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 bring myself to have anything to do with the P word. So I give thee...my Anti Poetry:
GIVE ME a life of complexity not complication
GIVE ME the joy of simplicity without becoming simple
MAKE ME lovely without the possesion of a Love
KEEP ME safe but not too safe
PROTECT ME without keeping me from what has the potential to make me strong
PLACE ME in good company even when I'm alone
GIVE ME adventure and an adventurer, a rescuer
KEEP ME alert yet let the element of surprise remain
USE ME for my gifts without robbing me blindly of them
SHOW ME your insides, what keeps you at will, at ease, at attention
HURT ME just a little, so we both know I care
GIVE ME the room to breathe, to laugh, to stand still comfortably
TEACH ME to shed tears in your presence without fear or hesitation
LET ME see you exposed, utterly alone and drained of entertainment
TEACH ME all the possibilities
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