“i come into people’s lives, i love deeply, i leave something behind, and eventually, i let go.” -calyriajyvonne

it made me think in dominos, a routine my body knows all too well. each one spilling onto the next in rapid speed. one thought starts the ball and then it travel to various places in my mind. bouncing from aisle to aisle, picking off the shelves of my memories, and connecting each other like a game of dots. i started with a question, “what do i leave behind?” and so the snow piled. rolling mindlessly down the endless track of my brain. i can get into familial relationships but of course my train detours like the MTA on a Sunday. Heartbreak Blvd. where the museums of my lovers stretch out like a subway route. a stop i’ve been visiting quite frequently. i know they say don’t get stuck in the past but i think i’m somewhat of a masochist. as a writer, my words are all i have. the closest thing to a peak inside myself anyone ever really has, even me.. and i like to remember . to revisit. to reflect.. its fun lol

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anyways, i began to wonder about the experience i gave to them. the hearty laughs we shared over inside jokes. the exact moment we created them. or the lustful glances we’ve exchanged over a dimly lit dinner table. the soft shoulder kisses planted during a lazy morning. speaking the dreams we want while weed smoke lingered in the air. confessions during pillow talk sessions. and oh the love making. our bodies entangling together. finding each other through the waves of sheets. and breathing life into our souls. flashback.. sorry lol.. but again the flurries never cease, just subside.

“were they all the same?”

a question of self. next stop. Introspection avenue.

how does my touch feel when i’m in love? i’ve always wondered how long the warmth of my fingers last on the skin, if they can remember the placements. and how often does my smile cross their mental streets, lighting up their darkest corners. i’m a deep lover. my soul calls out to the sounds of your voice when i have hearts in my eyes, so how many outgoings have i made? how many have really answered? maybe my love had become a voicemail they listen to when they’re feeling reminiscent.

do i occupy a space on their gallery wall of the past? what would the inscription say about the times we’ve fallen for the other, hand in hand? if the subject of me broke out into a room of those whose seen beneath my layers, would they describe the same petals? what started out as a light brush of flakes turned into a blizzard of white. the ball growing in size after every curvy punctuation. the epiphany of my spot in the sea of one of a kinds starts to sink. im living the duality of hearing “you’re just different” in different voices. and i guess you can say its empowering. everything that i am is something impossible to forget. i move moutains. erupt volcanoes. i pour over forests for 40 days and 40 nights with a flood that not only destroys, but renews…

the girl compared herself to “a passing moment”, only wanting to feel permanent to someone. that “maybe the art of loving is leaving”. but i think rebirth is forever… i don’t just leave a mark, my stains are rose colored. sprinkled on your day to day like polkadots. one in the grocery store passing strawberries because theyre my favorite. or one on the window of a local book store because i’m always buried in a new title. each one bringing up a piece of me that will change them for the rest of their lives. forcing them to face the truth of loving and being loved.. and i make the truth look pretty..

-Flower

i’m scared of sinking into a routine that i’m miserable in. it really causes me to question my whole existence.

dramatic. i know. but true..

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because now i’m thinking about my work ethic. evaluating how i handle conflict and what i’ve contributed to the jobs i’ve had. then i enter an even bigger rabbit hole; thinking about my experience, my connections. my values, my passion(s), my beliefs. everything it takes to be sure of yourself and go after it. to get further in life, closer to to where you want to be. and sometimes i feel a little lost. i ask myself, ‘what am i doing towards my dream life?’ and frankly, i don’t think i’m doing anything. i think that’s why i’m feeling so insecure about my next steps. i want to write more consistently. i want to pitch ideas to magazines and publications. i want my big girl job already. but i feel like i’m stuck in a loop of waking up and winging it.

i’m only 25 so it’s okay—at least it should be—to not have it all figured out. this is the first time any of us are walking this earth, doing this thing called life. no guidance, no rule book, just pure experiences. we aren’t going to have all the answers and that’s fine.

but i see people actively taking steps to becoming who they see themselves being. and me? i’m watching as people fly pass me like i started last on the track. feeling really left behind. people i know are getting their master’s, completing yet another milestone while being my age. younger even. and i don’t want that to discourage me. i’m totally aware that everyone moves at their own pace. i’m just worried that mine is too slow and i don’t think i’m the only one who knows that feeling. there are times where i feel as though i’m not trying hard enough. that there’s only so much grace i can extend to myself before it starts to show up as laziness or comfortability. i do believe there is a thin between the two, so i handle my emotions gently. but i see myself doing more than what i’m currently doing.

maybe i’m coming to this realization that my fight, flight, or freeze response is becoming so overwhelmed with all my ideas that i end up doing nothing instead. because i’m a indecisive perfectionist who overthinks, the amount of time and effort i know i’ll be exerting literally paralyzes me. it’s really disappointing too because i know they would blow up into something amazing if i kept at it.

regardless, i’m going to continue to give myself grace because this life shit—especially with our political climate right now—is fucking hard. dealing with personal problems while chasing your dreams requires a certain type of drive that i’ve been too burned out to form. and that’s alright. i’m going to find my rhythm and play my own tune. because i’m really doing the best i can—we all are. social media has conditioned us to think that we have to have it all figured out and i don’t subscribe to that. things aren’t as black and white as it used to be back then—no pun intended—so i will not be bullied by my inner critic to well up in shame. i’m human goddamnit..

anyway, just came to vent.

journal prompts for a dilemma like mine? any magazines y’all know looking for interns? writers? editors? anything lol.

holla at ya girl.

until next time

peace and love

-Flower

i’m not sure about everyone else, but i was small with a mature brain. it aged me and caused me to imagine my shoes being as big as the adults around me. i wanted the late nights of no bounds or curfew. to taste the smoke from the tip of a blunt and feel the warmth of liquor in my chest. to be a part of the grown folk conversation with out being told to remove myself from it. a life with no supervision but my own. decisions i make on my own accord. i’m not sure how back then adults made life look so fun. i thought that rules came and went with age, and while that, to an extent, is still true, there is still a hindrance that my generation is battling with. sucking the fun out of our walking days and sleepless nights. i cant tell you what to blame that on. them phones maybe? social media? politics? everyone has a list, a theory, as to what changed. what caused the social shift that’s reeking havoc on the culture as we know it right now.

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would i be too passive if i said we shouldn’t worry about pointing a finger at the so-called issue? i think it distracts us from actually making the change, from actively acting on our theories to see if it makes any difference. our country has been built solely on convenience—in addition to a list of other controversial concepts of course. the food we eat, the clothes on our backs, down to the stores on the strips of our blocks. and to be stripped of that convenience will consist of relearning the world in a way that nobody is ready for. traveling without a phone, filling silence with creating, or simply accepting the noise of your own breathing. the earth requires alchemy. you give to it, it will give to you. but giving also requires a sense of selflessness that overpowers the laziness that selfishness has conditioned us into.. gosh i hope that made sense.

i think i just want to bring forth an awareness that society is currently avoiding. everyone wants to travel back in time when it comes to fashion and aesthetic, but here we are abusing technology as we know it. I watched a movie on Netflix, one where a black woman activist and a white Klan member went against each other—later turning into a kinship—on the decision to integrate schools after the black school in town was burned down. there was multiple occasions where numbers meant everything to this decision, as it does with anything pertaining to politics but it really had me thinking. maybe the issue is individualism? like i mentioned before, giving requires selflessness and that’s my way of saying that the price of community is inconvenience. being there even when you think it won’t benefit you. and i think that speaks to an even bigger revolution.

love…

i don’t want to piss of the “self-love” police when i say this, but love causes you to put others ahead of yourself. in better terms, it brings about a consideration that only comes with truly caring for something or someone else. love is a verb, a choice, something you purposely have to choose to do and that’s so powerful. we should sit with that more. the idea that our lives doesn’t just consist of us, but the environment and community we build around it. how important it is to nourish those parts because they’re apart of us and shape our character more than we’d like to admit.. it’s going to take some time but i think it’s truly worth it..

-Flower

She’s better now. Her health still a work in progress, but overall better. Honestly… I’m terrified. I don’t know a life without my mom… I don’t want to… And I don’t want to think that way but what happens when you tell someone not to do something? Yeah, exactly. The best I can do is be there for her though. Support her. Help her with anything she needs. She’s a fighter and she’s fought through tougher shit, so I don’t doubt that she’s going to give this diagnosis a run for their money. She has for this long. Besides me being a struggling artist and college student, my mother needs me right now, and I’ve never missed her call. I won’t stop now.

I won’t sit here and say that I’m not sad I’m leaving my home. I’ve created a life within these four walls and they’ll hold that life within every crevice. I understand that things change. Life throws you off a cliff sometimes and no you don’t have a parachute. The only way out is down. Stick the landing, or don’t.. and get back up to the top. This is me. With school, two jobs, my mother, and this move, I’m not sure how I still have my head. I’ve been stressed before but sheesh… I’m doing my best. Only thing I can do right now is my best. Trying to keep a healthy balance of not over working myself and focusing up.

And I know this entry is super melancholy, I really started it because I missed writing on here. I thought I needed to be in a stable enough place in life to where I can sit down and write but truth is, Life ain’t stable chile… So now, as I’m flooded with emotions, I figured it was the best time to show proof of Life. That I am alive, that I haven’t let the world’s cruelties take my strength to pursue a passion I will hold until I’m blue in the face. My words, my voice, is the reason I keep going. To highlight how not being okay is fucking okay, especially in this political climate right now. Everyone is scared. And I think we should all start leaning into that fear as motivation to revolt against a power that has been snatching our humanity for fucking years… But maybe that’s a conversation for another entry. For now, here is another peak into my mind. My Dear Diary. Because that’s all writing has ever been to me, an outlet. And that shouldn’t be put on pause. I’m going through a lot right now, and that’s okay. As long as I have my art…

peace.. and fucking love everyone…

-Flower

they say this temporary loss of self only happens in the midst of vibrant colors and warped objects, but who’s to say they don’t happen at the same pace of births. not a second goes by a baby isn’t being pushed into the arms of the world, so what if we counted the amount of times we chose to start anew? would they be considered real? because i think realizing that you’re no longer in the hands of a “you” that has gotten you through it all requires the same kind of grief funerals bring to the soul. i mean, no one discloses to you how lonely that epiphany becomes. friends and family look past you like a distant memory. even you are still trying to remember what to smile at anymore. confused on what you mistaked glitter for gold. your tints, no longer rosy.

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ever walk away from a friend you shouldn’t have kept? leave a love so unhealthy it drained you from inside? well, that is this… im witnessing my comfort grow smaller to my eyes, when it once sheeted me from a cold that i couldn’t bear alone. watching fog form after my breaths all over again. bracing the brisk with no protection. i revisit the times where life airplaned my silver spoon with the eyes of those peeking under my cap. seeing i must find nourishment elsewhere and new diets aren’t easy to maintain… like learning to walk in shoes you don’t remember being yours. forced to know your way around the ropes…

i guess my point to you is, i’ve changed. my habits are dying hard… it all is happening so fast, my process time is having trouble catching up. understanding now that this person pressing the buttons to send new signals is me and it all feels too real. this is not a game or a simulation. i have no choice but to be ready, which almost doesn’t feel fair. but i guess that’s just a symptom and soon my withdraws will feel like lifetimes ago…

i’ve always been afraid of of drowning

to this day it’s my worst fear

your breath being snatched the second your lips part

as the salty water consumes your insides, like a parasite

taking your body not only as its host but it’s forever hostage

extracting life from within

survival turns to numbness

and your weight becomes your anchor

the current, a path to the afterlife

with chills coursing through me at the thought i ask myself…

why do storms captivate me?

i can smell rain before the light blue turns a dark gray

thunder clapping against the sky wall

knocking on earth’s door

lightning whipping in all directions

creating light shows in between clouds

i sit next to the window and listen

to see if every drop has it’s own particular splash, like snowflakes

cause who knew water could fall in love?

she calls out to me

luring me to a home i’ve never known

desperate to cleanse my body of everything i can’t see

to purge the impurities that lie deep within my scars

“i can give you bliss” she whispers

but i find comfort in chaos

my soul, a magnet for complexity…

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its something about open water

waves hypnotize you like sirens

singing a song that enters through you ears and make itself at home

wrapping its arms around your brain for eternity

calling out to your distant love

a romance behind her melody

flashes of white scatter the bluish-green

dipping in and out of the water like dolphins

scaling to see when they’ll reach their meeting point for dimensions

anticipating brushing up against a shore of memories

with every rock holding a footprint of life

until finally, crashing into damp sand

a true love story between life and death

as you wait to get swept off your feet

and into the heart of the unknown…

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gratitude aids in making space for more, for progress. and to me, that starts with accepting what’s in front of you for what it is, whether you chose it or not. The more understanding you are, the better you realize that it’s exactly where you’re supposed to have. God’s plans never fails, therefore what he has in store for you later becomes clearer and clearer.

in this case, God is placing me in situations that require me to read between his lines. to reflect on the decisions i’ve made, i’m making, and want to make. isn’t exactly the easiest to do when you’re beefing with the mirror. toxic behavior and immature tendencies jump out onto your clothes through the glass. sticking to your skin like lint on wool. who wants to face the fact that they aren’t as good of a person as they believed, or forced themselves to? feeling and navigating difficult emotions is hard. though sitting with them—through them, really—is one of the best choices we can make for human body, mind and soul.

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as i get older, i’m teaching myself the skill of eloquence(fluent, persuasive, and powerful speaking or writing). this will teach me a patience that requires me to result to my words instead of impetuous reactions. the same way i think longer and harder when writing is the same mental power i want to use in my speech. impulsivity is a weakness of mine. without thinking i buy, i speak, i judge. having a way with words means there is a moral conversation within yourself right before anything you do or say becomes reality, and acknowledging that though it may not always represent how we really feel? it’s the best way to handle most situations.

i want to fully learn the meaning of “patience is a virtue.” patience goes hand in hand with gratitude. it allows you to appreciate the pace of your individual speed, no matter how slow or fast. practicing the mindset “what you have can make you whole,” at least to me, shifts your perspective from always trying to figure out what’s next to nurturing what’s already in your possession. You begin to care deeper for life and what experiences—big or small—it presents to you.

Same idea with plants. You become grateful for their fragrance, their beauty, and in most cases, their benefits to you. With that comes great care and love for these plants, causing you to foster these living beings and continue to be rewarded by them.

i’m in a phase in my life where i’m getting wiser, more self aware. realizing my negative tendencies and doing the shadow work to understand why i have them. majority of that is my speech, lack of patience, and inconsistent gratitude. my goal for the year(i want to give myself a time frame to 1: test my discipline and 2: keep track of my progress) is to practice the skill of eloquence and applying that technique to other aspects of my life.

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I wanted to try out an experiment, so I picked up 3 pairs of denim jeans, each from a different brand but all the same size. I headed for the fitting rooms and was surprised with the results. One pair of jeans I got from a brand called Monteau Los Angeles. Their jeans fit snug, while the other two pairs I picked up fit slightly bigger around the waist and tight around the thighs. I know my size has changed over the years, but it shocked me to know that not every brand runs by the same measurements.

I did the same for 3 tops. Same size, different brand. This time, two shirts from brands BAN.jara and LUCKY fit snug, while one of them fit too tight I couldn’t even get it on.

At this point, I started to really appreciate the concept of fitting rooms. To have them back after the pandemic has been water in the desert. No more shopping blindly online. My takeaway? Shop in person. Think of it as cardio and treat those aisles as your personal treadmill. Sizing varies from brand to brand and those perfect pair of jeans I needed just took a little digging.

Happy shopping. :)

On Instagram, my art page gets views from 69.7% of people who don’t follow me and 30.3% from those who do. In the last month, my account has reached 352 other accounts and the most popular piece are my reels/videos. These numbers are on the smaller side, but with more consistent posting and new ideas I’m sure to reach a wider audience and get my profile more traction.

As I read these analytics, I remind myself that this doesn’t define who I am and what my work is worth. I know I have talent and the more I pour into perfecting it and showcasing, the more recognition I get. I don’t get nervous about what others have to say because I often get lots of praise for my writing, but I’m my hardest critic and the less acknowledgement I get the more I start to doubt my skill. I’m learning to get out of that and just continue to find the fun in creating.

Check out this cute little mood board I made though lol. I think imma make more of these.

ive been going to the gym consistently for about 2 months now. noticing my strength and pushing my body to new limits really makes me proud. a few years ago i would start the gym, something will throw me off my rhythm, next thing you know i stopped going. making excuses and ditching it when i didnt feel like it. but ive been traveling in the gusts of wind, slushy snow, and cold rain half asleep to get my 2 hrs in. keeping up with this, especially with my body insecurities, is special for me. ive been filling out my “feel your best” goal planner book which also makes me proud. planners for me seem good for the moment, then i dont use it after a month and once again its pointless. but since ive gotten it, i have been filling it out as much as i can, almost every week. even though i may not complete every or even one planned goal for the week, being consistent has came easier to me. consistency has been coming a bit easier to me. i haven’t mastered it yet, but my progress is slowly and surely. ive gone back to praying. i noticed god really listening to me when i thanked him and spoke to him. my ancestors in the background guiding me as well.

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

February

i feel a change within me. i can’t quite distinguish it yet, but its definitely present. with me hitting a quarter in the next 4 months i felt as though i needed to be more intentional with my decision making. and that, for me, starts with trusting my decisions. accepting the consequences when i go against that intuition. it could be the smallest thing, like what drink i want with my meal or which way i should walk home from the train. i’ve just realized that i’ve always had this trouble with doubting my instinct or allowing it to be persuaded, even if its by me. knowing now that that is my shadow self. growing up, i was often told that i was being dramatic or I don’t know what i’m talking about when i were to express myself. it was to the point where i would shut down with the fear of not getting enough validation to feel the way that i feel. walking around with attitudes that people could see but never really understand because i was still learning the lesson of “closed mouths don’t get fed”. i take that with me everywhere, not just in communication aspects, because its deeper than just telling someone what you want. often i judge how much i want something by how much i make time for it. pole, poetry, blogging. and it fuels me because how else are you supposed to get better at things if you don’t practice? while life (mental illness included) pulls you in various directions for whatever reason the universe has, eventually you can’t keep blaming the lack of progress on everything but yourself. there are people walking the earth who are so passionate about the version of themselves they want to be that it’s all they can see. mind filled with visions of their self-love becoming their aura and with that forms goals. a step-by-step list that may not always go to plan but the foundation has gotten them far enough to continue to trust it. no excuses. it’s easy to live in them but harder to move out. to take the accountability, building the courage to say that you’re just not fighting hard enough for it. i battled with that mindset constantly during this unintentional break of writing. growing up i felt like writers needed suffering, and i wrote solely when i felt hurt or in distress. but inspiration is everywhere. it’s in the conversations you have with your friends, with yourself. the quiet day you have alone with just your thoughts. it could be the flowers you seen growing below a sidewalk tree in the city. and that’s what i want to transition into. taking the world i see around me and turning it into words people can feel. to spoon feed people my personal experiences of being a black woman navigating her twenties. so walk with me as we turn the corners of my brain and analyze my thought process like museum artwork… maybe we can help each other..

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recently i been questioning myself. my life. my wants. my dreams. been questioning how bad i want them and if im doing enough. im sure im not the only one who always feels like they aren’t doing enough. not exerting the energy to put that hamster wheel in motion. to rev up that engine and lock in. i know life is what you make it but can we be for real for a second? this shit is hard… i can’t help but to worry. i mean my battle with mental health be leaving me so battered and bruised sometimes that all I can do is lay in bed. accept my defeat and prepare for another round in the next 24 hours. growing up, i had the same relationship with life as clowns do with pies. caught off-guard, can’t see, and now i have to clean it all up. “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade” but how when i don’t have the strength to squeeze out the juice. apologies if I made this sappier than you expected, i just want to wallow as of right now. i don’t think we give ourselves the space to sprawl out onto the bed face first and cry until our eyes dry. or feel your chest sink. everyone is pushing to be positive. im one of them. and writing allows me to just be fucking sad… this would be a pretty strange thank you letter to the art of literature, but the gratitude for this to be my outlet is vast. every time i reread my work i relive my memories. spotting the experience in the first few lines from different lenses each time. analyzing. picking apart my process. getting closer and closer to finishing the puzzle. and that is my way of healing…

“Normal girl, oh

I wish I was a normal girl, oh, my

How do I be? How do I be your lady?

Normal girl, oh

I wish I was a normal girl

I’ll never be, no never be your, uh

You like it when I be aggressive

You like when I say to you

‘Get it if you got it, I’m ready and waitin’ for it I’m calling’ to put it on,’ yeah” SZA - normal girl

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I was ghosted recently. i’m sure if you ever heard that before, then you’ve never heard reasons why. there’s never really an explanation, just silence. you run a million ideas through your brain on what you may have done to drive someone away but it never comes close to the truth. the truth that your trial is up. youre no longer of service to them and that’s one fat pill I constantly find difficulty chugging down. it’s hard to admit, embarrassing even. I quite literally feel ashamed of myself for letting something like toxicity get passed me. passed the guard I built after experiences of getting shot with emotional bullets. each of them more piercing than the next, inching closer and closer to my uneven heart. i’m supposed to know better. i’m supposed to rip the mask off the bullshit and recognize the manipulation in between the sweet nothings he whispers to me. Instead I let it nuzzle up in the corners of my mind as it echos inside. the high bouncing off the bones of my skull, chills swirling down my spine to my power. a signal she takes as love. and then the cycle begins again. like a washing machine. with every spinning circle, every ounce of water drenching me, i’m cleansed of the morals I embedded in myself. my fabric becomes dull. stretched out. and eventually…unwearable. that’s how i’ve been feeling lately. used. and i’m tired of getting tossed inside the waste basket. how do I become your favorite piece of clothing? I want to hug your body like pair of Levi jeans. I want to sit on the curves of your muscles like a crisp white t-shirt. caress your neck like a gold link chain. ground you like a fresh pair of shoes. how do I get taken care of? how do I avoid getting left behind? well… you don’t. abandonment can present itself in the blink of an eye and the hurt you feel is never from a stranger. love is a beautiful feeling. an over-joyous burning of fiery passion that can’t help but seep through in everything you do. but the deceit that is attached to it often blinds the beholder. compassion no longer becomes an option, only revenge. the ghost of a lover now haunts the streets of your soul and im left with the ghost of avengement. a ghoul whose in search of romantics like me. to take me under and make me over in their image. but how can I be seen when the canvas is empty…?

“Sorry I just need to see you, I’m

Sorry I’m so clingy I don’t mean to be a lot

Do you really wanna love me down like you say you do? give it to me like you say you do?

Cause it’s hard enough you got to treat me like this

Lonely enough to let you treat me like this

Do you really love me? or just wanna love me down..?” SZA - drew barrymore

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~ I would’ve explained the situation more but the poet in me started typing. it literally wasn’t me lol. but I met a guy recently, and automatically the chemistry was there. conversation, attraction, vibes. check, check, check. we kiss, one thing leads to another, and three rounds later we’re knocked out in my apartment. he tells me he’ll come by and help me with my pole, but im traumatized lol, so I ask about three more times after he confirmed to be sure. assures me each time, and later the next day I saw him again. we went to sleep much earlier though, but when we woke up we went again, which puts a fat smile on my face. he tells me he’s gonna take me out but it’s a surprise. that he’s crushing and he’s excited for this[us]. he leaves for a trip out the country a couple days later and even after he came back in a week I heard nothing. my anxious attachment style kept me thinking about it constantly until finally my balls dropped and I confronted it. or tried to at least, because after I asked him he disappeared. vanished lol. never heard from him again. and it hurt im not gonna lie, only because I often get into situations with men that leave me wondering. and most times about nothing specific, just always wondering about something. and im so. sick. of. that. I wrote in my journal how im gonna go celibate. the pisces in me needs love and compassion, the gemini in me needs fun and change, and the libra in me needs security and consideration[thought]. maybe it’s the sex that blurs the lines of what I deserve and what is given to me, and I need those to be as clear as possible and not just for them. so wish me luck! cause she *looks down* likes attention if you catch my drift lol.

but anyways

im your host, Flower

and this has been 2am thoughts

with love y’all…

peace

I always seemed to attract it, which in a way was my own form of consistency.

As scatter brained as I always was, reaching for someone that wasn’t there came almost as a routine.

Most of the times I wish I understood the magnetism of my soul.

Why when lust shows up at my door I mistake him for love.

And when my eyes are closed, dreaming off to never-never lands, the gap between us grows the size of an island.

Spooning turned to forks and somehow, I’m still getting stabbed at the other end of the plate.

Why do I attract sporks?

Does the neediness spew out of my pores?

Attracting the wolves I treat like house dogs.

A juicy piece of ribeye surrounded by carnivores that I myself cut into bites to feed.

I just don’t get it.

I think when I master the art of repetition in ways that are unfamiliar to me, the lack of it won’t look the same.

I won’t enter with blinded wide eyes and empathy for fictional stories.

I won’t lead from a place of desire or loneliness.

My boundaries will be carved into my skin for all to read but not for all to understand.

The love I poured into me will flow through my veins like crimson.

It will be my weapon; a risky prey to a predator.

And as I bleed, it will feel like acid to the touch.

~Flower

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With the economy inflating before our fucking eyes, everyone, including me, needs every dollar they can get to their name. I’ve been focused on school, haven’t worked since July, and been living off unemployment since then. So far, I haven’t been losing my head. That could be hard to believe but indeed possible. I haven’t gone without and that’s because God has been providing for me. He knows my path and wishes for me to fulfill it, something I couldn’t be more happy and grateful for. Sometimes it gets hard to keep my faith though, because even when I apply to jobs that I’m interested in and not just applying for the sole reason of living paycheck to paycheck, I don’t hear much feedback. To be frank, it scares me. I want nothing more than to be successful, as everyone else but when will it be my turn? Can I admit that being patient is terrifying? Living completely off of faith is not supposed to be, but it is.

I come from a bloodline that is big on spirituality, and I’ve been doing my best to try and keep up as authentically and individualistically as I possibly can. Could be more consistent but that’s besides the point. My ancestors have looked out for me when I least expected it and I think they came through in the form of my grandfather’s words. Not working in an economy like this is risky and not working, especially in a field that I would enjoy, has really brought down my mood. Feeling like a failure while I watch all my friends succeed with their jobs, their degrees and their lives. Now I know I shouldn’t be comparing my life to theirs, I mean they’re my friends. I’m not jealous, I’m just scared that my time is slipping out of my fingers. But hearing my grandfather assure me that he'll be around to help out with anything he can regardless the situation made me emotional.

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See the conversation started off mundane. Since I haven’t heard from him in a short while, he was filling me in on why he’s been so MIA. He was consistently sending me money for some time while in my transition of leaving my waitress job and into school, so I reminded him that this was a genuine call to check in on how he’s been doing and not to ask for money like I had in the immediate past. That’s when he told me that it didn’t matter if I did because that was the relationship we had; that as long has he got it, I got it and it was okay to be where I am in my life right now. He proceeded to say that even though he’s had some ups and downs since starting his own contracting business, that he wouldn’t go back to working for someone besides himself. That he’s woken up stressing about going to a job he absolutely hates and how miserable of a life that was for him. I related to him so much that it I couldn’t push the knot in my throat any longer and the tears just started flowing.

All I’ve ever wanted to do with my life was write. To have my words reach the eyes and ears of the world so they can feel just a little closer to who I am, even if they didn’t know me. To be a voice for someone who can’t articulate their feelings all the way, so they pull up one of my stories, or poems, or articles, or thought pieces. But, like anything creative, it comes with time, patience, and everything else in the book. It’s just slightly harder with literature because with technology advancing at rapid fucking speed, who has the attention span to read anything anymore besides gossip and clickbait? Tablet kids and teenagers glued to their devices when books exist. Don’t get me wrong, I’m guilty of spending way too much time doom scrolling on my phone, switching from app to app for some short-term stimulation. But I make sure that my passion is still grounded and I write as much as my heart desires. With the fear of choosing a profession that won’t get me far, I’ve always questioned time, my skills, and my dedication. I hear “I’m proud of you” from my friends and family but solemnly from myself, so I never feel like I’m doing enough. You can imagine the toll that has taken on me. Nonetheless, it was shocking how much that phone call reminded me to breathe. The weight of the desire to be recognized was made that much lighter as I was forced to look in the mirror and realize that I’m doing the best that I can.

Am I still waiting for my time to shine? For people to see my art for exactly what it is… art? Of course. But this has been the most consistent in my craft that I have ever been and that deserves a round of applause in itself. I’m proud that this year has been all about my trust in the universe. Allowing life to unfold in a way that I’m not used to and accepting that. Taking everything one day at a time and releasing the pressure of being like someone else. For the creators out there, especially my writers, I know it’s hard. But keep going. It’s cliche but as long as you’re doing what makes you happy how can you not be rewarded? Your passion? Your hard work? It does not go unnoticed and sooner than later, people are going to see you for exactly what you are. An artist…

With love,

Flower

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How much does sex really mean in a relationship? I started to think about this dude I met around my birthday in June. We recently stopped speaking and yes it was my fault and yes I do feel bad. But let me give some context. We’ll call this one Aidan. Me and Aidan met on instagram and we didn’t start speaking until he offered to take me out for my birthday. It sounded nice so I agreed and we’ve been talking ever since. We had great conversation. He was smart and funny and open-minded. We had so much in common. The vibes were dope, I mean honestly I enjoyed every minute of our time together. But, and there’s always a damn “but”, I didn’t find myself sexually attracted to him. It didn’t click until after our first date at the MoMA. After he left my house I felt it in my gut and it was killing me to have to tell him. I did, honesty has always been my policy. And even though we still talked afterwards the vibes were evidently weird. As many times as I tried to see him differently I couldn’t wrap my head around it and I was starting to feel shallow.

Why couldn’t I give this guy a chance? He treated me like how I wanted to be even after I hurt his feelings while I give it up to niggas who barely have the emotional capacity for mine. My therapist told me I shouldn’t feel bad because at least I was honest and the ball was in his court the minute I expressed myself. But y’all… Be for real… I’ve been in too many situations where I fall in love with the guy who only or mainly sees me as this sexual being I made out to be. The idea of consistently being around someone you feel for deeply without being able to fully express it is exhausting. And I didn’t want to put him through that, but I did. My first instinct should have been to block him. To give him that grace of not having to endure that type of turmoil. Instead I kept him around because he gave me the validation of being cared for solely for who I am. Gave me the affection that I so badly craved. Until one night he was staying over and saw the messages between me and another guy while he laid next to me. That morning when he mentioned it, I felt so bad I shut down. Didn’t say a word. All he wanted was respect and I couldn’t even give him that while he was in my bed. It was mean, even if it wasn’t intended and I couldn’t help but feel a stain on my character. It got me wondering about what it is that sparks my attraction. What is it about the guy who can’t give me all of him that I desire so badly? Is it the chase of finally attaining someone that didn’t see themselves being attained? Was it my father, who I watched be emotionally unavailable to my mother? But I know better don’t I? I know right from wrong and have turned away men who I didn’t see put in the effort so what was it?

I’ve always had this tug-of-war relationship with lust and love. Getting so lost in lust that I think it’s love. Then later being reminded it’s not me it’s what I can give them. My high school days were full of that. A four year long after school special that I didn’t want to be casted in. Using men to fill a void until I ran into a brick wall and fell flat on my ass. I eventually cut my casual sex days all the way off and started to pursue men that I actually enjoyed. But for some reason my judgement didn’t get any better. See my dilemma? I’m still searching for that part of my shadow self that will unfold my answers for me. As to why I still pick men who don’t cater to my feelings as much as they do theirs. Why I’ve only ever felt desired instead of wanted. Lusted after. Maybe I should go celibate, that’ll really gag them. But for now I’ve been taking my sexual relationships on the chin. Allowing them to be exactly what they are and accepting what they’ll never be, no matter how much I like them. When I do practice my shadow work I’ll give little me the biggest hug and tell her that the love we find in others is only an extension of the love we give to ourselves. Solitude is your best friend and the more you embrace your own company, the more selective with whom you choose to experience it with you.

Aidan, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. Our last conversation went nowhere. I usually would’ve tried to prove my point on how what you said was petty, but instead the only thing I think I should do is apologize. Hope you can forgive me and if not? That’s cool too. Your reaction isn’t inherent to me, only to you, so I can’t not forgive myself because you won’t. I’d go insane. But I can’t be what you deserve and you deserve the best. Someone who will care for you and love you for all of you.

Overall, I have attachment issues that I need to fix with the art of detachment. Letting go of parts of me that need the love from someone else when who I am and what I bring to the table is enough. That way when I seek love, I find it in it’s purest form because I know what it looks like in me. For all my ladies who can’t seem to leave toxic men alone, or it’s all you seem to attract? For the ones who want to be seen and understood a little better. This one’s for you. Look inside yourself without the fear of opening some wounds you had no idea on how to patch. I’m still learning and so can you, cause it may not be easy… but it is so worth it.

I guess that’s it from me.

*Notice how I didn’t do my usual intro? What ya think? lol

With love y’all,

Flower :)

In this post I want to talk about letting go. Letting go of old items, letting go of old habits, and letting go of people. I can't say I have the best track record. Many of my past situationships have made their way back into my world with my help, even if it was just for a short time. As in I kind of held the door open for them, knowing what they wanted and thinking I had the mental capacity to handle it. Truth is lol... I never do. Majority of us like to believe that we are stronger than we like to lead on, and while that is most certainly true, in some aspects it just doesn't work that way. We are weak. And it's our responsibility to cater to that weakness. When I say cater, I don't mean to succumb to that fear and live your life based on it. I mean finding and knowing your triggers; straying away from vices that we know will set us off our path. Let's be real though. Temptation is so easy, and girl does it feel so good. That's why so many of us fall to our knees when she shows up. Trust me, myself included. But that's why I want to bring up this conversation. 

I hate feeling stupid for participating in something, or someone lol, that I know will leave me questioning myself when it's all said and done. Shaking my head at my reflection because I knew better but didn't do better. It takes 21 days to form a habit, so they say. But the amount of discipline it takes to be consistent is overwhelming, so we gravitate to what makes us comfortable. How many times have you ordered the same meal at a restaurant? Don't worry I play it safe too. How many of ya stayed friends with someone who wasn't always a friend to you? Can't imagine life without them right? I know. How many times have you held down your partner after they hurt you? Let me raise my hand so you don't feel alone. No need to be ashamed. I feel you. We need to understand that we're all just learning. Still figuring shit out, and it's going to take a few tries.. or a thousand. You get the point.

In the last month, I've had my fair ones with old habits. Your favorite stoner girl had her first real panic attack. 

Cue the Disney Channel audience. 

Not to say that I'm surprised it happened, just shocked it was from my beloved "medicine." The one I've been prescribing myself for quite some time. In my defense, the mary jane that I grew up toking is not the same stuff they pushing in them skreets now. But it doesn't take away from the fact that I am aware it's not, yet I add way too much "seasoning" and partake way too many times in the day. It's funny how the universe works I tell you, because all I kept saying but never fully committing too was, "Imma stop smoking one day" or "I got to chill." Feeling the effects on my body but brushing off the thoughts of paranoia and replacing it with "I'm smacked." One day she[my body] said enough and caught me lacking on my way to the liquor store one night. My heart was moving faster than my body was going and when the feeling didn't seize after I got home, I knew it was time to go the ER. 

Can you imagine your anxiety being heightened times 2 because you have no idea what's wrong with you? No yeah, I was terrified. Traumatized actually. 

When the doctor asked me if I indulged in smoking or drinking, y'know the protocol, that was the first time I said it out loud. The first time I really looked inside myself and realized that this was pure carelessness. I was abashed telling her my answer and it made me feel a little worse when she looked at me like I should be. I got home and went cold turkey for 2 days straight. A damn good accomplishment if you ask me. And although I did continue my smoking (don't judge me fuckers I have an addiction) I do it at such a moderate level you wouldn't suspect the bong-ripping, shooter-rolling, edible taking, hardcore pothead that I am. For weeks now I have been redefining my relationship with mary jane. Being more aware in how it makes me feel. Taking my control back from the nicotine I exposed myself too. Has it been easy? Of course not. I miss getting so high I can't see. Not to mention almost everyone I know smokes the way I used too.  But I have to legit resist and say no. How will I know discipline if I give up every time life gets difficult? How will I know consistency if I keep breaking my patterns?

Speaking of breaking patterns... There's one I'm still having trouble breaking. Remember in the beginning I mentioned letting go of people? Well I haven't been able to let go of my first love (you thought we were getting vulnerable in the other posts, but I'm about to gag y'all). We're just going to call him Jake. I've known Jake for over a decade now and you'll find it hard to believe that he took me on our first date recently. Yes, I said first. That piece of information can say a mouthful about our relationship, if relationship is what you want to call it. I can't help but fucking wonder what it is that draws me to him every time he flies in from across the country and asks to see me. It's usually nothing casual, so now I'm roped in all over again after doing months of detaching and I get so annoyed with myself. "Again girl? You just pieced your heart back together." I went from smoking weed everyday to barely smoking a full spliff in one sitting. Have blocked, bombed and rejected so many men. I even stopped eating red meat! But let him touch down in the city and I'm folding like a pair of jeans. A beach chair. A flip phone. It's sickening. 

Things like change is so much easier said than done. And it's scary. All of my friends who know about him tell me to dead him. Hell, you don't think I know that? It's just deleting his number, (and this may sound juvenile because y'all don't know shit lol) is like deleting a chunk of my life. Our dynamic is all I know and even though it hasn't really been much besides some occasional bedtime playtime and repetitive disputes, I'm not sure I can handle a disruption in that. Ugh, I sound pathetic. But don't we all get this vulnerable at one point in our lives? Haven't we all felt this way about someone? Let's disregard my situation for a minute and tell the truth. Nobody here is better than anybody and just because your tolerance is lower don't make you high and mighty. It wasn't always that low...

This is my point though. Nobody's perfect. It's cliche to say, I know. And this won't be my excuse to give the green light on all things toxic. It's not really looked at as anything else besides a choice after a while. But I just know there are others out there who have difficulty giving themselves grace for engaging in things that aren't exactly the best for them in most aspects. Trying to hide behind their insecurities of looking like a fool to others and suppressing their own embarrassment. Often times people from the outside looking in are so quick to judge your situation. Looking down on you and your morals because "it could never be them" until it is... I always say, "everyone has their breaking point" and it's been a mantra I repeat before I hear something that I can't imagine going through. I'm not saying that you should disregard your values, don't let the message go over your head. I'm simply saying that your morals are exactly that. Yours. And to criticize someone for not having them is sort of crazy, no? Karma is just as real as the human instinct to judge, so just be wary of that before you call your homegirl stupid for going back cause that could be you.

Change is nerve-racking, but also very necessary. Don't be too engulfed in doing what you want that you refuse to grow because you'll only be hurting yourself. That's self-sabotage and there's a thin line between it and my point. But making a few bad choices doesn't define you, in fact it's normal and it won't be the end of the world. Give yourself a hug today, you deserve it.

With love,

Flower :)

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