She lost sanity, each time he touched her

The look on her face. Anger was not lonely there, . . . with it, stood understanding.
She didnt like my words, but she understood. Like a dog that barks to protect home, you hate the noise though you know what its for.

The look on her face. Then she said it again.

"Yes, I know he is my father. But I wish, she'd divorce him"

It all sounded strange to me. Sounded like a bittersweet feeling, without the sweet.
What would make a child want her parents parted?

She went on,
", though it would mean I would not have been born, I wish she had not married him."
And I almost responded to remind her that she would not have existed, but she didnt seem to mind.
She was a child. She spoke like a child.
I knew this. I felt the need to guide her thoughts. Help her understand; it doesnt matter what her position should be.
She should advocate and yearn for the unity of her parents, regardless how much of a bad husband he was to her mother.

"She has keloid marks on her back. Numerous, " halfway thorough tears, ", but the physical marks, are nothing compared to the emotional ones. Keloids can be covered. Her soul, cannot. You should see the way she speaks, though it is in anger, she sounds like she still wants him, "

Oh chile!

", such a strength in her sanity, but she lost sane each time he hurt her, I wish she was wdowed. He is my father, yeah I know. But she, is my mother."

I got it.

You know how they say that Jesus died for us all?
This child was willing to sacrifice it all. For one. She'd rather her mother was painfree and strong, than she had been born and her mother hurt.

I looked up to see her gaze on mine. She released her tears. No more words were spoken. I dared not attempt to convince her. Pity filled me, as she gently wiped her cheeks dry, forced a smile through red eyes, and walked out of the room.

I heard her flipflops flopping on her heels halfway down the hall,, she left me sitting there, to ponder it all.

Me, masculine.

I’d like to,
s*e*x the days out of you
Talk for hours, just to see where we’d stop
Test your boundaries,, where do you end?
What makes you quit? When do you halt?

Like a rainbow has no visible end, they say,
Pray tell me, you,
Mister, where lies your pot of gold?

Or is this it?
As I delve a little further
Talk about my forbidden stance on the natives and the slaves

And you read me, reread me
Or maybe you simply are me
In a masculine form
Or something.

You know how they say that the creator made two of each?
You just might be me, masculine.

And you read me, repeat what my mind was thinking,
Startled me as you said it
“Yeah but really, are the natives being reimbursed?”
And that started us off on something,
Off on some tangent
So much so that we forgot what we were saying
So much so that our words ceased,
We simply acted.

No one dared care about the natives
For a moment, the natives can wonder about themselves, can they not?
They can go beat drums and pow wow to the gods of their lands, say a prayer maybe; for the grass to grow.
And the slaves? Well, ye slaves passed, this is for you!
You wanted unity? Freedom was it? This is it; celebrated.

As our words made feelings
And feelings made touches
And you know what touches can do
As I do what I’d like to do
, s*e*x the days out of you.

But then there are weeks, months, years,
And eternity left in there,
We just cant seem to unravel this tangle well enough to get an absolute understanding
Curiosity kills the cat but we are no felines
So pray tell me you,
Mister, where lies our threshold?
What exactly, are we made of?
When I claw till I reach your core,
What, will I find?

Curiosity kills the cat they say;
But us? we are humans.
Curiosity, fuels this.
It IS why am here so pray tell, me-masculine;
what is the treasure that lies within your core?

Who is to say you'd be a loser too?

Birds of the same feathers they say,
But who is to say that you’d have a teeny weeny too?

Same rainbow, different day; I woudnt get so excited if I was you.
Dont you wonder why I stay far from the circle?
How on earth did you even manage to find me?
Shoo!

But hey!!! Who is to say you’d be a loser too?
You speak similar to he
Life, styled same as the person he claimed to be
And who is to say that I ever knew him?
Spoke so many lies, the truth became it.

I’d rather start with the breakup now before we startup
Start calling up your number NOW so you wont pick up
Checking up on my phone to see if you finally woke up
I’d grab a bag of Kleenex for the tears of
“WTF and to think that he wasn’t even hot to begin with!” but,
Hey! Who is to say you’d go missing too?

Black History

It is now.
This moment, this present time as I type this. Black history.

Is.

Me heading off to school or not... my grannie a bethroed child.
It is our black history. Grannie being a light skinned butcher & meat seller who gave birth to that child who later graduated and became a mother of 5 and jumped ship... for a better life for me. A dark skinned lanky me.
It is my grandfather loving for love and squashing boundaries for what is to be. It is black history he made, unbeknownst to him.

Black history is. Me.
Black history, is the movement away from everything I was, towards everything that is, and in some cases, stagnance.
Black history, is maintaining the status quo.
It is what that lady is doing rocking that weave and the other not... it just is us.
Black history, is love, and lack there of; for you and yours.
Black history, is that fist that you held up as another desires to blend in this melting pot.

"Why do we praise ourselves as blacks w it would only encourage segregation? Isnt segregation only going to darken the lines between us and promote ethnocentrism and hate?"
Black history are these questions.
Black history is everything.
It is the process of writting this, p

It is westernization. It is losing ourselves and rediscovering something else n the process. It is not knowing why we do the things we do and wondering what it is we will become when the damages are done. It is the anticipation., and hope for an end to change YET Black history IS change and whatever inspired the process.

Wondering and questioning things. Black history is the result of Nina Simone's songs' impacts on my soul as I listen to her sing...
"Sophisticated lady, I know... you miss the love you lost long ago, and when nobody is near, you cry".

Black history is the several numerous bits of diverged fights we fight... all in the name of self love.
The story of my people... from the ones unknown to Mrs Tubman and the ones that helped her get known.
The story tellers.
The story of my people. From the heros to the zeros and the significance of the zeros in helping to measure our heroes.

My people have lost alot. But see? Even that is black history.
Black history is me. And the path that was paved to make me.
It is every hit that was sustained, every lynch, every slave, every man that was not strong enough to make the trade and... it is every hate. It is every wrong judgement that man allowed to pass. It is segregation and unity.

Black history is knowing better, yet feeling lost to the system and living your life to be part of a process so that your offsprings can someday, maybe, hopefully live a little better so that their offsprings can finally eventually self actualize. Black history!
This moment. Me. My love for it and lack of it. Black history, is this.

Sexual Health Illnesses; a presentation by Tina R. and Cindy E.

Here, we get to see Tina and Cindy's presentation (some part of it anyway). There were two videos but I cant seem to find the other one!!!

I have always been interested in sexual health and sexually transmitted illneses so, their topic caught my attention. Not only that, however... you get to see this presentation that they were so good to have allowed me to tape. At the end of the presentation, I had to run, because my prof was at my booth and I was getting evaluated so... couldnt continue taping (what a shame) but at least, I got to get this. Thanks Tina and Cindy for giving the consent to have this posted on here. Merci beaucoup.

Healthfair 2010- Colorectal Cancer

^^^ Above is a clip made by Deandra Cormier and I. Its a clip for colorectal cancer awareness; a portion of the healthfair conducted by the students on March 23-2010 (yesterday). I hate the part where I put Deandra on the spot. Gowd! lol

^^^ Here is the 2nd part to our presentation. Thanks to Vaidehi for taping.


"Although colorectal cancer takes 10-15 years to develop to a terminal stage, and it is treatable 90% of the time, it still remains the 2nd leading cancer-related cause of death."

That was our message at the healthfair we presented on Colorectal cancer awareness on March 23, 2010.


In our booth, you can see we have three packs of cereal that we'd found to have high fiber cotnents (24-40% of recoomended daily intake). This is significant for our topic because having sufficient dietary fiber intake is one way to help prevent against colorectal cancer. In addition, we had preventative measures, signs and symptoms, screening methods, facts, risk factors and such informations on our board. Also included on the board were pictures of a normal colon, and several polyps (hyperplastic, adenomatous, flat etc) and one of rectal cancer. Lastly, we had a picture of the anatomy of the colon and rectum as well as a picture of an X-RAY showing a colon blockage (probably due to colon cancer) in its ascending colon. On the other side of the table (closer to where Deandra was standing), we had a TV showing clips that we had compiled from youtube. Clips included several colonoscopies (one was so ghastly, it was sad. The colon was full of cancer) including a funny one of Homer Simpson getting his colonoscopy, and one that showed the resection of some polyps. We also had a clip of the BIG COLON show; another colorectal awareness program that showcases a huge gigiantic colon (big enough to walk through it). Of course, it is synthetic, but its fun to watch ;)

Lastly, we had pamphlets that we had received from the government of Ontario's colorectal awareness program (Cancer Check), and CCAC (Colorectal Cancer Advocacy Program?). We also had pictures of bottoms (yeah, buttoms as in buttocks) that were posted on the drapes of our tables (you can see them in between where Deandra and I were standing). The butts were copied from a site by the CCAC called getyourbuttseen.ca . Also, all around the school were posters that we had posted prior to the healthfair. These posters were received from the CCAC, and were on neon papers; they said "Get your butt over here" with arrows leading to our booth. Lastly, we had blue ribbons made, These blue ribbons were given to whoever wanted them as blue is the coloor of colorectal cancer awareness and March, is the month of colorectal cancer awareness. Hey! We even had a sign there that said "March is colorectal cancer awareness month; Are you ready for your booty call?"! LOL

So needless to say, people are likely to remember our booth and they are highly likely, to be more aware of the importance of preventing and getting screened for colorectal cancer.

Health Fair 2010

Yet another craving of mine. Although I have no experience in public health, I have always wanted to be involved in it. I someday, hope to be able to develop my career in public (population) health. Looking forward to getting there!!! Here is a clip of my (and a colleague's) healthfair.


Pics coming soon...

Cemeterians

It was supposedly a riot
Or something of the sort
It was supposedly a kill
And a few hundreds more
It was supposedly a tear
Rolled...
in a hurry down a thousand faces
and though I wasnt there to see it
I sure heard.

It was supposedly pain
And wails, fears...
And the perception that informed the knowledge that well,
It'll always be here.

Its supposedly this thing
That I hear, numbs you to feel.

I dont know why we stare at you on TV
Sharing stories of me and my own
That I know, I really should know
Telling me things that I dont dare think.
I'm sorry but there's gotta be a file somewhere back there for...
"God have mercy"s
Since God is sure to send yet another begotten son to save the good, forgive the uglies and maybe if we're lucky; undo the wrongs so that no one, not one of my kins would ever be forsaken

Yes yes! I knowwww!
I know, Mr.
I heard it too.
Though you narrate it like its something new.
I'm just as bothered as you.

Hey, but the other day,
I just about made the biggest change!
I just about cried loud enough
For its echoes to make a quake.

Hey, I know, Mr.
Did you hear me say...
I just about remembered
What exactly you were trying to say.

Are you listening?
If today, I was to stomp my feet in a dessert full of bees
If today I was to shout in a pond full of bears
If somehow today I became pyromanic,
listen to me...
...and I lit a fire in a cemetery mister mister,
Hope you hear me...
Which one of the dead bodies would get up to rescue the rest or easier yet mister,
riddle me this... who would run?

Ten toes, two legs, one body, no head.

I remember wondering in that hall writing my Ethics exam. How dare this prof ask me when life starts.
Who am I to say,
"life starts at conception, when the sperm meets the ovum."?.
Or imply that
"no, it didnt. It actually started the moment the heart began to beat, or maybe even at birth once it passes the vag canal"

I somehow managed to conjure up some words to make it out of that hall.
I passed.
I was glad.
Never ever will I be confronted by such disturbing riddle.
I knew that there was no right answer; that Ethics course taught me that.

So as I stood in this lab, four years later, watching what this pathologist assistant held so matter-of-fact-ly in his hand
I remembered my Ethics class.
Oh goodness! Maybe there really is an answer!

That mass there in his palm, somewhat about a hundrenth of a pound.
Dead, silent, there. Hardly visible in that midst of what was to be her home for a while till she grew.
I call her a she.
Though it was probably a he.

It hit home for me because I'd do it. Wouldnt I?
And dont you dare judge me!!! Wouldnt you?!

Somewhat about a hundrenth of a human.
Dead, silent, there. Was a lifeless body of what was to be a person's baby.
All toes were present. i counted ten.

Ten toes, two legs, one trunk with no arms and no head , missing in the rubble of some red mushy remnants of a mixture of her's and her mother's tissues.
This mass of a life or lack there of, at 9 weeks and a day.

How then, do you decide when life started?
I dont know.
Tough this one did end, at negative nine weeks, and a day.

Await your wave, my love.

We never did get along. You'd always break when I didnt need you to. Really, I never did need you to.
I'll remember you for always quiting. Will remember you for carrying my miserable Dream and you down 800klicks or so to get to this snowy town. I'll remember all the pukes you withstood, took a while for Dream to get used to your leathery smell. You always knew just how to make her nauseous. She is scared of you. She certainly, will not miss you.
Sometime tomorrow, I'll laugh and tell bad truthful stories to people about how you just never could work right. I had you when I needed you the most and well, was too desperate to check you out right.
And the times when we'd get stuck up town and I'd have to call a friend for help to get me out of the mess you got me in. Somehow, we'd up it. Move. Somehow we'd make it back to some sort of haven.

Oh but Ms Swivel, when you get there in car heaven where parts are pulled, dismembered and used for organ donation please will you give Ms. Bugzy a wave for me?
Tell her how she was my first carlove and how she will be forever missed. Let her know just how much I wish you'd be able to take her place and how you had failed. Let her know.
I miss my babies.

Sometime tomorrow, I'll laugh and tell bad truthful stories to people about how I had ruined the little good thing you and I had. Sometime tomorrow. But today, I am just pissed and miserable as hell that this time, you are never getting better.

Goodbye my lover.

AA.