burn it down screams my shattered heart

I’m not going to write to much because right now is the time for me to sit the fuck down and listen up.
First thing I try and recognize is I don’t know shit about what it’s like to be black. None. Literally not one fucking clue.
I open myself up to being wrong, to saying something that is offensive and being checked for it, I open myself up to understanding the experience outside of my own.
It’s not my intention to offend. It’s not my intention to be hurtful. It’s not my intention to contribute to the problem.
It’s my intention to learn so I can help. It’s no ones job to teach me how to not be an asshole. I don’t have any expectations of that. It’s my job to be open to being taught through experience and be open to being wrong. That’s what I’m trying to do. And I’d be lying if I said it’s not uncomfortable sometimes.
I do wonder what’s appropriate for me at times?
What spaces am I allowed to be in?
Am I being an ally, being supportive?
And so all I can do now is ask.

I can’t lie and I have to be real on here…. I am so fucking enraged. My belly gurgles and my chest gets hot. I have thought awful thoughts. Far too detailed violent thoughts, you know because I don’t know what to do with this emotion. I want to burn it the fuck down. I know that’s wrong only because it won’t bring peace.

How is it 2016 and we’re still feeding into this systematic set up that this country is built on? Say their names and do not add to the list. No more. I don’t want one more name on this list.

I am here to
listen.
learn.
help.
love.
nurture.
pray.

 

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Author:

I am a 26 year old Japanese American queer cis female who is from the bay area and currently lives in Portland, Oregon with her pitbull named Yuki. She is my pride and joy. I have been sober since 2014 and started to work in the sex industry in December 2016. We moved to Portland about 4 years ago in 2013 and have been learning how to thrive in this grey, wet, yet charming environment of Portland. Three things attracted me to this magic nook on the west coast. Tree tunnels (as I like to call them) that tower over roads swallowing you into a tube of nature, people’s tendency to look you in the eye and ask how you’re doing (with expectation of a genuine answer), and tea houses/coffee shops are a past time here. They say this is the city where 20 year olds come to retire or the city of refugee weirdos who just didn’t quite fit in. My diagnosis of Portland is the city that embraces those who love to isolate and be awkward so if hiding out in your room to geek out on your blog or simply drink tea in your room all day is your thing I suggest you check out what the fuss is about in Portlandia. Although Portland is whimsical in it’s own right it has a major amends to make to it’s citizens of color. It’s been here that I’ve learned the most about activism and politics unfortunately as a result of the city’s non acknowledgement of all of their citizens. The citizens here although progressive in it’s own way participates in it’s own subtle yet powerful microaggressions daily. The city is vanilla to put it lightly. When I am not day dreaming of sunnier days you can find me in a tea shop rambling in my journal about the romantic fantasy of hopping a train or living out of a van, admiring baby doll heads and crooked picture frames, watering my indoor plants desperately trying to learn how to have a green thumb, geeking out on astrology charts, obsessing over Michael Jackson and screaming all his songs, flooding my earphones with Princess Nokia to CocoRosie to Mac Dre to name my top favorites, going to strip clubs, crying, praying, attending pole dancing class and learning a variety of ways to make my beautiful backside bounce, holding hands, blowing bubbles, dismantling the patriarchy, writing a story, a poem or working on a zine. My blog has no rhyme or reason but you may find some of those influences as themes in within my posts. What I do hope to do with my blog is expose myself vulnerably if nothing else as an act of leaving behind a documented record of my human-ness but the truest hope, dream in fact, is to help someone out there to feel less alone. I hope that through my ability to candidly share my rawest sense of self I can help build an online community of witches, activists, freedom fighters, freaks, mermaids, pretty boys, studly girls, theys, and thems.

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