Long live the poets

Writing has always been my escape. Writing has always been the friend I spoke to when I couldn't verbalize anything else without breaking. Writing has been able to speak for my soul. It is the one constant I have held onto. It was something I have always done, not knowing if I was good or bad at it. It just felt good. It was the thing that made sense to me. It still does. No matter what I've done in my life, I always had stories, and I always could relive memories through words.

During my time off, I've had quite a lot of free time for reflection. Reflection on what one is supposed to do in order to survive in this society. Money, money, money. Money over happiness is what success is made of where I come from. In most places. Above all. It comes down to one sad piece of paper. To see myself sitting in an office, doing something I don't care for, and am not passionate about. Why. Why risk that? Why. For paper? Risk my self worth for public acceptance. Taint my self acceptance because everyone else told me so. Everyone says high school is a stage in life, except when you leave it, it's like a rebirth on a larger spectrum of high school. If you don't do it our way, you aren't accepted. People think they have the right to tell you what to do, to give you advice, to provide guidance without ever sitting down to see what you are about. Sure, I work in a coffee shop. It's not ideal. But at least there is color. There is love and there is conversation shared that is meaningful. It's okay to have fun, and there is constant music bouncing off the walls. You see people reunite, concentrate, or just let go. You get to people watch and observe. You just get to be. No one expects anything from you. It's coffee culture.

I have a more creative blog. My tumblr. It's filled with images I like, songs I am feeling, and words that make me think. And above all, the place I put my more passionate writings. Recently, I've discovered tumblrs of poets. Two of which are Nayyirah Waheed and Rupi Kaur. They are two artists who write from the gut of their soul. I have come across them a few times while browsing and then found a trend of feeling so much from their words. It always makes me realize that I need to keep in focus what is important to me. To leave this land of corporation and elitism. I need to find my place of peace.

Rupi Kaur:

"when my mother was pregnant with her second child, i was 4
i pointed at her swollen belly confused at how my mother
had gotten so big in such little time
my father scooped me in his tree trunk arms and said
the closest thing to god on this earth is a woman’s body
it’s where life comes from
and to have a grown man tell me something so powerful at such a young age changed me to see that the entire universe rested at my mother’s feet"

Nayyirah Waheed: 

"i have never understood.
will 
probably never understand.
the white mans lust
to eat the world.
to eat the universe. (mars is next)
why he was born with such a rabid 
starvation.
why he feigns for power
like
crack rock. doing everything. and anything.
to have it.
no matter how deranged.
why he is in so much pain
he needs to rip the roots of happiness
from the earth 
and 
burn them into 
his smile.
what happened in his relationship with our mother.
that he needs to set a person on fire.
watch them burn.
to 
feel powerful.
not every white man
is
born this way,
but,
it stands to remain
there are many
who
are."