last year, I thought that if I chopped my hair off and grew it back like all these natural hair gurus, life would be perfect. But it's not. The more I explore, the more I find things I truly despise.

A very popular trend, especially in recent years, is curl definition. As far as I can tell, it really picked up speed in 2015-2016 but has been around since the 2000s. It's cute, it really is, and defining curls seems like a curly girl statement. Bring out those curls that you've been told since birth it's wrong to have. But...I'm struggling to see it that way. For people with hair types 2 and 3, curl definition really just means to tame the frizz. But for types 1 and 4, people often wind up reshaping their entire head of hair. Which, if you want to do it, go ahead. My issue arrives when people feel their hair isn't nice when they choose not to. My hair already naturally curls, why do I need curling cream? So I can feign a looser curl pattern? That, in my opinion, is just as damaging than forcing relaxers and perms, even more in certain contexts. Imagine feeling as though your natural coils aren't pretty because they're too tight. Or, when you're like me and have just gotten out of the "straight is beautiful" mindset, and now you see your curls are too tight. And, I'm not the only one who sees it.

https://2dimplzs.wordpress.com/2016/04/13/undefined-curls/

"Curls are the new relaxer for natural women."

Yes! This! 4a-4c girls really spend their time hunting for products that will give their curls a type 3 appearance and can spend hundreds of dollars and hours of their time reshaping their strands. They know fully well a couple drops of water will revert everything and I've now stumbled across a couple videos on how to train your hair to grow out differently. How could you possibly call yourself natural while doing this? To reiterate, there is no shame to girls who enjoy the look. The shame is in the people who push it as the natural girl look or the natural staple. Almost every new product line now comes with a jar of curling jelly/cream/crème/custard/smoothie/gel/whatever. It's overwhelming to be quite honest. And in my opinion, the very same thing happens with edges. Curlier hair means having baby hairs that don't stay down naturally.

Personally, I've never been bothered with my edges, but I thought the trend was cute. I tried it once, was horrified by the amount of gel it took and washed it out immediately. Plus, I had no clue what I was doing and my swirl looked more like a crooked wave. Though, I'm more willing to give the edges thing a try myself, mostly because I've stumbled upon people who've done it with just some mousse or balm. Sure, it'll dissolve in a few hours, but I'm not really willing to hold my hair down like that for several days at a time. Still, it's weird to me how I feel this slight pressure to figure it out. Some of the best looking girls I've seen do this regularly and edge control is also becoming a hair line up essential.

And to top it off, too few people discuss the hair health risks. You truly cannot tell me that slathering pounds of gel on literal baby hairs and combing them down is good for you at all. And most of them aren't, people are acknowledging that. Edges are sensitive and edge control can be drying. Thus the people who search for alternatives, healthier, non-alcoholic options, and more moisturizing take-outs.

https://www.bet.com/style/beauty/2018/04/19/how-to-revive-your-edges.html

https://voiceofhair.com/the-truth-about-edge-control/

But for whatever reason, I'm finding nothing on whether or not curling gels/creams are ideal for hair. I searched and that one blog, a few others, and some side-by-side videos are the only things I found that didn't praise curl definition. It goes without saying that the ones with terrible ingredients are a no-go, but is it in general as safe as it presents itself? I imagine the gels aren't the best as you're literally forcibly holding your hair in an unnatural position. But what about the creams? And the smoothies? And the crèmes? And the jellies? And the whatever.

I'm sure some people genuinely know what this could do and do it anyway, and to that, I say it's not my business. It's like damaging "protective" styles, relaxers, perms, hair dye/wax, heat stylers--if you know the risk but do it anyway simply because you want to, then I do not care. What I care about are type 4 naturals like me feeling pressured to have defined curls and slick edges without being warned of the dangers. Type 1 naturals also get the curl thing, which is when you see people start to slather their hair in hairspray to hold a fake curl. Apparently, back in the 2000s when every high school girl plucked her eyebrows to death? I wouldn't know personally, but I see so many of those girls as adult women desperately trying to revive their eyebrows because they didn't know the risks back then. This also falls into trend hopping. One decade no eyebrows are in, the next you need thick, full ones. What if somewhere in the 2020s society decides that thick, full natural edges are in? It's a derivative of a European beauty standard, the train is bound to lose speed in the community soon.

Side Note: While I know this is primarily a black issue, I've chosen not to put this under my BLM tag. Because while hair is so important to so many African Americans, it isn't as important as the very right to live. I won't pretend that speaking up on hair is saving lives. But, I hope it helps make other black girls more comfortable with their own.

Cravings - "TIME" Summer Walker Type Beat Prod. GCBeats and Roko Tensei

Flavors...

like we got options.

When chocolate walks on in, just quit the talking.

You're spicy...I'm sweet.

Smoothen every angle, be unique.

Take up every second just to meet me

soaking up my cotton candy beach. Please

don't take this too far I'm in the clouds--9.

I'm not finna end up inside out, I

only wanna be real with you.

Only wanna be here with you.

Stuck up on this, just one more kiss

cause I'm looking to be dear to you.

I'm just tryna be honest...

don't really know what I'm saying.

Baby, recently, I've had these cravings. Not...

just for any other meal.

No, I want something to satiate

this touching hunger that I feel and

these emotions on my plate.

Avoid the bed, can we make this real?

Can you hold my hand and conversate

about our favorite flavors?

I hope you like chocolate too...

like you got options.

When chocolate walks on in, I'll quit the talking.

My craving for you...

Let's go ahead and see what this might do cause...

you're spicy...I'm sweet.

Smoothen every angle, be unique.

Take up every second just to meet me

soaking up my cotton candy beach. Please,

don't take this too far I'm in the clouds--9

I'm not finna end up inside out, I

got a few commitments down below.

I...am craving you but please just take it slow.

Softly...make it feel special.

Wanna be the only one you ever hold,

to make it easy...for me to love you.

One day, I'll try your vanilla too, boo.

Beat Which Inspired This: Summer Walker Type Beat ''TIME"(0:34-3:04)

Self Care Part 2/3 (Distancing)

Quarantine has understandably hit a lot of us really hard. However, social distancing was a lesson I needed to learn. Not just learning to physically separate myself from others and learn how to operate(I'm still struggling...as my blog so clearly implies), but also learning how to appropriately separate myself emotionally. 

The stressful situation has brought out a different side of people. Whether it's the lazier one, the one that's snappier, or the one that's constantly busy--it's different. And it's really helped in showing me who is worth it. Yes, I have lost some friends. And yes, I did cry over them. And it feels like every day I have to come to terms with who I'm missing and losing...and this quarantine has forced me to face those feelings head-on. The pain of losing people isn't swallowed down by daily life buzz anymore. I can't hide under the prospect of meeting new people. I'm stuck with what I've got and cabin fever is real. Even digitally--I can see my group chat friends becoming sick of each other.

I've become closer to certain people who I would've never even dreamed of confiding in. People who I met briefly and brushed aside before quarantine just so happen to be the ones stepping up now in my life. Though, I don't know if it's intentional. I don't know if they're just trying extra hard or if it's because I'm paying more attention to them. It's blunt, I know. But in late February and early March, I started detaching myself from everyone/constantly meeting new people. That mix meant that new "friends" never really got my attention. Hell, I once considered cutting all my old friends off. Point is, early quarantine gave my mind time to breathe and revitalize. The heaviness of the situation hadn't set yet so I used it as a mental clean up. Instead of forming new bridges, I looked back at all the old ones. I talked to people who hurt me, listened if they talked--cried if they refused--and started to see ways that I had hurt them. In the past few months, I've made up with so many people, lost so many, and made so many epiphanies...I feel like a different person. At first, I had been avoiding certain conversations because of the emotional baggage. Then when I tried to deal with it on my own I was too distant to realize what I had done wrong. 

Even now, I could end up being totally wrong about everything and wind up making a follow-up post in December. And honestly? That's perfectly okay.

Self Care Part 1/3 (Hygiene)

As I have stated several times, I am a teenager. And in typical teenage fashion, I am discovering a lot of things about myself and going through phase after phase. When I was younger, like pre-middle school, I never really took an interest in grooming and self-care. I was content with my mom doing my hair, I never shaved or washed my face, never used lotion or cleaned my nails and I honestly avoided taking a shower nearly every day. I know; disgusting. My excuse is that I was eleven and younger. 

Eleven is when I shaved for the first time--I was a bit of an early bloomer. It was when I first used deodorant, first started paying attention to my hair, etc. There's a video from CinemaSins, Everything Wrong With Inside Out, and in it, Jeremy points out that Riley's personality and interests went from five basic islands at age eleven to at least a dozen at age twelve because "the age of twelve is magic." (9:37) Riley even got an upgraded, more complex emotions panel and her core memories aren't just happy anymore. She now places value on her other feelings as well.

While I could go a completely different route here, I want to stick to the prompt. For once, I picked the prompt, specifically to express a new interest of mine. Self-care. Something I truly did not care about until twelve years old. At twelve, I got an iPhone and immediate access to the online world of beauty and health. At twelve, I received my first razor and started being conscious of body hair. At twelve, acne littered my face and demanded attention. At twelve, I first started questioning my hair and skincare. Twelve really was magic for me. 

Fourteen years old was when I started diving into skin and hair care. At twelve and thirteen, I really just washed my face every night with whatever hand soap I found and warm water. It was nearing the end of eighth grade that I felt the need to go out and get actual facial products. Even then, I just picked up whatever the drugstore had for cheap and started using it however I felt like. Like, there was a time when I would routinely tone after moisturizing. I really decided that toning should be the last thing I should do, without any more moisturizing, ignoring the fact that my first toner had alcohol in them. I know because I remember how horrified I was when I finally looked at the ingredients of my "trusty" toner and saw isopropyl alcohol and realized I was drying my skin out. 

Middle of last year, I began investing in hair care research. I began to learn more about my hair, and I realized just how difficult yet simple it was. I learned to be less obsessed with length and more concerned with health. This gradually lead to me noticing I loved to show others what I knew and even help them if I could. My hair love showed amazing results in a couple months and I started to wonder if I could do the same with my skin. Once my school closed down and I had the time to go on these internet spirals, I found dermatologists and skincare specialists on YouTube*, blogs that covered both hair and skin, and started researching self-care brands. I've learned so much and I keep seeing how much there is to learn and I just feel so hungry for more knowledge. I'm genuinely interested and have developed a tendency to share with anyone who will listen. Sometime in May, my mother mentioned dermatology to me as a possible career path.

Which, honestly seems plausible for me. I've already been accepted into a science and tech program, and within it, I was most interested in the biology track. Before this, I was still throwing ideas around and while I would love to go into freelance writing, I think I'd be more comfortable having something a bit more stable to pursue along with it. I looked into it very minimally, and I'm still deciding several things. But, it's definitely something I've been daydreaming about recently. And, a part of me wants to develop a skincare line made specifically to work with melanin and pigmentation. For now, it's all just speculation. But I've been passionate about this speculation recently, so I wanted to share.

Loving - "Farewell" Juice WRLD Type Beat丨Free Type Beat 2020 Prod. Jammy Beatz

Skipping beats, skimming things, slipping farther down--

In love with myself, tension melts. And joy's what I'm about--

Don't @ me, my memory's been slipping past me now--

Too busy, no biggies, I'm hearing happy sounds.

Seeing better days;

catching better rays.

Waking up on the sunrise gives me time to breathe.

Take the air and carbonize it

Meditate and harmonize it

What I missed most while compromising was being allowed to be.

The space to keep existing

between my body shifting.

I swear this changing thing keeps on jello-ing my thinking.

Any more, and I'd be sold that my brain's resisting.

But who could blame it? Cloudy frames it

and blocks out the shine. 

Give me a flame, a matching passion, I will turn out divine.

Just watch the action, front-row seat, and write down my motto.

No any alts ould ever dream of becoming as fine 

as this here prodigy and expert in being Tobillo.

Couldn't ask for any other, better or centered

pseudo-name to go under.

Holy damn, I'm loving me. :D

Beat Which Inspired This: Juice WRLD Type Beat - "Farewell" (0:25-1:29)

Poem Prompt: Luster

Looks like heaven from

Underneath a sheet of dust, dulling the

Shine and value. It

Tears up the purity and chrome and is

Eager to squash its uniqueness--

Ready to kill its very being.

Year One: Complete

June 16, 2019 - First Lovely (if you haven't caught up yet, I'm on the Twentieth now)

It had been an entire year. And really, that's all I have to say. It's been a year. I mean, my first blog had fallen apart in a month. Not to say the past year has been perfect, but it's been an experience--a bar setter if you will.
This next year, I want to stick to the plan I laid out about a month ago. Sunday: N/A; Monday: N/A; Tuesday: Turtle Thought; Wednesday: Poetry; Thursday: Movie Review; Friday: Lyrics; Saturday: Lovelies. There will be a change at some point since the Lovlies will definitely be through by the end of this year. I only have 80 planned, and according to my pre-set schedule, I should be in the forties by now. If I manage to catch up, they'll be done by the end of August. If not, definitely before 2021 rolls around.
This year, I achieved 167 posts, including this one. Tomorrow's will be the first of Year Two, and the goal is 200 posts. I know that's a lot, especially in comparison to this year, but I want to aim high. I love this blog and I want to do my best with it. This blog really is teaching me a lot about what dedication and consistently working really means. Rather than it being like school, where if you don't do the work you get a million immediate warnings and instant punishment, no one cares. If I don't post, no one complains, they just won't invest their time here. In school, the motivator is everyone breathing down your back and good grades. In a way, it's less motivation than it is forcing you to try. There are dozens of rules set in place with the aim of having everyone try.
Here, if you don't put it work, I get nothing. No teacher patting my back and consoling me, no classmate encouraging me, no letter home to warn me. All I get when I miss a post is this sick feeling in my stomach that I'm lazy and not putting in the effort. And we all know that with a little bit of chocolate, a sick stomach isn't much to tame. So then I do less, get fewer readers, less support--less of everything, really. And I'm the only one to blame. Who wants to support someone who doesn't try? I get that. This blog has shown me that. And before I get out into the real world in two and a half years, I hope this blog can help me correct that.

Top Posts:
First Lovely
Winx Club Review Episodes 1-3
Exercise
Upside Down (This picture prompt also went up on my Instagram)
Exiting

Be Yourself. Always.

Meant To - "Break-Up" R&B Smooth Instrument Prod. PDub the Producer

First off, I'm sorry.

I kinda sorta did you dirty.

Don't know what I was on--Lil Yachty--

thought a couple ones would get a Bugatti.

Blind by your intentions, ignored my inhibitions.

Sitting here no cap on, my own tears have rained on

down on my stupid self;

I hope they drown my stupid self.

Don't look at me like that--you've done worse if not more.

Mr. Director, where's my cue? I need to slam this damn door.

But wait a second, he'll plead a minute,

make me think for sure it was never meant to--

Never meant to get like this--

Never meant to--

Never meant to--

Never meant to get like this--

Never meant too--

Never meant to get like this.

Why have we become like this?

Slamming doors and breaking plates

and clawing at our faces.

I was only meant to love you and hold onto you tight.

Why is it we're like this?

Damn, this isn't right.

I'm tired of being against you.

Talk to me and I'll let you

come on in--Bienvenue.

I'm sick of fighting with you.

I'm sick of the water always coming outta your eyes.

Why can't we just man up and hang up our pride?

It's time you to realize the pain you've caused me.

Just communicate a little bit--it's not rocket sci-fi.

It was never meant to get like this--

Never meant to--

Never meant to--

Never meant to get like this--

Never meant too--

Never meant to get like this.

Why have we become like this?

Slamming doors and breaking plates

and clawing at our faces.

I was only meant to love you and hold onto you tight.

Why is it we're like this?

I swear this isn't right.

Never meant to get like this.

How did we degrade to this?

I can't stand your presence and you can't stand mine.

Sometimes I wonder why we continue to try

Then I look into your eyes

And for a moment it's alright

Beat Which Inspired This: R&B Smooth Instrumental - "Break-Up"(0:35-3:22) at 1.5x Speed

Poem Prompts: Illogical

For the first part: Unknown

For the second part: Orb

Pacing back and forth, 

Dennis was losing his mind.

"You have singlehandedly

defied all matters of physics

that I have spent my life learning."

he said.

He also said the glass was meant to break.

If I had thrown a rock,

both the glass and the orb should've shattered.

But the glass remained unharmed

and the orb was simply cracked.

"Maybe the orb has something inside;

that would explain the glow."

But looking at the orb,

I couldn't recognize it.

It was just a bright blue

perfectly spherical

orb

that was cracked.

"I know a guy.

He works with strange phenomenons,

he'll be our best lead."

Dennis held out his hand--

he was waiting for the bottle.

But I felt an attraction to it

and couldn't let go of it.

I held it close to my chest and shook my head.

Irritated, Dennis grabbed at it.

I flinched.

I don't know why I was being so illogical.

I had gone to him for help.

Yet here I was, denying him.

A voice in my head whispered to me,

it told me to hold on to the bottle,

to protect the orb.

"It's dying," I cried.

Blinking, I tried to figure out why I said this.

It felt as though someone had grabbed the reins

and was talking through me.

Again, involuntarily, I opened my mouth,

"Let me save the orb.

The orb, it needs me."

I swallowed what I could of my words,

looked at Dennis,

then ran.

My mind was so clouded,

all I could focus on was getting to the shore.

It was midday--

other people were out and about.

Many of them looked sideways at me.

A girl sprinting down the road must have been so unsightly.

I even ran into my cousin,

right into him, in fact.

We both paused and groaned in pain.

But before I could say anything to him,

I was off running again.

Mother will not be pleased.

I kept going.

Even when someone snickered at me--

or something bit at my ankle--

or a stick prodded at my heel--

I just kept going.

I slowed down once I reached the beach.

And my mind finally cleared up.

And I felt the pain.

I doubled over, unable to recall why I'd come.

While I groaned, Dennis caught up.

He was yelling at me,

berating me for my stupidity.

He grabbed the bottle and started dragging me home.

Then, I heard a siren.

Soft, lulling music coming from the ocean,

"Come, child. Be with us. We need you."

I ripped my arm from Dennis

and ran closer.

Dennis followed, but I only sped up.

But;

"No, child. The orb. It's dying. 

We need help. We need you."

I turned to Dennis, but I couldn't see him.

I only saw red, with a small, blue glowing orb.

I had to have that orb.

Happy Pride

In the midst of everything, I nearly forgot about Pride Month...

...As if. June 1st, my Instagram (follow me here!) feed was flooded with lgbt+ activists reminding me it's that time of year again. And, it's always such a wonderful place to be. Certain posts warm my heart. The ones of perfectly normal people doing nothing more than being who they are is exactly what all of this is about. Not to discredit those who go above and beyond for pride. I get wanting to fully support something so close to your heart. It's just that seeing average everyday people just be makes the whole community feel closer to heterosexuals and cisgenders.
It's almost as if being gay doesn't make you any less of a person.
To preface my ramble, I am straight. I've had times where I questioned, but for simplicity's sake, I could only see myself with the opposite sex long term. In no way am I saying that this movement is for me or that I deserve pity. The only reason I feel the need to do this is due to three things:

1) The recent killings of women such as Riah Milton and Dominique Fells.
2) Experiences with friends and family.
3) I ignored Pride on my blog last year.

Something I see often, in the black community especially, is this constant degradation of other sexualities and genders. For whatever reason, I see it more often from African Americans. I don't know if this is a universal issue, but from my personal experience, lgbt+ acceptance tends to be seen as a "white" thing. I used to go to a school where I knew--and I didn't really know--many people were out and open, and now I hear people shamelessly and unironically announce that they'd accept a lesbian friend and not a gay friend. When I talk about past experiences I tend to get mocked and told that I went to a white school. It's repulsive. The same people who preach that white people treat them unfairly, turn around and dehumanize other African Americans for something that really isn't anyone else's business. Now, more than ever, black people in the community need to be respected and protected.
People pumping out their bias against living, breathing human beings even more. Why should anyone be excluded from #blacklivesmatter for doing nothing more than being? 
Last year, I was less emotional with what I put up and saw no reason for a straight girl to put so much focus on Pride. But, I've seen so many close friends and family go through their own personal struggles. And I've seen so many friends and family bash their entire existence. All I want is to be as sympathetic as possible and extend an arm to those who I know have gone through something I can't even imagine. Pride isn't for me to judge, it's for me to support. My position is to acknowledge and respect the community, so I can't just not touch on it. Lgbt+ exists and ignoring the entire month dedicated to it feels too much like erasing it. So here we are.

Be Yourself. Always.

Offense - Juice WRLD Type Beat "Quarantine" Prod by Jammy x SephGotTheWaves

I remember when they all told me

never to let some shit get you off your feet.

Guess I never really felt that beat--

someone just popped off and now I'm all offkey.

Toying with me like I'm on damn strings,

plucking and strumming and watch 'em tear slowly.

Guess I never really did anything.

So many stabs in the back and I can now barely breathe.

Told me not to let nothing sink in--

defensiveness now the best medicine and

I'm suffering. They can see my veins draining.

My attempts, they're all seeming naive and--

Didn't think you'd start with all these secrets.

Didn't think you'd go and lie 'bout where we've been.

And how was I supposed to know?

Quote unquote, "Offense? None taken."

*Beat Which Inspired This: (0:23 - 1:23 Juice WRLD Type Beat "Quarantine")

Poem Prompt: Sunrise/Sunset

My first breaths were full of joy.

Father held me up to the dawn's rays

and fed me my first meal:

light.

He then lay me down

against my resting mother

and lovingly watched over as we both slept.

They continued to feed me

and they ensured I was full.

My mother taught me how to feed myself.

I would go out into our lawn

and fill myself with the morning light.

At some point, 

I noticed the light thinning.

But I continued to eat it and thrive on it.

And one day,

I couldn't see anything.

I went out into the lawn,

and it disappeared from beneath me.

I fell--to where? I don't know.

I still don't know.

I knew nothing, no one.

So I sat. I cried.

And when I couldn't cry anymore, I just sat.

I sat. And sat. And sat.

I fell over, and I thought this was it.

But I heard my mother's lull,

keeping me awake.

And in the corner of my eye, 

I saw a small, flickering light.

The lull was coming from it.

It took everything I had to lift myself up again.

And I still fell. So I tried again.

And I fell again,

so I crawled towards it.

It was blinding, I retreated again and again.

I couldn't handle it. The changes,

they were too much.

The lull, it was so soothing,

but it stung to go near.

But the dark, it was consuming me.

It was eating away at me bit by bit--

I knew I had to get out.

So I crawled and closed my eyes.

After what felt like years, I opened my eyes again.

I was on a cliff, staring off at the horizon.

On the edge,

were my mother and father--

they had been waiting.

I sat beside them and held their hands.

The sun crept over it,

carefully, allowing me to take it in

for the first time in decades.

I opened my mouth

and ate the light.

I finally felt full.