Hello! As you all know, I have been writing A LOT of poetry lately. I am pleased to announce that tomorrow I will be attending my first ever poetry class at Get Lit. For those of you who don’t know, it’s this amazing program for students that empower them through teaching poetry. I am really nervous but extremely stoked. A lot of the poets who have gone through this program have become nationwide famous. Just so you know, classes are from 10-2 on Saturdays in downtown la. I am also worried whether the class will be in session or not. Last time I went though was Christmas day… which probably explains why it was closed… Anyways, I hope tomorrow is a success! This weekend is the end of finals, I am going to a poetry class, I just watched Paper Towns, (it was so sad but amazing) and my teacher added extra credit so I have a 89.1% in AP Lang. I’m praying so hard that my essay will bring up that grade to an A. I am having a bomb weekend so far and I hope you do too!
P.S. I just updated my profile pic for my bio! It’s me reading! Which is me, every other time you look at me… hehe it was part of an assignment for digital photography! Enjoy!
my body after water polo games feels like the bruised skin of an apple
tender and swollen to touch in places where i have been kicked and dropped
after practices, i wonder every day at scratches that appear like magic across my skin
but never do i doubt whether i love what i do
playing water polo for me is an escape
a rush of high when the whistle blows and it’s just you racing to the ball and everything else melts into the meaningless pandemonium that only distracts you from your goal
there isn’t worry about how i will fare on tomorrow’s test
whether my father will be angry when i get home
time moves slower here,
every second counts
quiet literally actually,
large red numbers on a shotclock counting down from 30
in these moments i live for the game
because the end is just in sight
with only the next goal, the next win
only just a shot away
We are all born into thinking the universe is a kind and marvelous place,
Until we are broken,
I remember the day when he broke me
He brushed past the boundaries of my safe place
Like a thief breaking into a houseHe snuck into my body stealing all that was precious.
I had laid a welcome mat out,
I had prepared my home for my first love
But nothing prepared me for when he came in and
Left behind destitution and despair on my doorstep
The confusion of being told that I was special and unique by everyone else
When it did not match the way he manhandled me
To him all I was
Was a vacant home for him to pleasure himself
With his touch he claimed every part of my body for his own
I cannot look at my own body without seeing his hands
I cannot love other men without feeling his touch
My body reeks of his sweat and scent.
I am territory he marked for his own
I do not own myself anymore.
This poem is a response to all the stories of sexual assault. I was not sexually assaulted, but this is my way of trying to bring awareness.