I am an ARTIST. A literal personification of poetry. Poetic Taieja. My heart the pen, my mind the paper. I am a poem, 5'10 of lines that rhyme, metaphors trapped in my toes and similes twitching in my nose. 22 years of art. Anger and angst fluffy in my fro. I hide my favorite lines in the space between my neck and collarbone. My tune is smooth or so I've been told. Finding the truth in my own soul. I would not be complete without these word swirling in my dome. Being poetic Taieja is all I've even known.
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Stats: Feb. '92
Never Married (Single)
since it has been just me and my thoughts. Lately all of this life bullshit has interrupted the work I try to continuously push into myself to become different. Not always better, but to be growing and changing and making mistakes and learning. I missed class again I’m not sure if it’ll hinder me in passing or what, but I’ll tell you this, it’s an awful class. It’s not conducive to my goals, the environment is intimidating and I’m tired of defending myself. This game where I try to be better than you simply because I’m black and have to work so much harder than you, is exhausting. I quit this too. I’m over all of this, to work to constantly struggle, because I was born into this existence. Fuck this, I’ll fail, I’ll end up not graduating and I’ll be fine with that. Cause I’m tired.
It’s taken all my life to be worthy to myself.
If this world takes that, I’ll die.
It is hard enough just being.
I don’t want to work so hard to stay alive.
I don’t want to work so hard to feel alive.
I just want to be.
Black. woman. human. sexual. quiet. unsure. tired. happy. loud.
I am worthy here, in my mind, but to go out there to prove it everyday.
I’ll die if I stop feeling worthy, alive, living.
I don’t want to be my own martyr. My own hero in a fight I didn’t start, didn’t ask to join, never wanted to happen.
I’ll die out there.
Die black, woman, sexual, quiet, unsure, tired, loud.
Die a martyr. The world will paint me happy, human, me.
But if they kill me, if I die out in their world, my life will be seen unworthy.
Trapped in my mind, I have seen many wars, each time I died, rose from the ashes anew, and slowly.
Me. Black. Woman. Loud. Sexual. Tired. Unsure. Tired. Loud. Worthy.