contemplative thought

If you exercise goodness and don’t follow the crowd.. people think that there’s something wrong with you. Simply because you choose to be different and act as an intellectual with spiritual values, others will think that you expect everyone else to be like you. But if you conform to the ways of your societal peers, and go along with the crowd… then everyone thinks that you weak and that you are unoriginal. If you are someone who doesn’t do either but instead lives totally beyond any titles. This makes me wonder, can people stop trying to stereotype everyone


2017 is barely knowing yourself, but believing you truly know everyone else.
2017 is an era of self-care, self-love, pro-black, but somehow there’s more hate floating than ever before.
2017 is believing you are superior, affirmed by Facebook likes and Twitter philosophers.
2017 is allowing people to have a lens into your life, into your highlight reel but never anything else.
2017 is being background noise, to the soundtrack that is apparently everyone else’s life. 2017 is posts about how difficult things are, in a series of loose, abstract, distant verbatim, only to have a slew of people express intangible care and numbers for suicide hotlines (as though you, yourself, don’t have google).
2017 is parading solitude, the year of the trendy introvert because people are “too much.”
2017 is the year of minimal human interaction, when at the end of the day, we merely wish our comrades would put down their phones and listen.
2017 is the year of forgotten stories, because unless you were involved, it wasn’t worth chronicling in your mind.
2017 is the year of “my love is greater than your love.” The year of engagement rings, flimsy promises, and new babies oblivious to the shit show they’ve been born into.
2017 is Donald Trump. Whether we admit it or not, something is gravely wrong in America and hence, this is what the equation produced.
2017 is the year the sadness finally bled out… but even still, we cover the wounds and pretend it is all fine.

Dear Me,

It’s been a long time since someone looked at me that way; the way every woman wants to be looked at.

Within a soul that is starving, he satisfied a rising tide considered cold and unfeeling.

I drowned in his eyes. I couldn’t breathe. I was happy to feel again. Even if it meant that I would die.