Last week a good friend of mine performed a piece at DPL that pretty much blew everyone away. I will try not to clutter this post with too much background. So with that said, I present to you a very talented writer and performer, Danielle Bennett, and my new favorite piece of hers, “Grace”.
I’m the kind of book that does well
Getting plucked off of shelves
Thumb through me
And you’ll see my chapters
Are titled by achievement:
Ch. 1: Nobody Picks on the Baby
Ch. 5: President of Everything
Ch. 12: Captain, Leader, Queen, etc.
There was never enough space on resumes and applications
For my table of contents
Played out
“I’m proud of you”
Until it wasn’t said anymore
Tried new ways
To wear the good girl
Until she didn’t fit anymore
Wrote pages predicated on
The belief that I
Actually add up
To everything I project
But I’m certain
If you read carefully
Enough
Scrawls in the margins
Faded footnotes
You won’t remember
Whatever you loved about the cover
Won’t be able to happily recall
The paragraphs we laughed together
Read carefully
And you’ll see on page 15
In pencil is scribbled the things I did
As a result of being molested
Very little punctuation
Mostly just questions
Notice how they are not
About making me stronger
Cross-reference my confusion
From that point on
On page 36
There’s a rough estimate laundry list
Of boys I had kissed
By the time I was 17.
Far too long for lips so young
Some day I will rip this off
To save it from the man I marry
Will never want him to picture that much practice for his
On pg 44 there was Jesus
Ruining my life
Then rebuilding it again
And scattered through the chapters after
Are all the moments I hid it even happened
On page 59
Were the times my boyfriend and me
Walked into church together
On Sunday mornings
Pretending we felt forgiven
Enough
To forget Saturday nights
Flirted with our patience for marriage
It wasn’t okay with me
Said plenty
Did nothing
But play British colonialists:
Drew ourselves boundaries,
Then invaded them
On page 61
I know you’ll squint to find it,
The time I looked another man in the eye
Different that the one I said
“I love you” to
And let my body
Speak for weaknesses
Didn’t even love him
Didn’t even like him like that
Stole whatever validation he could offer
Turned myself in
Got forgiven
But could never give it back
I am still handcuffed to the night
I ran a knife threw the heart of the best man I knew
On page 72 I swore I’d never burn that kind of pain
On someone else’s paper again
But have spent the pages since
Pushing its limits
Thumb through me
And you’ll learn how
Sometimes I smile without listening
How I’ve tried to pay for solutions
Instead of praying for solutions
How I hide guilt for gossip
By calling it venting
How I’ll nod in acquiescence
So I don’t have to deal with the discomfort of different
On the past couple pages
I’ve been crossing my T’s
With so much sincerity
I shed tears when my ink bleeds
Drop to my knees
Every time we sing
‘that saved a wretch like me’
Like me
Like me
On the last pages
You’ll see the ink getting lighter
Lines less straight,
Bending into crevices
Like the crows feet on my grandfather’s face
Life reading almost as messy
As it actually is
Words more honest
But never enough
To squeeze in the things
I’m still ashamed of
The present I try to bury
By the hour
Just so I can call it past
And blame it on my youth
And work on my life
Always writing the truth
Last Sunday I got a chance to meet the founder and owner of the Johnny Cupcakes brand. Although we had a very normal conversation and I thought he was just another cool guy, during our, maybe 20 minute, conversation…a total of about 6 kids came up to him for an autograph on totally different occasions. I was obviously underestimating this guy’s impact on people. He also mentioned his lecture series, where he goes to different schools and and speaks about how he started and giving advice to young entrepreneurs. Education is one of the main themes in my life so that earned my respect faster than anything else. Not only did he create a brand, but a stand alone brand that cant really be lumped in with any other category of textiles. Credit where it’s due, but mostly where its earned…hope you enjoy the video.
I’ve created a tumblr, for everything I want to post, but i feel would disrespect this site haha. So with no further ado, I present www.TheRIGAMAROLE.tumblr.com
The unlucky are nothing more than a frame of reference for the lucky. You are unlucky, so I may know that I am. Unfortunately the lucky never realizes they are lucky until it’s too late. Take yourself for instance; yesterday you were better off than you are off today but it took today for you to realize it. But today has arrived and it’s too late. You see? People are never happy with what they have. They want what they had, or what others have. The grass is always greener on the other side.
-The Rabbi
A year ago today, I lost a very close friend, and now I am humbled by life’s reminders of how human we all are. Diron was the last person I would ever think to worry about, and as I sit and think of how many of my loved ones choose to live a life that is considered less than safe…Diron was not one of them. The biggest tragedy is knowing how great he would have been, had he been allotted as much time here as we all take for granted. Being there as he passed was one of the hardest things I had to deal with, seeing his mother remain strong as we all broke down to the most honest parts of our character, reminded me of my own mother…built of bricks, and the idea that someone has to be strong in all this. I believe that all women have this capacity, and that you get your powers as soon as your child is born. At that moment your life gets away from you…and starts becoming for someone else.
I find my heroes in the not so comic pages of tragedy, in the understanding that we are all fibers of the same cloth. What you choose to do with your gifts and your character, is none of my business. All I know is I have plenty of people up there watching me, and rooting for me to succeed. Not to mention a few down here as well, and for that I am thankful. These are the moments where I find god. These are the moments when I can look in someones eyes and understand that they are more than human. These are the moments that I think of when someone asks me about how I grew up…
…where I can hold my chin up high and respond, “humbly, yet without limit.”
I miss you bro.
I am for people. I can’t help it.
-Charlie Chaplin
Last night i had the pleasure of attending an event at Madame Royal in Hollywood. Needless to say the time spent in the venue was enjoyed. The setting of our story is the front of the venue, by the valet stand and next to my car. I will be playing the protagonist, Youssef, and the attendant who remains unnamed will assume the role of the antagonist.
I approached him with an unspoken sense of optimism, since countless people, night after night, trust him with one of their most valued possessions, I had an underlying notion that this guy was good at his job, or so I thought…
I take the smart key, which can remain in my pocket as i start my car, in most cases, and place it in my pocket where it belongs. I proceeded to start my car, yet my car had other intentions, so it gracefully declined.
I step out of the car and head towards our villain…
“Excuse me, sir, are you sure this is my key? the car won’t start”
he then proceeds to speak in a division of sub-English I have now dubbed: scared and confused until the problem goes away and says…
“No, that’s the only infiniti on the lot…aaah…I don’t know,
…
I gave you the key”
I not-so-calmly reply, “I’m aware you gave me the key, but the question is, did you break it?”
The antogonist repeats “No, that’s the only infiniti on the lot…aaah… I don’t know,
…
I gave you the key”
*shoots him a death gaze*
I go back and give it a few more college tries before i arrive at the brilliant idea, maybe i should open the key and check if maybe the battery has come lose. Why if that were the case, I would owe our attendant here an apology for my disgruntled tone of voice… I open the key and the battery is in fact…GONE!
I hop back out of my car, because we now have a whole no situation on our hands. I am no longer dealing with an incompetent, I am now dealing with a thief!
“Gimme’ back my battery.”
“No, that’s the only infiniti on the…”
“Don’t start that shit again. Gimme’ back my battery!”
“I gave you the key, sir.”
“You gave me part of my key, sans the battery. I want the battery.”
“I dunno sir.”
In a much calmer tone I proceeded:
“Look…sir…I drove here. So simple deduction would lead us to believe the key had a battery in it when i pulled up, or else my operation of the automobile would have been impossible. Now if you dropped the key and didn’t know how to put it back together, thats okay… Just tell me where you dropped it, so i can have somewhere to begin my search and rescue.”
Now here’s where it gets good…
“I didn’t break your key! … But you should check the cup holder.”
“Wait did you just go behind your own back and give me insider information? Why should i check the cup holder? Are you admitting you dropped my key and just threw the battery into the cup holder in a pathetic means to get rid of the evidence?”
“No, I didn’t aah drop it, but check in the cup holder…”
I excuse myself and start towards the car to take a peek into my cup holder and in the mists of quarters dimes nickels and pennies, what do I find?
THE FUCKING BATTERY!
I am relieved but definitely still insulted…so I head back over to Dr. Evil…
“It was there…but I want to know more about its journey and how it got there… Humor me.”
“No, that’s the only infiniti on th…”
“I’m familiar with your automated response. I’m just confused about how the battery nightcrawlered its way out of my key and you, Professor X, telepathically communicated with my battery, asked it where it was, and then helped us solve the case.”
“No, that’s the only infiniti on th…”
“Goodnight.”
She was everything I thought I would ever want, to ever want, to ever want…
She said the perfect words, whenever I needed to hear her speak.
And was perfectly silent, whenever I needed to hear her smile.
She finished my thoughts, with actions.
And she sinned me closer to god.
Her walk rhymed
Her hair danced
Her eyes saw a better me into fruition
She created every time she was in my presence
And every few minutes, I would thank her
Just in case there was something I missed.
It was love at first sight, of the day
Each day
I swear it’s like I wrote you into existence
…because I did.
It’s easy to fall in love with the girl in your poems!!!
You wrote her!
She’s not real!
If you were a poem, I could easily love you.
If you were a song I wrote, then maybe you would finally be stuck in my head
If you were a joke, I’d tell you whenever I got nervous or felt awkward,
If you were a story, you would be my legacy…
But you’re none of those things,
You’re a girl, with all these other plans…
I’m tired of falling in love with questions,
Only to be let down by there answers…
Why act mysterious if you have nothing to reveal?
I’m tired of impressing you, until you lose my attention.
Is it too much to ask that my wife, my muse, and my mistress, all be the same woman?
How lucky are you that this is just a poem you’re hearing, and not one you’re sharing
You were simply an idea; you died, when I thought you
Died again when I wrote you
And now a third time as I speak you
I can write about you all day, but at the end of the day…
All I’ve done is lie, and wait.
You keep throwing me Faberge feelings
Like I’m supposed to know who they’re meant for…
If you weren’t so fiction, I’d be much more enthusiastic
Less inclined to laugh when you say, I’m not like the other girls…
Just like the other girls do.
I would take you much more serious, if I haven’t met you before time and time again
I won’t be so quick to run blindfolded around in your china soul
Breaking things and laughing
Demand my equilibrium away from me, and maybe you’ll have my attention.
You were supposed to be the one riddle I was in no rush to solve…
My Snapple fact.
I see you when the moon looks too big to be real.
You were supposed to help my change the world,
Or at the very least change my world
But instead you will always be great literature, wastefully read by a scientist
Or a beautiful algorithm wastefully attempted by a poet
I’ve written all these rules and stipulations…
But to be honest, I’m waiting for the girl with a canon for a voice, who hurricanes into my life and gently whispers “no, this is what you look for, in a woman.”
