I can’t wait for the news trucks the leave this town. I’m ready for things to feel normal again.

Yesterday my roommates and I were all getting ready to go out salsa dancing. My Iranian roommate comes into the kitchen and says, “I don’t want you guys to get offended but I think this is funny. I really want to tell you.” So she begins telling a story of a conversation she had with her sister concerning how conservative her father is. She said her sister had told her how disappointed their father was upon learning that my roommate was going to be living with two guys next year. She said her and her sister joked about how their father would never approved if them dating a man with piercings. And the conversation turned into the races of men their father would be most upset about them bringing home. “My dad would be so mad if I brought home a black man. Isn’t that funny. I didn’t realize my dad was so conservative.”. She knew was she said was offensive before she said it. My Kenyan roommate laughed. “Gosh, my dad would be so mad if I brought home a black man. Especially one with dreads. My dad told me to never bring home a black man with dreads.” I can care less what their parents believe, I can even not care about the fact that their parents are blatantly racist. But, what doesn’t sit well with me is the fact that the people that I live with me would laugh in my face about the prevalent hatred of people like me and using words like “conservative” to make racism sound pretty. I believe you can’t think less of black men without thinking less of black women. Black women birthed and raised black men. I can’t help to believe that these women think less of me too.

I know it may seem as though I’m overreacting, but think how fucked up it would be if I went up to my roommates and said, “Oh my gosh, so hilarious. Just got finished talking to my parents. They were saying they’d be so pissed if I brought home a Middle Eastern/African man. Funny right?”

My roommate met a 32 year old man on the internet and invited him to stay over our house for the weekend.  She’s never met him.  I cannot conceptualize why she thinks this is a good idea.  I tried to talk sense into her.  I asked her what if he decides to kill us all.  She responded, “Well, I would die first.”  ”My family doesn’t give a fuck if I die first or second,” I told her.  I explained my concerns, but she insists on letting this guy stay.  Now my life is at risk because this bitch is horny.  Great. 

I woke up this morning to a message from a man that I had went out on a few dates with about a year or so ago.  He was saying all the right things, about how he’s wanting to settle down and be a good half of a partnership and how he really wants to enjoy his life journey with someone special.  Lately he’s been telling me how much he enjoyed the time that we spent together.  Thing is, I’m not attracted to him.  At all.  He tried to kiss me once and I felt this sinking feeling in my stomach as if I would vomit.  I don’t want to hurt him by telling him I don’t feel the same way.  I know how that feels, I also know how it feels to have someone neglect to say that the feeling isn’t mutual.  I don’t know what to do.  All I know is I like being sent sweet nothings.  

(via brandelah, colombirican) 

I wish they all could be New York City girls.

It hurts when you want to be there for someone, but you can’t because they’ve pushed you so far away.

zjmac:

America Ferrera

I find it strange when people think of me as a poet.  I don’t feel like much of an artist any more.

I was once on a greyhound bus to DC.  The stranger that I was sitting next to asked me, “aren’t you the girl that does poetry.”  ”Yeah, that’s probably me,” I replied.  It wasn’t the first time that happened to me, it didn’t make things any less awkward.

Today one of my peers asked me if I’d be interested in performing for her organization’s spoken word night.  I haven’t written any poetry worth sharing or performed in over a year and I never told her that I wrote.  When I asked why she was asking me, she said that when they were brainstorming the idea someone mentioned my name. 

I told her I’d do it.  Maybe performing will help me feel like myself again.

Suddenly I realized that I no longer wanted to wait for someone that couldn’t decide if I was worthy of their love.