My National Anthem

Wasteland America

Land of wasted love
Land of haste
Land of abundance
(Behind wallS of illuSion)
Land of denial
HySteria, and political liarS

Wasteland America

Land of wasted Dreams
Land of poverty
Glitter hope in magazines
Filled with sex pages
And erotic scenery
Homogenized land of commodity
Destroyed individuality
Capital ads and tv screens created
To sell you coke and “sexy beer”
Where your fellow peers lie in fear
Of being poked and prodded by
batons and needles
Because that one hit just feels so close that you can’t escape the point of it

Can’t escape the truth
That you’re living in treachery,

This is the country in which I was born
Where a child screams in online porn
Where sex trafficking victims are forced to serve
Undeniable acts of torture
The only boundaries —
Cosmetic lines

While living creatures
Are shredded to pieces
And human beings
Submit to slavery
I ask myself
Why? How?
Why … do we have brains
To think of elaborate schemes
Yet we sit in apathy?
How … do I allow this to persist
How is it
My fellow peers, citizens or not
Can allow this
System to persist?
A perpetual cycle of pSychological abuse
Intolerance of culture and creativity
Where we flush away gallons of water
While others walks miles for the nearest pump
The nearest pump 10 miles away …

WaSteland America,
                                Oh Say can you See?


In the violent shaft, there’s a hole in which you will 
awaken — a cold, mysterious, deep, hollow, empty 


One that you will constantly fall 

and may even fail to recognize when you’re in one. 

You may feel incapable, 
but I assure you, sooner 
or later, 
someone will notice those bright colored wings 
which you bear,
so do not be afraid to open them up, 
for such beauty should be shared in this 
hideous, cruel world. 

Why I’m Not “Good People”


Jenny's Library

I’m not a nice person.

I’m not a good person.

I’m not a kind person.

This isn’t to say that I don’t ever try to be any of these three things.  I do, especially the last two.

It’s more to say that, for me, surviving in this cissexist, racist, ableist, heteronormative, classist, often fucked up world of ours has involved rejecting the idea that “good” and “bad” are static states of being.  I will never be a “good person” because, to me, “good” is not something that you achieve.  It’s an ongoing process that never ends.

It is, in fact, almost impossible not to be doing bad things as well as good when you are human and therefore flawed.  Especially when you are part of a messed up system, as we all are.

This, to me, is why it’s important to call out bad behavior, or hurtful language, or even…

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Not Another Sorry

Fuck sorry! It’s a pathetic excuse for trying to get pity out of someone for something you know you’re responsible for. It’s a selfish attempt to redeem one’s own conscious. Or a lousy aim to show empathy for something you could care less about. Someone was just paralyzed by another fucking reckless, miserable, drunk driver. Someone lost their son, their mother, their co-worker, their student, their mentor, their lover, their only hope for escaping this world.

If I hear another lousy “sorry”, I might lash out on the next person whose mouth utters that word. The word itself is an effortless pertrusion of slippery two syllables.

… and yet, I say sorry everyday ❤

Finally, springtime!

I cannot begin to tell you how amazing it is to be able to smoke outside again, during the winter it was so cold, I couldn’t bother. 

He had a girlfriend the whole fucking time. I still believed him! He just thinks everyone is inferior to him! That’s it! Why else think so low of me? Unless he was honest- wait, did I seriously just say that? Honest! Ha! When was the last time I was honest? I doubt only what I can see, and I know

Nothing !

As I walk back to my dorm (the long scenic path back) I begin to panic, thinking of the scenarios I’ll be introduced to, & I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown …

Analyzing Ignorance & Shattering Reflections

We see

we do

We feel

we say

We act

‘We’ … the individual building blocks of an American Nation…

‘We’ the very word to represent unity…

‘We’ the congregate backbone…

‘We’ the segregated classes…

We that dictates our constitution?

We with freedom and choice, but no options

We that waves the banner of red white and blue…

We with words, but can’t say and can’t do

The red on our hands, the abusive programming, the tears of desperation and frustration

And remember,

“WE want YOU”

The United States has never been so divided.

My home is




Where do I belong in this?

Rivalry depiction constantly represented in the media

It doesn’t matter if you’re black or white, blue or green, silver speckled with orange or brown. For they are all beautiful colors that I’d rather be exposed to, than be sheltered away from.

I love my country, but I’m a citizen to a nation that scoffs at its own races.

That discriminates not based on character, but the pigments of ones skin and the features of one’s form.

That reflects “minorities” as unwanted outsiders,

that portrays uncanny characteristics and unwelcomes expressive cultures.

When did my country


ways as a nation?


slips through the fingers of its laborers.

but they chant

“Let Freedom Ring”, through a cracked emblem of liberty.

The leaves of the olive branch scorched by  bombs.

The eagle shrieks in fear and anxiety, as a guillotine of economic instability



our throats.

Family can be so critical,

so distancing,

so hateful.

I didn’t have a say in the matter.

Being conceived here sure doesn’t make me feel like the citizen I should.

Instead I feel smothered, I feel my voice muffled by the ignorance of my oppressors.

I feel restricted and limited…

I feel eyes associate the various stereotypes and preconceived notions on me.

I’m pinned with negative connotations before I can even open my mouth!

Before I open my mouth

I have been represented by a class of victimless pawns … a class of individuals, the we of society.

I’m stamped by a certain way of life,

these distinct boundaries are to remind me of where I belong

That moving up is not allowed

Because I don’t fit the cookie cutter prototype

and that dead motto doesn’t apply anymore

“In God We Trust”

Blind hope is just as bad as ignorance. Denial and avoidance, lying low for reassurance.

America: land of the constrained and home of the cowardice.

My fellow clueless citizens, my unaware neighbors and misinformed friends.

You’ve got a friend in me, and a friend in need.

Unfold your bandages, i implore you to act.

let’s put to rest the opportunity offered to oppress.

I am me WITHOUT reflection.

oh say, can you see


is an excruciating feeling of abandonment. It almost seems unfathomable to move on and let go. How do we healthily detach, how do  we become so attached in the first place? 

Why is it we allow ourselves to trust without justification, simply because we “fall in love”. It sounds nice, doesn’t it? To “fall in love”, they don’t tell you how hard that face palm to the ground is, or the huge hole that burrows in your heart. They don’t tell you how irrational you become, how bizarre your insecurity grows. It’s devastating to depend on the words of your lovers. 

We’ve been trained to think critically, to question everything, to look for answers and possibilities. When is enough ever enough? The truth is, humans will never be able to be satisfied. We’re eager to find more, to fulfill ourselves. Love is selfish as I said in a previous post, but the heartbreak is where the lesson lies. If you can get through the emotional turmoil. Most people do, some settle down in self destructive patterns, some never love again. Some people handle it in a positive way, can accept their flaws and those of others and see beyond. 

I have trust issues. We all do. I’m realizing no one’s ever ready to be in a romantic relationship. When it happens, it happens, and we learn what we can from it. 

I like to think there’s someone out there who can dalliance his way through my heart, amuse my soul, and support my every dream. That can make me laugh, and do all my expectations and more… BUT that person is myself. You want to be happy, look inside yourself, you want love, look inside yourself. Eventually you’ll radiate, and attract someone who reflects you, someone who complements you.

Until then, baby steps. 

What is Love?

I’ve come to the awakening conclusion that love is a vacuum. Always taking, but never giving. Love is selfish, it’s an infatuation, an obsession, and only the security of love is what we’re all after.

From the moment we’re conceived in this forsaken world, we’re wrapped in a warm blanket and safe arms. Not even a Red McCarthy scare could shatter that mesmerizing bliss. Just knowing, you are cared for by some abstract form, and knowing here and now is all there is.

Love takes us back before emotions complicated and distorted reality. It reminds us that there is more to live for. Love is a vacuum that pulls away everything else, and leaves only what matters. Love doesn’t have to give back. It shows us already all that we have. It makes us realize how to appreciate and just be uniquely ourselves in this assimilated world. We are uniquely individualistic. Capable of feeling, capable of emotion, capable of empathy, capable of love.

The security of love shows us that although every possible threat of danger lingers in our nearest future, that we don’t have to be afraid because we’re only here for the moment anyways. Although selfish, love offers a new perspective to life. One that focuses on our inner-selves. Peer inside yourself and see what you find. Aren’t you the least bit curious?

Feeling Hopeless

My emotions are high after just leaving home from spring break. The sun is out and it’s decently warm, but I feel nothing. I feel empty inside. I am aware, I know what I’m feeling because I am an individual capable of interpreting myself (although, one of THE hardest tasks). It’s not that I’m giving up, it’s that my interests extend beyond this materialistic, superfluous, media-driven world. I want to connect, to experience, to feel something more than this mundane, automatic setting that seems to be in cruise control. So, I’m a fairly shy person, with reclusive tendencies and can be labelled as conservative in opinion. But in my own bias observation suggests I am a radical, lively, creative thinker. I find difficulty expressing it, by just letting go of my fear of exterior judgment. I have this hesitant nature that submits me to analyze rather than engage. I tend to avoid those I love, but I do crave mutual affection. Who cares, right? That’s what I would say too, but I think deep down we all do. We care just enough to sleep at night. Just enough to brush our teeth and, from my perspective, head to class, just enough to worry about bills, just enough to send mom a text saying ‘I miss you’. As I waited for my train, I contemplated stepping off the tracks just as the train swooshed by, it scared me. It’s alarming that I can think of ways to escape just so I don’t have to feel so hopeless, so distant, so discouraged. But, when we feel these emotions we need to reflect on them and ask ourselves serious, philosophical questions. Not just look in the mirror and say, ‘why me’? Look in the mirror and say, ‘why do I pretend’? Why do I continue to go against what I feel is right for me. Why do I have to compare to something or why does society stress that I never give up? What if it IS okay to give up. Maybe just being in the present at the fullest we can be, is enough. Just breathing, seeing, feeling. Smell the flowers, as the saying goes… smell your fears. Channel those negative emotions into reflective sessions. Your day doesn’t depend on the brightness of the sun, but the illumination you’re willing to transcend into. Allow yourself that sacred internalization, you deserve it. You deserve to understand and more importantly, you deserve to live without your emotions constantly tugging at you. You can bring a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink the water (another adage for literary’s sake). I’m fed up, with all this camouflage and lousy, blase, cool kid cover-up. I want to delve deeper. Join me, if you dare.

Dear No One

Sometimes I cry, but mostly I hurt. On the surface I seem fine, I’m always one to keep everything hidden. I don’t feel sorry for myself, I choose to be this way because for me it’s easier. I don’t have any friends. Well to me a friend is someone you can confide in and trust, someone who will be there for you. Maybe sometimes you’ll even share the same interests and hang out. But not me, I don’t have any of those. I get up thinking “how will I get through today” and by midday I can’t wait for the day to be over. I don’t know how I got this way, I don’t care to, I just want to write somewhere other than my microsoft word or my journal where people may read and or relate.