Progressing Through the Stages by dtba

Authorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Note:

INDEX:

Part 1Â

Age 18 Fluorescent Adolescent

Boy Muse #1Â

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.

Calle de Jorge Juan Madrid, Spain

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. “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… 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. 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.

Britton Street Bronx, New York

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 ways 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.

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Madrid, Spain

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.

InsecuritiesÂ

Locked Those locks became locked straight In her routine efforts to assimilate She looked at the reflection with content: she fostered to create an image than can be upheld by men. But her inside screamed of regret and the locks screamed of reject.

DRAWING OF NATURAL VS STRAIGHT HAIR

Flooded Her confidence was only a mere projection of who she wanted to be Because on the inside she was fighting a battle worse than the ones overseas. The water came in, and flooded her from within. Such that she was drowning in an abyss and contemplating sin. Her remains floated to the surface, and that's where she stood. An eternal portrayal of who she wanted to be, a self creation from the womb.

Malecon Havana, Cuba

Purple Hues of Disapproval

The purple hues of fist sculpted wounds dented her face, shoulders, stomach and thoughts as she beat herself up with her self-conscious hate and disapproval of herself.

Daydreams

MayagĂźez, Puerto Rico

Only Ones Who Know I wish to speak intricately placed words that ignite a light and splatter a juxtaposition of colors on the canvas of your heart.

Beauty in a Stranger I fell in love with the idea of him playing his guitar while we laid askew on his bed. I’d wear one of his white T’s while he only wore the guitar around his chest. I’d hide under his white sheets which bore the smell of him, and I, and us. And he’d play to me and I’d sing to him and our bodies would melt into one and it would be a beautiful juxtaposition of two brown skins finding harmonious peace in each other

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It’s in… It's the arc of your eyebrows And the fullness of your lips That makes me want to drown in you As you swim in my abyss

Lingering thoughtsÂ

daddyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s little girl Broken women are looking for a god and men are looking for broken women He takes her, goes in, she relinquished herself to him. Virginity: masked with big, nice, round titties Virginity: masked with big thighs, the size of cities <<She's cumming>> //She came// She comforts herself because it's to a church she came. And at the end of his torso is where she kneels and prays.

gangs? my whole life i heard "soo-woo" out my window it was something i didn’t know but it was frequent, like the crow calls from birds perched outside my home men pitched it high and low so i started calling too out my humble dyckman abode something "birds" surely do didn’t know what a gang was, but i sure knew what they do scare, murk and kill niggas even for a two by two but no one taught me the difference between family and a gang so in my notebooks i scratched in “ABT” said it’s cause that’s my sister’s dad

Dancing Smoke Thick smoke fills the apartment full of roaches, and I imagine it dancing. I spin under it as it envelops me, and I so desperately want to become it, easily disappearing in the air. In the smoke Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve made a friend, One who keeps me company while my mother holds her cigarette in her hands Every time she smokes, my friend returns, and I trial after it...as I desperately trail after her. We danced together, the smoke and I. Gray clouds that I floated on. She concentrated on every inhale, every blow, So I started to flush them down the toilet, hoping that would bring me some attention, but it didn't work. My friend came back, and I said I was sorry, said my mother loved her more than her daughterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s own folly. The smoke took a disliking towards me, and the air made me choke, and I sucked on my pacifier, hoping to revoke, all the memories of our friendship, as a means to cope.

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The Absurd "I feel like people think this is weird" But we are just over thinking People are so used to having trivial conversations to pass the time, so it scares them when they hear something out the ordinary... The absurd

Skeletal Worms Sometimes i feel like a worm that has been uprooted from the ground and placed in an inhabitable situation. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m waiting for an eagle to swoop me up, fly over the atlantic, and return me to the sahara, where the sun casts birds shadows, trees stretch above me, and animals run free. People are skeletal worms

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Age 19 Inquisitive AND Nostalgic

The Air Something in the air isn’t right Its suffocating me Wrapping itself around my throat And i can't breathe i can't think straight i cant see right i can’t be me … The sun is blocked off by the clouds The atmosphere is white The people are white My white socks have holes in them My white shoes are dirt filled, too small for my feet My house in the bronx has no ceiling Large roaches fly everywhere Mahogany floor boards are lifted... The way my soul has been lifted And my mahogany colored skin lingers in the streets It lingers like an empty vessel Soulness Lacking inspiration, motivation Lacking purpose

The atmosphere is white The people in the east village are white My roommate is white My mother is white

I’m brown Brown like the soil Brown like worn out bricks “Brown like the perception of who’s on welfare”

My school is for white folks The education is for white folks And i’ve been patted into the soil Like a worm

And i feel as though a crow will soon come down to pick me up Swallow me up A black crow, so violent A white dove, so gentle

I walk through the east village, my mind has been shaped by third avenue Clean room, no roaches, no rats An east village fantasy I say fantasy because in the Bronx my section 8 housing is falling apart I won’t visit my mother because I’m ashamed of where i’ve come out Another empty vessel that has shaped me Like a matryoshka doll A mentality that is bricks, Artificially forced to fit concretely But my mentality yonders everywhere The way these bricks will when the world comes crashing down

Climate change We will be our own demise

Roads The white lines on roads are ever so likely to not get crossed, like the whites in society. Wheels roll on the asphalt. Black wheels, on black roadsâ&#x20AC;Ś Roads that are ever so likely to stay black and be rolled over. Like the blacks in society are ever so likely to get crossed. Why is fear and hate associated with darkness and blackness, while good and purity are associated with light and whiteness? My skin is the asphalt And society is the wheels that aims to tread over me. I stayed dark because people donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t dare to cross the white lines But they dare to cross black people all the time. This hatred was imposed on me From West Africa, to the the depths of the Caribbean Sea, to the ghettos of New York, to this PWI I rise.

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Boy Muse #3

Untitled 1 He is the flower for the windowsill. Something beautiful to look at, radiant when he smiles. A je ne sais quoi. I am inclined to say that it is a sort of a Platonic relationship. I mean, I guess that happens when people are mysteries to each other, and I suppose that’s what he is.

The radiancy in his smile, is echoed in my laugh.

INSERT ILLSUTRATION Of FLOWER POT ON WINDOWSILL

Untitled 2 Ever since I met you, since the last time I saw you, I've been scared to spend time with myself. I'm afraid that if I allow myself to be alone, the person that I am when I'm alone will reject me. I was so used to the idea of being the person I am with you, that i was scared to be the person that I am with myself. But the more I spent time with myself, the more I realized that you are a mirror of me, that I am the same person alone that I am with you, because with you I never had to be anyone else. Makes me wish that I was there where you are, in the comfort of your skin color as we blend together the way the Barcelona sand blends with the sun rays. We will walk the world as one, because in your hair texture, skin color, lips and spirit I've found an echo of my soul. I spent time with myself and knew that a part of me is missing, that part of me is you.

Untitled 3 I cry over you as if I'm crying over your dead body, hunched over and devoid of any emotions other than the longing for your presence. The thing is, you might as well have died, because all that exists of you are the memories that I hold on to dearly.

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Boy Muse #4

M.M. In my solitude, dear, I found you Under dim lighting with a green cross beaming behind you. The orange lamp light caught your eyes and in your warm brown eyes I saw the red fire of my passion for you. Shaped like horizontal crescent moons, your eyes bring forth tears in mine, pure joy, pure beauty and pure feelings of solitude. By Chelsea Piers I found myself wishing to be sailing with you. Lucky day, oh lucky day when we cast gray clouds away, and pink sunset hues jealousy come to kiss your face. But I fear my impulsivity, and behind my camera I hide. Through its lens I see the sweetest boy come to life. The pink hues on your brown skin, the dull water behind me I take your pictures and think, “don’t let his tenderness harm me.” The World Trade Building stretches behind you. You sit quietly on the bench while I bend down before you. Through my lens is the only way I can stare, the only way I can admire the beauty, and tranquility of your existence. I see the tenderness of your stare, the rounds of your face and the fullness of your lips. The broadness of your shoulder, the width of your hands And on this lucky day, where we casted gray clouds away, I wish I was the pink sunset kissing your face.

World Trade Center Manhattan, New York

Chelsea Piers Chelsea, New York

Age 20Â

Boy Muse #5

I treated you like the boy of my dreams, even though you didn’t deserve it, even though I knew you didn’t deserve it. I was holding on to the desire for so long was willing to relinquish a bit of myself to you, if you would have me. You did, and then you were no longer interested. What happened? What caused you to become distant even though you were mesmerized by my manner of speaking, my artistic and linguistic talents and my body. You opened up to me, only to shut the door in my face. Although you shut it lightly it still hurt. Women have to be play toys, entertainments, and the ones that lift boys up; whereas boys walk around unconcerned about the girl they just hurt, the girl who has been waiting for a boy that wouldn’t hurt her to come by. that’s exactly what you did.

Goya Metro Stop Madrid, Spain

Introducing a New Yorker to Madrid Feb 3rd, 2018 Sometimes I get lost within the New York City subway station in order to find myself, to get lost in my thoughts and decipher my ambitions. These ambitions have taken me to Madrid, and now I’m lost in time and space where street performers say “no le tengan miedo al negro.” Where migrants live in fear, not because they can be deported, but because they can get arrested for selling purses and umbrellas in the metro or on the streets. Where a “Refugees are Welcome” sign blows in the air, but there is no Opinio Juris. Where Spain pays Morocco and Turkey to alleviate the influx of refugees and migrants. Where flyers of seductive Latin American women are left on windshield wipers to promote prostitution. Where Asians are stigmatized. Where most of the people of color are seen in one neighborhood, Cuatro Caminos. At a Dominican restaurant I eat mofongo. The waitress swipes my credit card and tells me, “the bank is the government, and all they seek is to steal all our money.” She isn’t wrong. Think about redlining. Think about the tax on your purchases. Think about the foreign transaction fees. Think about the cost of national security. When the issues don’t concern race, they concern the economy. On the metro people look at me, some intently, some curiously, some at a quick glance but, on the metro, people look at me. They don’t look away if you notice them, so early on in my ventures in Spain I noticed the difference; noticed my color, noticed my hair, noticed my hips. I noticed my clothes, noticed my accent, noticed by inner-city speech. I noticed how I did not fit into their perception of Spanish identity. Madrid, with your colors and silence, I wonder how you truly perceive me.

Travel Dreams February 7th, 2018

I go under the turnstile and take the uptown number 6 train I get off on Castle Hill, watch the train speed away, and descend onto the rail tracks I follow it’s route downtown until I descend underground into Hunts Point, where graffitti paves the path into a tunnel. I submerge above ground and, instead of brick buildings with graffiti, I see a lake, trees and a cathedral. Neuchatel is before me and it’s composite of stone buildings, hills and silence ease my thoughts. I stand before le Lac De Neuchâtel, in awe of its tranquility. I step one foot into it, and fall into an abyss, one in which the water hugs me and carries me gently into La Seine, where the river has flooded and a tree is submerged ¾ deep. I see the Eiffel tower in the distance and to it I am carried by the wind. Crows pierce the sounds in Pere Lachaise, they pierce the sounds in El Escorial, they pierce the sounds in Dyckman. The light pierces my eyes, and the atmosphere seems nostalgic, heat waves make me melt, and in the waves I am drifted like sand grains to Barcelona's beach. Oh Dyckman, how far I’ve wondered from your eerie trees, invisible crows and subway tunnels.

Le Cathedral de Neuchâtel Neuchâtel, Switzerland

La Seine Pont des Arts Paris, France

INSERT SOMETHING

sometimes you overlook what certain people look like because you are enamored by the way that they speak and the ways in which they act. often times; however, the ways that you feel about certain people can be very much influenced by the way that they look. that can be either to a fault or a gain, enjoying someone because of their beauty is just as justifiable as enjoying them for their beauty and personality. the optimal way to be regarded should entail an appreciation of both your personality and your physical attributes.

Paris, France

dead weight and negative energy can leave an eerie presence in your psyche. like stank bud.

Segovia, Spain