ThePerksofBeingTiaBlog

I sit here, And I want to cry. I sit here, And my thoughts begin to take over. I sit here, And I go numb. I sit here, And think where the hell I went wrong. I sit here, And wonder why I never seem to be enough to make people stay. So I sit here.

But it didn’t break me. Nothing can break me unless I let it.

America as a ‘Melting Pot’ welcoming all immigrants with open arms, where the ‘American Dream’ is equally accessible to all, is a myth. It’s a myth that erases the colonization and genocide of Indigenous Americans, the forced migration and enslavement of African Americans, and bans against non-white immigrants that have happened before. Think of the Chinese Exclusion Act. Think of Japanese-American Internment. Think of the Jewish refugees we turned away during the Holocaust. Think of California’s Proposition 187. Think of what Muslim Americans were subjected to after 9/11. Think of the inhumane way the ICE treats undocumented immigrants even in our so-called sanctuary cities.

I ruined myself and you ruined yourself,  but for the sake of what we called love I hope we did not  ruin each other.

I am so small and bitter. I’m like a human espresso.

To truly know yourself, it takes more than one day, it takes a whole lifetime

I’m sick of crying so I try to smile

And like the moon, she had a side of her so dark, that even the stars couldn’t shine on it; she had a side of her so cold, that even the sun couldn’t burn on it.

If you have been brutally broken, but still have the courage to be gentle to others then you deserve a love deeper than the ocean itself.

I still remember the first time we kissed.

How does Moses make his tea? Hebrews it!

You can’t help it, you look at your phone to see if perhaps you missed their call, but you have no missed calls and no notifications. You start feeling that bitterness forming in the pit of your stomach. You try to distract yourself with things you normally love doing: drawing, writing, reading, catching up with a favorite show but without hearing from them you cannot seem to focus..your minds starts racing and anxiety begins to form…why? You begin to question…why is it that they can go about their night without talking to you but you can’t carry on with yours.

When you’re twenty-one, life is a roadmap. It’s only when you get to be twenty-five or so that you begin to suspect you’ve been looking at the map upside down, and not until you’re forty are you entirely sure. By the time you’re sixty, take it from me, you’re…lost.

You gave me peace in a lifetime of war.

I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.

I stopped writing about love for a moment. I stopped writing about you. Instead I wrote about freshly fallen snow, summer rain, newly cut grass, clothes fresh out of the dryer, tears of joy, tight hugs, old books, running through an open field under a blue sky, and sunsets. I wrote about starry skies and pine trees. I wrote about the city skyline and the way the hue of a morning’s coffee changes when you sweeten it. I wrote about every beautiful thing that doesn’t remind me of us. Yet somehow, even this became about you.