What You’re Worth

I’m not good with math
Or numbers or change
but here’s an equation
I’ll try to explain
if I start with a positive
and lose any cents
My account becomes negative
make any sense?
I know you don’t get it
Just hear me out
I’ve run out of worth
causing debt and doubt
I don’t take loans
grants or gifts
in the form of cheap thrill
Or fake relationships
so try and keep quiet
don’t fuss or holler
Bc what’s your two cents
Compared to my dollar
You still don’t get it
so let me just say it
I am changing for me
And no opinion can delay it
So in Dollars, cents
pennies or quarters
know your self worth
And stop taking orders
So better yourself
and don’t be ashamed
add up your value
Bc everyone needs change

Beauty

     I have never met anyone capable of saying “beautiful.” I have never met anyone strong enough to comment on the wonders of the world that way. Are you capable of saying beautiful? Are you strong enough? When the word slips out does it taste awkward and new? Strange and unused? Are you sincerely commenting on the world?

     Does he tell you that you are beautiful when you are shattering? When you are sitting in the bathroom in a pool of tears wondering why you keep going? Does he hold you like you are made of porcelain? Does he watch you dream, wishing you would wake up to say your watercolor face is beautiful? If he does he is capable. He is strong enough.  

     You’ll feel like you aren’t strong enough sometimes. You’ll feel like you want to scream, but you can hardly whisper. You scoff and roll your eyes and sarcastically say it’s beautiful, even if you love the old lace, memories, and flowers.  If you are not ready to speak your truth to someone, if you are not ready to be your true, vulnerable, and floral self, then chances are they are not worthy of knowing it. But you’ll beat yourself up, because you’re scared. You don’t owe them anything.

     There’s a world out there, my dear, and it’s confusing to try to understand what you are going to do with it. Because part of you wants to know where the outside goes, and the other part in terrified. And are you ever going to let us know? Are you actually going to fly away, or are you only going to live in you mind. I beg you, go outside. Go outside with your new ability to say “beautiful” and find the things in the world worth seeing.

Failure

It pins you down

Captures you in its grasp and won’t let you go.

You can try as hard as you would like

But nothing you do will help

The voice in your head

Constantly reminding you that you failed

You did not succeed

You’re a failure and a disappointment

Don’t try again

It’s not worth it

Waste of time, space and energy

Give up.

chapter one: the broken girl in the coffee shop

chapter one: the broken girl in the coffee shop

she was not the type of girl to wait around after school just to watch you walk to your locker.

she would not wait around at the coffee shop after your practice just to watch you order your large strawberry flavoured water and yoghurt parfait cup.

she would not give you the answers to yesterday’s homework no matter how important that game or practice was, ” or was it a party this time?” she’d ask in an almost sarcastic tone.

she was a tough one, there was a certain stubbornness to her that you admired.

her light brown eyes had seen some of the darkest days you are yet to experience, but you loved it, you loved how she managed to get through it all.

she was not dying to get to know you, but god knows you would do anything to get to know her better.

the quiet girl who just transferred from california, was that her name? her name!  you don’t even know her name.

you started to stay after school to get a glance of her on her way to her car, backpack half open, hair a mess.  it was cute.  you thought it was cute.

after your practice at the coffee shop you would glance around hoping some day she would be sitting alone reading her favourite book, then you’d approach her right then and there and get her name.

weeks go by, she seems to have disappeared.  you see her occasionally when walking from class to class.

apparently, she has been seeing someone. someone who you know is not any good for her, but as long as she is happy right?

one night in the coffee shop you glance over at the brunette girl with light brown eyes sitting next to someone.

you hear the pain in her words as she opens her mouth, voice trembling, ” we were doing so well”

minutes go by and there she is alone.  wiping the tears off of her rosy cheeks.

you grew angry with yourself, why didn’t you comfort her? why didn’t you go and sit by her? ask her if she was okay?

these thoughts attacked your panicked mind until you got up and walked over.

there you were sitting next to the broken girl in the coffee shop.

no words were exchanged, as she placed her head in the warmth of your embrace.

she doesn’t have her car, so you’ll drive her home.

you won’t ever forget that rainy night or the dark pink and purple sky.

she lives close but you don’t mind taking her.  you hope she feels better, and not alone.

you got up and out of your chair, let her feel her emotions without having to hide them behind her grey tear stained sweatshirt.  drove her home so she’d be safe.  you offered to stay in case she didn’t want to be alone.

little do you know she’ll remember this night forever

mt

 

I’m Scared

featured image via Panna Bagoly

 

I’m Scared 

 

No matter how loud I scream

No one hears me

I plead and I beg

Stop please

But the agony continues

Every move I make

Every word I say

Is wrong.

I try and hide from all of this

4 walls that when I am enclosed in I should feel safe

Not today

Today I feel far from safe

Scared and fearful

Underneath the blankets in the darkness

The tears fall and I want nothing more than for it to stop

Once again

No one can hear me.

No Going Back

Adrenaline rushed through my veins, I had a perfect shot. I pushed the bi-pod to the ground, steadying my shot. Looking through the site I caught his arm in my line of view. Taking my head away from the deadly weapon, a smirk found it’s way upon my face. Time slowed, I could feel wind rushing by my ears, only emphasizing the blood pounding in my brain. I paused, taking in my surroundings. To my left, storm clouds moved close at an alarming rate, making the evening sky an even darker hue. On the right was a couple, gazing lovingly at each other. Light glinted off of an engagement ring, slapping the smirk of my face and replacing it with a scowl. I felt rage bubble up inside of me, I should have that! That should be me and Aashi! It’s been three years since our wedding day, three years since I opened my mouth to chant ‘I do’, three years since I’ve been waiting for this moment. Three years!

I took a deep breath through my nose, smelling everything around me. Baked goods from the bakery in front of me, spices floating from the restaurant through the air. Trees and nature behind me, luring me into a sense of security. I could smell the incoming storm raging beside me, hear the thunder claps it brings with it wherever it goes. Lowering my head to the site one last time, a million thoughts polluted my brain with a murky smog. This is my last chance. I have one shot, one shot, this is the last moment I will have without eyes peering down my back, ready to attack. After this, I know my fate. Prison. Others may know this as the day I threw my life away for the sake of revenge, but I will know, I did not have a life to throw away, because Brock Johnson killed me the day he shot my wife, Aashi Patel.

Forefinger on the trigger, my thumb moved and pulled the safety. I glanced one last time to make sure Johnson was in the dead center of my target. As I exhaled I pulled back on the trigger, getting ready to release the pressure and end it all. I relax my muscles and-

Scream

Pain shoots through my back and I feel a warm wetness drip down my back. My breath is shaky, I try to turn and see what happened but I fall to the ground, blood pooling up underneath me. I cough, vaguely tasting iron and feeling a thick substance running out of my mouth. It feels like lives have passed, but some small part of my brain tells me it’s scarcely been minutes. Heavy breaths and sobs attempt to dive through my body, but fail miserably. My brain moves a mile a minute trying to sit back up and just shoot! I feel my breaths get shallower and farther apart as my brain gets dimmer. I faintly hear screams coming from around me and a child crying. I could feel someone’s feet pounding on the ground, putting their hand on my shoulder.

Ma’am? Ma’am are you alright? What is your name? There is help on the way. Their voice sounded hollow, like they were underwater. Or maybe I was underwater.

I turned my head so I looked at the sky. The storm was upon us and rain was pouring down, teardrops falling from the sky mixing with the raindrops leaking from my eyes. A new storm arriving as an old one leaves. A smile played on my lips. My eyes shifted from the storm to the woman attempting to comfort me.

“It’s okay” I whisper, to myself or the woman, I do not know. I inhale as much as I can, and exhale one last time. Because I know, this time, there’s no going back.

a rose by any other name

hi my name is admonished

sorry I mean adulterated

I mean accursed

I mean Addy

wait no nevermind

that can’t be my name

that doesn’t belong to me

it doesn’t match?

it’s not

mine

I think

when I found out that there was a doll

who looked like me

who had hair like mine

who

wonder upon wonders

shared my name

                addy: the black AMERICAN girl doll

I was ecstatic

I was young and naïve and so so so stupid

when my mother found out there was a doll

who looked like

me

who had hair like

mine

who shared

my

name

she was disgusted

                that’s a slave’s name

                that girl was a slave

                you

                are not a slave

                we are not her

                we have history

                we have a country

                why would you want a doll that doesn’t come from where you come from?

but –

                    aren’t we both black, mother?

                don’t we bleed red, mother?

                don’t we get treated the same, mother?

                ain’t no white man going to care that she was born here and I was born in Nigeria,                 ma

                black is black is black is discrimination

she didn’t see it like I did

apparently

there are shades of black

hi, my name is Adachukwu

wait, I mean Ada

you’ve never said it the way it should be said, so why should I give you what belongs to me?

but if you really care

you can call me

ah – dah – choo – koo

that’s how it’s pronounced

I think

the thing is

I’ve spent so long shortening it for you

I’m not sure how it’s supposed to be said

                the name my mother gave me

there’s the way my parents say it

loud and purposeful and like THEY KNOW WHAT THEY MEAN WHEN THEY SAY THINGS

                adachukwu (igbo translation): first daughter of god

and there’s the way my friends say it

                they don’t

and the way I say it (?)

                adachukwu (rushed and mostly unsure and this? is what i mean and I’m sorry for my culture and my skin and my pronunciation and…)

but you are welcome to try

at least one of us should

hi my name is not here

it left

it couldn’t stand the ambiguity

it’s changed so many times

it has lost its shape

I could try to remake it

but I don’t know who I’d be

the issue is

juliet was wrong

about names

and the idea that life without romeo wasn’t worth living

at least in my case

under a pseudonym

                false name

                fake name

                NOT MY NAME

I am not the same person

I am sure of that

Addy was kind and sweet and always saw the best in people

Ada was apologetic

sorry I mean aborted

sorry I mean abrasive

sorry but

I am all that’s left

*dial tone*

*click*

I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you’re talking about

she doesn’t live here anymore

she

left

please leave a name message

anon

INSOMNIA

There’s always something so beautiful about the night,

you don’t usually notice that because you’re sleeping or you should be,

that’s what I keep telling myself,

everything still, natural as the day it was created

 

I twist, I turn, take another glimpse at the clock on the wall,

I sit there watching the hours go by, darkness turn to light

I hear the birds calling and with that comes the harsh reality,

This isn’t normal.

 

Everyone tells me to ‘chill out’, if only it was as easy as that,

I know it’s only sleeping but, it forms a big part of the bodies functions,

I’m not living anymore, I’m just existing

I sit in school, barely learning, I myself am barely functioning.

 

When will this end, when will I be myself again,

Everything I loved, everything I hated, it circulates in my mind

I want to get better but, I just don’t know how,

If there is a god up there, take me from this.

 

This poem is a short representation of how some people who suffer from insomnia feel, It’s always important that if you are having trouble sleeping, you let someone know whether that be a parent, a friend or a doctor.

 

What is Love?

featured image via pinterest

*

“What is love?” She asked me, bright eyed and bushy tailed, while the storm raged on outside, beating on the ground almost as hard as you did on my heart.

Tears turning my vision blurry, refusing to look her in they eyes, I answered,

“Love is a passion that overwhelms you and takes your breath away before painting your vision scarlet. It grabs your hand, whispering in your ear, sending shivers down your spine trust me… before running so fast you don’t know if you can keep up. It forces you to try new things and makes you want to be better than you think you can, it’s a scary thing. It gives you butterflies in your stomach and makes you head spin in circles while thinking sinful things. It’s the sound of soft giggles at four in the morning when you should be asleep but you just want to talk to them. It’s night and day merging together to create an eerily beautiful blur, every second since you took your first breath coursing through your veins at a million miles an hour. It’s your hopes and dreams mingling with your flaws and fears, preparing a wondrous pain that tortures you but keeps you living and you cherish every damn second of it. It’s the familiar feeling of waking up tangled in your bed sheets mixed with the amazing scares you encounter when you meet someone new. It’s nothing and everything formed together to create new colors, it’s the most hideous and gorgeous thing all at once,” Pausing, I took note that I had described my last happy moment with you. Taking a painful, shaky breath as though I was allergic to the air around me, I brought closure to my mind “It’s love, it’s life”