Interrogation #1

A modern interrogation of assumed romantic advances. 

Explain to me your denial of attraction... 

Every night you send me a string of advances, and I don't know what to make of them... I don't know how to see myself in terms of you. But despite all the motivational women that say "you don't need a man," I struggle to see myself in terms of me because sadly, I have let myself be defined by you.

Is there any particular reason you should think of me at 2:53? It's the middle of the night and you're drinking in your dorm, why is my name the one you search for? A shirtless snap here, and a shirtless snap there... 

Why do you send me ten second videos while you're naked in your shower singing "I wanna make love in this club?"

Well I wanna make love in my sheets, or in yours, or wherever. I'd travel a hundred hours and thousands of miles just to get where you are. Romantic kisses turn to savage ones. And we'll fall asleep to the purple hue of lovers bruises that will bloom tomorrow. And I'd wake up with the sun jealously kissing your face while I'm held in your embrace. And there is no real evidence of what happened because the moon protected the previous night's profession of love, lust and desire.

But I remember this only exists in my imagination. And I wonder why you only snap me, never text me and never like my posts on Instagram. Are you afraid someone else will see. That I'll show someone else the messages? What is so appealing to you about only conversing with me late at night via ten second long videos that disappear forever? What closure can you possibly gain from something so momentary? So finite, no commitment necessary? Am I your secret or your shame? Or just a poor excuse so that you can practice your game?

How about the countless "light-skin" selfies you send me. Undoubtedly you want me to screenshot them, otherwise you wouldn't practice them for so long, you wouldn't send me so many. 

You're annoyed when I give my commentary, yet send them because you feed off of my desire for you.

But then when I tell you that you look good, you take the compliment as an invasion of your manhood. And so you ask me not to "holla at you." 

And yet you follow up that request of solitude hours later when you snap me at 3:21 AM. You claim that you're bored, and drunk. You lick your lips, and I'm sold, let's fuck. And you continue to bombard me with my only weakness, your attention. 

And if thinking about me in the middle of the night while you're intoxicated on the cheapest beer you and "your bros" can afford isn't enough to confuse me, you don't forget to mention that you haven't had sex since August, so how do I respond to that? I relay that I am so readily available to you, readily available to wake up to lovers hues and locked finger tips. The idea is dismissed just as quickly as I proposed it. You plant these ideas of teaching me of womanhood. They're watered with your attention and your time-for-snapping selection. 

What am I to you? Just one more girl you use to boost your ego?

What am I to you? A girl you can confide in when your self esteem is low?

What am I to you? A friend you find comfort in and think nothing of what you do?

What am I to you? A potential lover you're embarrassed to be seen with?

Because while all these can be true, and I'll never know for sure... I'll never know. You keep your feelings locked up and pushed aside so that I can't ever reach them. But I'm still so hung up on reaching you, no matter the distance -latitude or longitude. 

And with that you promise,"Don't worry, I'll come visit you," more times than I can gather. But when I ask you when, you shy away from a response. You drive my hopes high and cut off the strings. The balloon of my hopes disappear into the air and become mere delusions. And despite how you love to see how you can cause a reaction, countless times you deny my efforts of a true advancement; to coat your fingers with paint so that you can trace your name on my thighs, treating you rapture with my eyes.

Crossing Paths

I am so at the brink of falling in love with you that if I see you one last time I'll helplessly end in an abyss of self loathing and admiration for you. And I thank the trains of New York for running on different avenues, because it ensures that we won't ever have to cross paths.

Glacier- like Love

Global warming and love are synonymous. It punctures holes in you the way that the sun rays puncture holes in the ozone layer. 

People don't want to hear the truth of the destruction, so topics of global warming stay silent. 

Shhhh, baby... It's only a euphemism. Don't be so loud, people don't want to hear us. They don't want to be stained by the toxic yet fruitful wayes of young teenage attempts of romance. 

And so love is cyclical in nature- like a glacier puncturing wounds in desolate, dependent hearts, and sun rays that kiss my cheeks and bring me from the dark. 

(A written attempt that compares love to global warming in a way that people don't want to hear about your love life or passionate attempts in the same way people are reluctant to believe in global warming) 

// shirls rey //

On Women's Equality & Sexuality

I was riding the train from the Bronx back to the Village. And all you here are some Latinos (probably Dominican) talking about this one girl who gave head to some guy.

One girl said, "diablo ahora tu puedes ir donde ella por que tu sabes que ella es fácil. Tu le dice algo bonito y ya tu sabe que ella te lo da haci, como si na"

In other words, they were calling her easy and a whore. That because she got with one guy she is willing to sleep around with the whole team.

Confession #3

If my love for you were a car in the streets of downtown, I’d embody the figure of a New York City cab. I’d be the never ending memory that drives through your heart and stains your existence with that of my own because there are no stop signs in your mind. 

The steady rumbling of wheels on gravel would play a sober bass note to the symphony that is otherwise known as rush hour chaos. Every honk that zooms past you would be the melodramatic exaggeration of the raging beat of my heart. Every angry driver would channel my distress as they yell, “Watch where you’re going, you idiot!” just like I’ve always said. 

“Watch where you’re going, you idiot!” Because you walked all over my feelings. You stained my existence with that of your own. Slowly running out on top of me. You don’t notice the harm that you have caused me; my dependence on your validation, my need for your love, my delusion of being loved…

And then there are all the women you flaunted, all of my trust that you took for granted. You made me weaker inside, and I just wanted to be strong. 

I love you, and you never loved me, but I always sat next to you because I wanted to be noticed desperately. I’d contradict my beliefs and straighten my hair. I’d do it just to see if you would even care. I’d wake up early and change my face, all so that you would feel inclined to hold me in your embrace.

I want every honk to be my yells of “fuck you!” And you’ll go crazy inside and lose your mind. I’ll be everywhere you turn, the regret of leading me on will eat you alive. It will taunt you with my anger, taunt you with my heartbreak, my sadness, remorse. 

At least I wish it would…

Because the reality is that you’re the yellow cab and I see you everywhere. 
Instead every angry driver yells at me. “Watch where you’re going, you idiot!" because I’m too distracted to notice anything but you. 

I can’t fathom all the energy I’ve spent thinking about you. You claim to have seen my strength, beauty and independence, but you stripped it from me with one look. One gaze from you was like a sun ray reaching to kiss me warmly in my cheek on a Sunday morning. It was a soft gaze, welcoming. An indicator of all being good. 

You entrusted me with your secrets, your problems. You asked me for my help, and like a docile sheep in a flock I conformed to your every demand of me. I would do just about anything to see you satisfied, to have you pleased with me. I’d do it all because I wanted you to have a reason to come back to me, to see me as valuable as I saw you. 

My delusions raced ahead of me and I treasured our talks. What seemed intimate to me, was just a form of manipulation from you. And just when I believed you felt the same about me, you told me about girl one, girl two, girl three. 
And so still I say “fuck you!” …

But deep inside, I still want you to fuck me too.

Confession #2

Sometimes I stare out my window when I think of you. 

It's okay that I'm not the girl of your dreams, or the one you took to prom. It's okay that I'm just a jaded memory, and not the one held in your arms.

I just want to be the girl who moved on. Who's curly hair you think about twenty years from now when you mow the lawn, wishing you didn't trim it so low because now it's too short to resemble the wind blowing through my wild curls. 

And when you think it's over, and reality's resumed, I'll be the girl you think about while you have your morning coffee. You'll sit at your desk, coffee in hand, wishing you hadn't poured so much milk in because now it's too creamy to resemble my dark brown eyes.

Confession #4

Once I bought the wrong perfume, but I've worn it every day since. You said you loved the smell of it, that it was reminiscent of rainy days. It reminded you of your aunt, and in some ways I liked that.

I wanted to be that comfort to you, the cozy feeling of being nestled together on a rainy day with the only thing between us being the scent of that perfume. 

I want your time with me to feel like home.

Confession #1

FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT

I wanted him to be my first, my second, my only. And while I imagine him loving me, my curls serve as a curtain against the outside world, all that exists is one boy and one girl. Delusions race while the mundane, yet equally exciting world continues without me. And as I lay in bed, I imagine his hands. They outline the rounds of my body, sink into my curves. And I feel beautiful. I picture his silhouette in the walls before me -it hovers above mine as he holds me in his arms. And it tickles below as I imagine his tongue, but the loud distant horns distracts me from imagining more, and I’m left aware that I lay alone.

Rant on the Lack of Representation for PoC at NYU

I highkey thought that I was going to enjoy NYU because it is a liberal school. Well, it appears to only be liberal for it's white student population.

Of course The Tab NYU has posted two articles on the White Student Union already, but they are refusing to publish my piece because giving the people of color point of view is too controversial for the NYU community. They also denied me when I wrote about Mizzou and how it was affecting students on campus. Like I'm so sorry you are concerned about losing potential donors that would give you millions of dollars like they did for Poly (my b, I meant "Tandon") School of Engineering because PoC want to express how they feel.

You didn't need to fact check anything and "speak to your supervisor" when the last two posts were merely giving tribute to the page. Just because now it is confirmed to be a hoax it doesn't mean that there aren't people who said rude bigotry towards people of color and that we didn't suffer a virtual attack to our race.

I'm f****g tired of NYU giving me the short end of things, why on earth would you not want the community to understand how people of color feel about the situation on campus. It's not even so much about the actual union, but instead those that would support the union, and those that are attributing the union with their own fundamentals, and those that are emphasizing their "white supremacy." Why would you post an article interviewing the creator of the page and not cover how it affects people and how they are reacting?

It's not even about it being he hoax, it's about the reaction it is causing and having people understand that.

In his words, the reason it isn't being published is because:

"You yourself wrote even though it may be a hoax it's still important to address, which I agree with you completely. We just don't want to keep harping on the group because we don't want to keep implicitly legitimizing them past the two things we've already published. It's not about your opinions it's about the group," because of course let's protect the group and how white people feel and how they are being oppressed by the 5% of the student body that is black.

He then messaged me and said "get rid of anything having to do with the White Student Union and to shape your piece into a stand alone op-ed on race issues at NYU." 

Like yeah, let's just ignore the whole white side of the story when it is in a PoC's point of view and let's just make it sound like more black people being angry about race, let's just get rid of all the evidence.

Like yes, it is about my opinion, and the thousands more at this school, because the point of The Tab is to address what's happening. How tf you only address like 10% of it? Who cares that it's a hoax, there are people left and right supporting this, and consciously marginalizing students of color. 

It's okay to address the alleged "death threats" that the developer has received, but not the social injustices and overall threat PoC receive from racist slurs and the overall existence of the page? I thought NO ONE knew the developer of the page, so how tf are they receiving death threats? Ok. Cool.

Bet you if I wrote a kumbaya on how to spend thanksgiving in the dorms when you cant go away for the break he would publish that dumb sh** in a heart beat.

GOT ME TIGHT
GOT ME TIGHT
GOT ME TIGHT

The Controversy Surrounding the NYU White Student Union

Why watch SNL, when you can have all your satire from the NYU White Student Union page... oh wait, that's not satire. That's actually how they feel.

Lamenting the Stigma Towards Harlem

In "Fifth Avenue, Uptown," author James Baldwin argues that not much is done to ensure the well being of the black community. He argues this by relaying that if you walk through Harlem you will see men and women that are high and that they only become "animated" when they see someone that can lend them money for a fix, or when they are purchasing the substances that will keep them in that current state.

Reflection #1

Yesterday was the first day that we talked about Mizzou in one of my LS classes. I was surprised to hear that so many people (and let me point out the fact that the majority the class is white and that I am the only person of color in the class) knew little to nothing about Mizzou, or any events similar to it. I was heart broken. I couldn't even put together the words to try to explain it to them. Of course they all knew what happened with Paris because the media only cares about exposing when white people are being the victim of a terrorist attack. But people of color are terrorized every day by extremist groups. But of course we only broadcast when people of color are doing something wrong in society, never when something wrong is being done to them.

America: Allies With The World, Enemies With Their Own Citizens

Just hours after the horrific attack in Paris, Secretary of State John Kerry held a press conference and said, "I want to make sure that it absolutely crystal clear, that the United States stands with France, and the rest of the world, in our resolve to eliminate and discourage violent extremist groups from the face of the earth."

We Stand With You, Mizzou

I am proud to be an NYU student. It is undeniable that there are many progressive youngins like myself devoted to raising awareness and making a change. For the last few days my FB timeline has been inundated with statuses all making the same statement:

To the students of color at Mizzou, we, student allies at New York University, stand with you in solidarity. To those who would threaten their sense of safety, the world is watching. #ConcernedStudent1950 #InSolidarityWithMizzou

From left to right: Chuma Osse, Orville Edwards, Isis Bruno, Thomas Fortune, Andrea Davis, Azula Wilson