I feel like I'm the white (my bad, caucasian) girl in a movie of an entirely black (African American, although most aren't from Africa) cast. I'm the one who moved to the ghetto for Dad's job, which is never actually clarified. I just got home from school (it's work for me, but still a school nonetheless). I am lying in bed, put on some jams and started to write in my journal. I also took off my medium sized silver hoops and set them on my nightstand so I could lie my head down on the pillow comfortably. It's been a long day. Are you starting to feel the scene yet? Hopefully you are picturing Kristen Dunst or Julia Stiles right now. I'm feeling inspired, might have something to do with the delicious peach salsa I just ate, probably not though. So here's a little ditty I just word vommited onto the pages of my journal. I call it my (Anti) Poetry. After the horrific experience of receiving corny poetry (rhyming in fact) from a high school bf, I cannot...
Tales that are just long enough.