Mr Cardoza and that Black Turtle-Necked Sweater

Mr. Cardoza

when you wear that black turtle-necked sweater you look like a poet

with something profound and transcendent ripping at your soul

smooth jazz at your fingertips

and an emergency stash of coffee at the bottom of your desk.


Mr. Cardoza

when school is over,

and sometimes even when it’s not,

you sneak to coffee shops to get your fix of that bongo beat

and to those you meet your name is Tom.

Like an alley cat, you say,

running for his life from the butcher and his meat grinder.

Tom, you are an alley cat running for your life.


Tom you run,

and you run,

and you always run to the coffee shop

to tell stories about your chase

or listen to stories about other chases

or smell the coffee beans ground fresh every hour.

You appreciate that smell most of all Tom;

that smell means you’re free.


Is it nice Tom?

Is it nice to be free?

Is it?

Do you enjoy being free?

Or do you enjoy more the thrill of the chase?


You see Tom, you’re always running.


Even after you’re safe,

You go back to the butcher to run.

Doesn’t the butcher get tired?

Don’t you get tired?

Isn’t it tiring?

All that running?


But you know Tom, and I know too:

You are never safe,

and the butcher is no butcher,

and you are no alley cat.

Most of all Tom

You and I both know:

you do not run with legs;

you run with words.

So no Tom you don’t get tired.

You never get tired.


Tom poetry is the fix that keeps you awake, not the coffee,

although the fresh ground coffee is irresistibly delicious.

Or so I’ve heard.

Poetry is the only thing that makes you feel alive.


But then Mr. Cardoza-


Mr. Cardoza

when you take off that sweater you are no longer Tom,

no longer a poet,

no longer running.

You know what you are Mr. Cardoza?

You are tired.



Life is too Short to Wear Boring Shoes… And so am I

I have a reputation for a lot of things, but I think one of the most distinct is the fact that I’m always wearing absolutely fabulous shoes. I’m so well known for the glitz and the glamour, but nobody seems to realize that it’s more than just a superficial. thing. Shoes, they’re special to me. And here’s why.

When I was in fifth grade I was taller than my younger sister. In sixth grade we were the same height. By seventh grade my sister was taller than I was. At that time I was a ballet-flats kind of girl, nothing too gaudy, or showy; I thrived on the simplicity and safety of the flat shoe. as the height difference became more and more apparent, my sister, and soon my whole family started to make fun of me more and more. By eighth grade, I was absolutely sick of it.The next time we went shoe shopping I got a pair of short heels to make up for a difference. Walking in them was a complete disaster; I was so awkward. I practiced in my room and when nobody else was home, but I couldn’t help tripping all over myself. It was even worse in public, when all of the puddles would practically look for me so that I could trip into them. Obviously this was not going to work out. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that I couldn’t face the shame of being shorter than my sister. Then one day it literally all just clicked. I could just walk, without tripping or falling more than the average human. Soon I went from just surviving in heels to straight out strutting, and then I knew I was unstoppable.

The heels thing worked for a little while, but when my sister got tall enough that even a five inch couldn’t close the gap, I still wore heels. It wasn’t about the height, things were changing about me. When I got a new pair of heels the first thing I would do is put them on and look at myself in the mirror. I started to notice a few things, like how the incline of my foot created this line that made my legs look longer my calves were getting really toned, and I was actually standing with my shoulders back and head up. It took me years to admit it, but heels were making me kind of sexy. The best part was that because I knew I looked confident, I felt more confident and it showed. When people asked what my secret was I would pop my leg and say “Give a girl the right pair of shoes and she can take over the world, darling.” and they would laugh,not realizing how serious I actually was.

And now the big question “What of it now?” Now? Well now I hunger for shoes. The gaudier, the taller, the more death-defyingly dazzling, the better. I spend hours online, finding the perfect shoes, when I’m wearing shoes I love I can’t not smile, when I see a new pair of shoes that I want or need I absolutely cannot stop thinking about them. I can run, skip, hop, dance in stilettos and I trip less than the average human (read: not at all) unless… Well funny thing. My superpower of functioning in heels came with the weakness of not being able to function in flat shoes. But other than that my life is fabulous! And so are my shoes!

A (Short) Introduction

(I had posted this earlier, but I guess it decided to delete itself).
I was never really one to stir things up by any means, and I’m still not quite, but now I have more adamant beliefs concerning humanity, race, and feminism. I’ve started thinking about the three a lot lately and it got to the point where I thought to myself: “Well, why not blog about it?” Lots of people do it and my voice is no less valid. And thus the blog was born. I created it so that I have a place to talk when I’m going on mental rants that I don’t want to flood my Facebook with (though I don’t think I’m doing too well at that). I’ll probably focus mainly on race, but it really just depends on my mood and with whom I’ve been arguing (if it’s Josiah you can expect a talk about feminism). I’ll try to post once a week at least, but if something especially infuriating/moving happens I may post more than once. Again it all depends. Anyway, I will see you later and I hope you enjoy.