clothing

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How it feels to be me

Honestly this blog post is probably just going to be my inner monologue for the past week because I needed to get it out so it might be a little jumbled but I hope it makes some sense to whoever reads this.

You know I thought I had it all figured out by senior year of High School before I came to this PWI but now that I’m here it seems I still have so much more to figure out. Me coming probably was my best and worst mistake I could’ve made due to me starting to have that feeling like I don’t belong again because of the way I talk or the way I dress I feel like everywhere I go there are small criticisms being made of me and sometimes it comes from the people I consider friends here. Joke or not it really open up my eyes to how different everyone can grow up and how different everyone really is but do I deserve to be called a “thug” because I’m comfortable with sagging my pants or because I come from a all black area. And the answer is of course no I don’t deserve that.

But I’m not going to bash this school that much because if I would’ve never went to a PWI I would’ve never truly understood some of my thought processes, like I just came to a realization recently that I have become someone that little me would’ve never wanted me to be and it’s sad but without the people that I met this year and those “thug” comments I would’ve never been able to look at myself from a outer view.

So, now I truly am starting to understand it even if the healing process hurts but I am who I am and there’s nothing wrong with it and everyone will have their own perceptions of me but that’s ok as long as I don’t lose sight of me again I’ll be ok.

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What Were You Wearing

“I was seven,
Wearing play clothes,
When he decided,
I was his experiment
I was seven,
Playing in my home,
When he decided to
Claim my innocence”

“I was eight,
Wearing a black shirt,
And pj pants with pink stars
When it all started
I was eight,
In the trusting lap
Of my uncle,
Too young to question,
Too young to debate”

“I was three,
Or possibly five,
When it became,
A monthly encounter,
I think I was three,
Sometimes in a sundress,
Others in pajamas,
When he decided
He had the right to me”

This poem was inspired by an exhibit called What Were You Wearing. The title of the exhibit is a question commonly asked to victims of rape/sexual assault, implying that what happened to them was somehow their own fault. The exhibit proves that clothing is irrelevant when it comes to sexual assault, and that we should stop victim-blaming by asking this question. 

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My Reflection

Who am I?
I,
I’m my thoughts,
My dreams,
My aspirations.
I’m my name,
My looks,
My imagination.
That’s what I see,
When I stare,
Into my reflection.

My reflection,
Ripples in the river of life,
The shallow,
Shallow river of life.
To the world,
I am my reflection:
I am only what the world sees,
Only what the world decides I am.
My body is but a vessel;
Why must the world ignore me,
But acknowledge the vessel?!

Books, merely objects
Are still judged 
By only their covers,
So who am I to demand
They not judge me
By only what they can see.
The inside of a book
Is where the value lies
But most people don’t bother;
It’s easier to judge
From the outside

My body is a part of me,
It embodies my soul
My personality,
But it is not all I am.
I am not my scars,
My disability,
I am me,
A completely separate entity.
I, Me,
Not just what you see

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Is it more than just a costume?

It’s that time of year again. When all the “ghouls and goblins” come out to play. Or, should I say “sluts and sex–crazed men” come out and frolick about. Slut shaming has become a very negative stigma centered around Halloween time.  Continue reading →