truth hurts?

I've been musing over truth lately. Be it recent events or old scars that's led me to these meditations, I'm not too sure. When is truth necessary? When is it unnecessary?

Sometimes I'm not good with honesty. When I tell the truth, oftentimes I feel bad for it. I think it's "easier" to adjust my expectations for someone else for the sake of harmonious relations. In in the end, it's me who gets burned with the truth as it simmers inside.

I avoid telling the truth  because I'm afraid of what people would say. But I'm lying to myself; convincing myself that what I really think doesn't matter. In this, a false and fraudulent picture is painted. It's an illusion. I am illusion.

I don't want to hide from the truth.

I want to be freed from other people's perceptions.

It boils to the face that I'm not true to myself.

If I were to tell the truth...


The truth is...I'm arrogant and haughty. I think very little of myself, so I make up for the deficiency by thinking that I'm better than everyone else. It's easier to judge others than myself. I don't think I've ever admitted that before!

The truth is...I'm angry. I'm angry at my family for its dysfunction. We all walk around on eggshells because we're afraid of what would happen if we said what was really on our minds. Can't we simply all just get along? My life largely revolves around my family. So when there is a breakdown with the family, there is a breakdown with me.

The truth is...I don't know when I'll be over Ty . I don't want to reconcile with him. I'm possessive of him. I need to know what he's doing. Just because we're not together doesn't mean he can be with anyone else (Wow, I don't think I've admitted that either. That's slighty psychotic.). Even if we were to get back together, nothing would change. He's not going to move. I'm not going to move (for him). Even if were together, I'd still be here, alone in my apartment, missing him. Nothing would change.
 
The truth is... I'm want to be loved.

The truth is...I love.

The truth is....I'm afraid.

The truth.

i lost my mojo, man!

My inspiration went missing.
My creativity is on strike


They must be co-conspirators.

Hatching diabolical schemes
to keep me in the monotonous grays
and cut off from brilliant blues and radiant reds.


Can we negotiate?
Perhaps come to an agreement?

I'm stumped;
I've stalled.

I need it all back...

in bloom

Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.  ~Rainer Maria Rilke 

 Tulipfest in Albany is one of my most favorite things about living here.

So many different colors and shapes...

It's the weekends like these, surrounded by beauty and friends, that I think that everything and anything is possible. 

That youth will last. 

That life is unfolded before me. 

I hold on to these moments.

for the phenomenal women...

I was observing a 10th grade honors English class yesterday and they read this poem. It made me feel giddy and happy inside, especially on a day when Sarah was niopping at my heels.  Here it is...

Phenomenal Woman
by Maya Angelou


Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.



I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.


Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.



Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.



...Enjoy, all you phenomenal women :-)

disclaimer: i am not {certifiably} crazy

I have a voice in my head. Wait, don't get the straight jacket just yet. Let me explain...

This voice, this alter ego, says every negative thing possible to bring me down. Just when I'm getting a grip on life, this voice saunters in, whispering sweet nothings: "You're stupid, you're worthless, you're fat and ugly, no one likes you..."

My alter ego sits, lurking in the shadows, waiting to seize any opportunity of sabotage. I shall call her Sarah.

This is what I would say to my saboteur, Sarah, in a calm, rational, and confident voice:

Sarah, we gotta talk. I don't appreciate you around here anymore. You drive me crazy with your quiet insistence that no one likes me. I am of value, of substance. I am worth being liked. I know people like me! Wait, they have to like me, right? Ok, don't get started!

And another thing, I broke up with Ty for a reason. Don't you remember how unhappy I was? Don't you remember how he cheated on me? Sure, there were good times, but we weren't right for each other. So why don't you let me get over him!? Thanks to you, I compulsively check his Facebook profile; I get upset when he's friends with these attractive girls; I momentarily forget why we broke up; I meet up with him. I'm better than that! I deserve more than that!

I'm not stupid; I'm intelligent. I'm not ugly; I am fairly attractive when I want to be. I'm not severely obese; I'm athletic. Why must you insist on making me have these thoughts of self deprecation?

I'm sick of you, Why don't you bother someone else with thicker skin? That's right, leave....
 
Sarah slinks off into the background as I tell her off. But, if I listen hard enough, I'll realize her voice sounds a lot like my own. Only slightly more sinister...

Do I still need that straight jacket?

not alone

"A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us"
                                                                   -Kafka 
 
It is inherent that, as a reading teacher, I must like to read.

Not only like. But love. And I'm okay with being bookish and nerdy. It suits me.

Books are a source of solace and comfort.
They make me forget, yet make me remember.
Their stories fill my head with hope that there is a world out there for the taking.

Currently, this is my favorite place to read (and everyone needs a favorite place to read):

A blue chair by my sliding glass door.
I mold myself to it like a ball nestled in a worn glove.
I like to sit here in the late afternoon, when the western sun is pouring in.
When it's nice out, I'll keep the door open and listen to the sounds of the chirping birds, rustling leaves, and laughing children..
Oftentimes, there is a glass of wine accompanying me.

Now, back to being a reading teacher. I originally became a reading teacher because of said love for reading. Ah, so naive, Kim. Little did I know that the kids I would be working with dislike, even to the point of hate, reading.

I guess I can't blame them totally. Most of my students have had repeated failures and struggles with reading growing up. They've built up a wall of defense to avoid struggling and failing. I mean, who wants to do something that's hard for them? To most, reading and writing is frightening. Some don't even see the point of improving their skills in reading and writing. That is what frightens me the most.

Sometimes it's a battle to get a piece of literature in their hands or a word written down.

When a student writes mentally breaks a sweat and composes a good piece of writing, or when a student really gets a story, all that toil seems worth it. Those successes, however, are few and far in between.

But I'll enjoy those moments when they do happen...

But for now, I'll enjoy my blue chair and hope everyone has a blue chair to fly away for a little while...


"She had learning something comforting, that we are not alone"
                                                                       -Matilda

slow burn

My eyes burn 

like the my soul's hazy discontent.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of not being

smart enough,

funny enough,
                                                      pretty enough,

                                                      thin enough.

                                                      Maybe someday

                                                      I'll wake up,

                                                      with clear eyes, 

                                                      realizing that I'm

                                                      Good enough.