The Pomposity Of Nepotism Within The Public Service Of This Little Rock - (Or The Fact That Bajans Appearing More and More Sheeplike When Faced With Blatant Bullshit)

Pretty little buses all in a row.

A few years ago I chanced to get on a St. Patrick's bus, and we got all the way to Sheraton Centre, going towards St. Patrick's. A little old lady got on, flashed her ID card, and stood beside the driver as the bus was full to capacity, I remember it being rush hour, and the bus was hot, and crowded, I was a few steps away from the driver, standing with my headphones in as usual, just bobbing my head along as I usually do to make it through the ordeal of being on board a bus with so many bodies pressing here and there.

It took two songs about 3 minutes in length before I realized the driver had turned his engine off, and was casually picking his fingernails, I mean in the most nonchalant manner at the height of the evening rush hour when the working public, parents, students, everybody hustling to get home.

Then the cussing began, "BUS MAN WHA IS DE PROBLEM? WE WAHN GET HOME, TRY AND MOVE DE BUS!" I pulled out my headphones and stretched this way and that until I could see the driver, who was still just there casually seated, drumming his finger tips on the steering wheel, seemingly lost in thought.

The little old lady was trying to push herself down in the bus through the sheer mass of us in the front, and as she reached my side, I blurted out exactly what I thought the issue was.

"So, NONE of you here in the front of the bus are gonna get up and give mums a seat??? Those seats are for her not you!!!"

If you could have heard the sucking of teeth, the under breath cursing, the genuine disgust from the most of us standing, you would have been proud.

Not one of the persons occupying the 7 or 8 side on seats at the front of the bus were elderly, pregnant, or disabled, nor carrying a child. Other passengers echoed my sentiments and the driver took his defiance even further.

Mr Driver got up, pulled out the keys, and disembarked from the Government Of Barbados' Transport Board Bus, with the most serene facial expression I had seen up to that point.

To be honest, I was very frustrated, but not at him, in fact, I was quite impressed with him. People began cussing him and carrying on, the way you know they will, eventually he answered.

" If Gran doesn't get a seat, I am not moving this bus, I don't care if they bring Ghandi himself! "

I was in stitches because I had never heard anyone use that term.

Eventually the little old lady got a seat, even though she fussed that she was strong enough to stand, one of the kind, thoughtful individuals in the front of the bus actually did get up and stand so she could sit.

Which brings me to August 12th 2014, and my friend Terrance Holder's encounter with a driver highlighted by a video of him and a driver going at it.

Of course that video has gained more than 1200 comments, 4200 shares in and around the region, in fact, the world.

Now, I have been active in my natural personality on that post, cussing here, there and everywhere because I am incensed to the blatant truths being shoved in my face on this thread.

see for yourselves
Some of those truths being as follows:

Much of the social media viewing public in this region are either illiterate, or just plain lazy, they are also cowards.
Too many people rather just roll over and get cursed out, than take a stand, for fear of being targeted, by boisterous persons IN REALITY, because, well, that's what we do, and finally,
There is no sense of ethics in many members of our work force, not just the public servants, the ENTIRE workforce, there is a reason why I say this, since the beginning of the thread we have seen Terrance's character been attacked, he has been told he's trying to provoke the driver into a confrontation in an attempt to defame his - the driver's - otherwise pristine reputation, he's been told he's breaking the law by recording the driver's outbursts and communicating with him, and finally he's been told he should have been put off the bus.

What appears particularly distressing about this situation is the fact that aside from a very apologetic member of staff from Transport Board, the humble and soft-toned Sherphene Waithe, who has apologized -she did so BEFORE the matter was addressed by the relevant authorities- for his behavior (the driver), and one other who publicly chided the driver for his behavior, which for all to view, is raucous and obscene, and directly contravenes with the mission statement of the fifty eight year old establishment of the Barbados Transport Board, the amount of people who support this driver's actions and words, is one too many.

From fellow drivers at the Barbados Transport Board, to senior members of the journalism family, have displayed the essence of poor countryman-ship and judgment, actually, if you follow the thread through its nearly two week lifespan, Mr. Holder has been cursed, poisonously, by members of staff, proud to announce that they have been employed by the transport board for quite a few years, in the case of Derek Goodridge and his scathing display of pomposity, with absolutely NO regard for the image of the Barbados Transport Board, in fact, his piece of horse fodder is written with the opening sentence of  "I joined transport board in 2007..." and ends in " ..call the minister of transport and works, you pussy."

Just to be certain I did not misread his comments, I captured the screens, this man and the driver share a common factor. I don't personally know if it's fueled by our society's blatant and significant nepotism, OR, if its just how ignorant some people are.


The pressing question remains, is The Transport Board going to discipline its subordinates in any way?
As it seems, to us the public, they have no control over the staff they chose not to make redundant, in fact, these subordinates seem to be the ones running the state owned company, not the managers, and definitely not the minister.

Meanwhile, those of us in the public who choose to speak out, and represent ourselves, demanding better of them, might just have to sit here, with our rear ends biting, for just a little while longer.

Bubbling Pot Of Expectations.

I have never hidden the fact that I preferred to date younger men, in fact I made that common knowledge for most of my adult life. 

I found myself attracted to the virility of youth, the power of a younger man's ego and convictions, their zest for more in life and the fact that they were not jaded so, we often had more time to enjoy each other. 

Of course then I deviated from this pattern, and got impregnated by someone slightly - not significantly - older than I, resulting in a complete reboot of what I thought had been my final programming. 

Fast forward, I am now a thirty year old woman. 

Do you know what that means for me? 

You don't ? 

Neither do I. 

"youthful virility" ... go on ... judge me.

Honestly I went through the panic before I turned 30, worrying that I had achieved absolutely nothing besides becoming a single mother and disappointing my own mother further by being unwed and underachieving in any set career mode. Then the big day came and honestly, it was over so quickly and my mind adjusted to telling people " I'm 30 " without so much as even a blink to calculate. 

The major changes came though, I became quite aware that I am playing the ass with my time, and also aware that I have been hitched to shit that is also not worth my time. 

So I began to hustle like there's no tomorrow. 

I have officially been unemployed since October, but haven't actually been out of work for any more than 2 weeks at a time, making enough for the period that I am employed within to hold me over, once things were good. 

I began taking a microscopic view of my "relationships", and realized that the main one was a waste of time. It was not growing in any direction. Completely moribund, to be honest. 

Get your minds outta the gutter, it is a measurement regarding intellectual
... erm... growth? 

My sexual interests were replaced by an extreme hunger for intellectual challenge and emotional capability. I am an alpha-female, the glaring truth remains that there is no male, incapable of forming a basic conversation with me regarding public issues, who remains soft and malleable under my ferocity and unwavering bellicose attitude, that is capable of being involved with me for a period of time longer than seven months. 

As nature would have it, the stars aligned that fateful night of the first Blood Moon/ Lunar Eclipse. 

Long story short, I ended up meeting someone so dynamic they have continued to leave me hungry to sidle up into their mind, and just get inside that head of his and run around naked until I am intimately familiar with every corner dark and light. 

Here's the big kicker for me.. 

annnnnnnnnnd just like that... they done fucked me right up.
Ton and a Half of bullshit... how am I supposed to choose here?

He's 10 years older than I. 

Not much to you eh? 

Since I turned 18, I have only ever been seriously involved, with 2 men 6 years my senior, never a day more, and my BEST relationship, - security, dexterity, lack of conflict, support, attraction and raw affection outweighing all others- was with a guy 2 years my junior. For me, ten years is a massive leap. Ten years is the culmination of all my fears of him wanting to control me, to own me, to possess me, and losing my identity in his, ten years is the difference between stamina and lethargy, ten years is me wanting to go out and shake my ass every now and then, maybe hit a strip club, and a man telling me he's not into that so I MUST stay home to keep up the appearance that I am the doting and controlled girlfriend. 

That ten year difference has terrified me out of talking to many a man in the past, because right out the gates they all demonstrated, both verbally and non-verbally any three or more of my fears. 

Then I met him, at a blasted bondage themed party of all places, and he made me question everything I thought I knew. 

Conversations were ripe, conflicting opinions were met with perfervid debate and never ending cycles of conversation which feel so natural I have to remind myself ... "OLD BOY IS RIGHT ON THE CUSP OF OVER THE FUCKING HIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLL!!! " and then poke in a quick jib to bring us both back to reality. 

The real shocker is his appreciation of my candor and dismally disguised abruptness, he relishes it, like a man who has been fed simple gruel every day for years, and then he's introduced to lasagna. In fact, he matches it, completely comfortable baring all his sins for me to pick whichever I find distressing, of course this process takes time, as we're feeling out the terrain that we will be walking upon.

We have gotten to the point where it has been stated " every relationship begins with this excitement, then that quickly wanes, and complacency takes over, the difference with us should at least be the fact that neither of us seems to be the least bit interested in getting so comfortable, as to get bored with the other." 

... 

Just like that I'm off on another adventure, and I think I might like my new company more than any other. 

My expectations have never been lower, as I expect nothing. Only honesty, and he seems mature enough to understand and deliver on that.

Addiction

Everyone thinks they know me.

Everyone thinks they understand me for where I have come from, been through and done in the past.

Truth is, I don't even know me.

Or maybe I do but I don't have a clue what it is I'm looking at.

I've been managing several different addictions on my own, and up until a month ago I was getting it done.

Then something happened and I just let go control, thinking it was for a little bit, but everything collapsed.

Now here I am questioning my sanity, my resolve, my so called ability to control myself before everything.

The only thing I know for certain is I can see that I am losing control.

The time I spend with my daughter, I'm fine, but when I'm functioning without her, I have to have at least 2 vices present.



Everything I worked on for the past 3 years, to suppress have all come back and in roaring form, pain, sex, drugs and alcohol...  and I'm losing the struggle.

Beginning to doubt I ever had control in the first place.

And because of how I am, I face it alone most of the time, unless I run away, but I can only escape for a few moments and then I'm alone again.

There are no 12 steps to control for me.

I don't know anything but excess, I revel in it.

The major difference now, is I respect the consequences because they affect the one person I value more than my own weak existence, if not for her, I would be that cold shell who left the clubs 3 years ago and never cared to call back the next day.

How long until I make the mistake and forsake her to answer the beast that is my nature?

I managed to screw up everything and then some, in a month, so, I understand it is a grim eventuality I face that one day I won't be able to pull back, I won't be able to, or want to stop myself.

Guess I for all my talk am the essence of a hypocrite, I lack control to even master my own bullshit but can sit here doling out advice, like some omnipotent screen shrink.

Believe I am terrified, because all I know is to do it alone, and I have yet to meet anyone who can endure me long enough to really impact my own stubborn will.

See, everyone thinks they know me, but they can never know the silent tears that fall as I realize I will fail her because I lack the simple strength to keep my own demons in check.

The same demons that brought me to her, are the ones that will cost me the most valuable treasure ever.

The Truth About The Pierced Princess- Or A Simple Crock Of Lies I Told.

Just how many sheep are there? 

I'm into body modification. That much is obvious when you count the 11-13 tattoos I have, the various piercings I have had and removed over the years ( eyebrow, labret, tongue x2, ears x8, navel by 4 and most recently my septum, which I haven't removed and am in absolute love with ) and the fact that I can't honestly say I wouldn't like to look down one day and see my entire body covered in ink, but I just don't have the time for it. Each of my tattoos, save for 1, are nearly 10 years old and scheduled for either touch ups or covering, but, then there's the healing time for them. 

Meh. 

To be honest this isn't what I want to talk about, I want to speak specifically about my septum piercing. 

I frankly adore most septum piercings, and decided I want one for myself, and went and got one. 

Since doing that, I have had countless people asking me why I did it, giving myself a "bull ring". So, purely for my entertainment, I plucked at the vast and expansive knowledge stored in my inexhaustible brain, and came up with a convincing yet completely unsupported, utter hogwash, hilarious, "fact" surrounding my nose ring. 

FIERCE.
dinner time must be a riot with him.

It is absolutely farcical, how many people in Barbados will believe anything you say justifying your choice to modify your body, as long as you include the word "Africa" in your conclusive explanation. So far I have told 5 people it is a sign of royalty amongst eastern African tribal women, only the princess was allowed to pierce her septum, I have told 2 people it is a sign that I am a descendant of Egypt, and I have told other people it was used by the tribes in Central Africa to control and reduce pains of womanhood. 

Fulani woman, who looks like my Aunty Pat,
who's daughter is my piercing partner and
best friend of 25 years.
I KNEW SOMETHING WAS UP.

Not one of these people questioned me, not a single one even so much as doubted me, they all actually accepted and are now defending me ( I cannot tell you how hard I am laughing about this, it's HILARIOUS ), and furthermore see me as even more educated and a follower of the ROOTS RECOGNITION movements. 

Now, tickled as I am at these things, I find it a bit disconcerting that persons can so easily be fed any drivel I make up, once I am somber enough during my delivery, and they not only swallow it whole, they LIVE in it. 

I'm not too far gone to have forgotten when I first got my tattoos and was called a "wannabe white girl" who was "following the white skin heads, and neonazis" by defiling my body with their "European fads" with my tattoos... 

Yet, here society is, eating up anything I say about my choices to pierce, all because I use "Africa" as an excuse. 

This all started me thinking again, about why I am so vehemently opposed to swallowing dogma without question. 

Anyone can tell you anything, providing they tell you it in a convincing enough manner, you will be inclined to believe them, because you WANT to believe them, because you NEED to believe them, for your own selfish justification of acceptance. 

Or, you can actually dare to question them, and seek answers for yourself, wherever that may lead you, until that yearning for knowledge is completely satisfied. 

* ps. It is tribes from upper Africa, and the Middle East, who pierced their septum, along with some warrior tribes from upper eastern, all mostly nomadic, to give a fiercer appearance, amongst many other older civilizations,

... but don't take my word for it. LOOK IT UP! *

Investment? What Am I? Lucrative Stock? GTFOH!

" When a man invests in a woman " 

..But hold on a minute... 

TWEET LIKE RASSHOLE MAN!
TWEEEEEEEEEET.
FLAGRANT!

What context are we using this term "invest" in ? 

The definition of the word "invest" via my google bar is 

1. expend money with the expectation of achieving a profit or material result by putting it into financial schemes, shares, or property, or by using it to develop a commercial venture. 

2. provide or endow someone or something with (the state invests upon magistrates and justices of the peace)

3. clothe or cover with a garment.

4. surround (a place) in order to besiege or blockade it. 

Now being completely honest, none of these sound very "loving" to me ... 

So I cannot appreciate in any context a man stating I, as the woman he is enamored with, is an investment, nor can I promote the use of the term, regarding why the mentally and emotionally violently unstable men happen to be killing their women, who they "loved" and "invested" in. 

What is so hard to understand about the fact that no human being is your possession therefore does not require your INVESTMENT into claiming them? 

Yes, that's what you creatures are doing, investing into the claim of a woman. 

S

ince when was love about possession? and since when is emotional enslavement acceptable?

women, stop allowing men to own you, its seriously counter productive, backward as shayhaywhitey and offensive to the stalwart foremothers of our blah blah - insert overly repeated and enunciated speech about women's rights activists in past years here - 

I checked, I contain no traces of bovine, equine, ovine or porcine dna...
but it's early and I'm having mince meat for lunch, brb!

I certainly am not livestock, property nor anyone's commercial venture... 

If a man is going to invest in my presence, let him put my name on a payroll, and we'll sort out a job description that I can utelize an appropriate tax bracket for. 

At the end of our contract, he can remove himself and move on ... like any other investor would at the end of alloted time. 

Not strangle the life out of me in a jealous rage because I found a more lucrative and creative investor. 

The Joy Of Closure

There's this delicious sensation that comes with closure, let me tell you, its powerful juju.

Day before yesterday you would swear I was drunk as fuck from my constant laughter.

If you got loose ends from a relationship, trust me, tie that shit up! You'll rejoice like you found religion and it comes with your favorite chocolate!

Had a cuss out for someone but you stopped because you wanted to be the bigger person, and you did this one too many times and now its weighing on your soul and is the proverbial dark cloud over your head?

Imagine you don't HAVE to cuss them out, contrary to popular belief I have walked away from enough cuss outs that people deserved and then later informed them quite casually that they had it coming, but I chose to be diplomatic, and reconsider my approach, instead of directly cussing them out, I took my time and outlined to them why I chose to not waste my generous tithes of profanities upon their illegitimate asses, and instead chose to be quiet until I had worded my anger in a less vile manner.

End result, closure upon that issue, and the load is lifted, you get to move forward, minus that playing on your mind non stop.

I have actually employed it enough times in life to say its more satisfying that telling ppl off, or holding in anger or deep emotions for prolonged periods of time ...

Incredibly, it physically manifests itself as well, I literally glowed in person, and in capture.

You could see that I "felt better" and it was infectious and exhilarating too, officially recommend tying up loose ends... 

The art of Closure, is one I am eternally grateful to have begun understanding! 

Burning the Bridges Without Remorse

Weeeellll... 

Somehow this weekend I got the good common sense up to begin a conversation with the absent denying father of my child's mother. 

Who in essence would be the grand mother of my child. If she were to be accepted by myself as such. 

Which ... isn't going to happen. 

After 3 years of my running from that conversation, which addresses the fact that I had no idea his other child's mother were actually involved - I DID NOT KNOW, I WAS TOLD SHE WAS A SITUATION AND HE'S SINGLE- long story short, my daughter was born 6 months after the other daughter was born, and mine is the one that's trying to be forced on a man (by forced, he means I simply have admitted HE is the father, not that I ever want a penny from him, nor him to get pictures, since he's been deported FROM Barbados TO Guyana for being a too stupid to know when to quit jackass, not that I want him to do such stupid and hypocritical bullshit as call us asking how the child he said he would rather see dead in my belly with me dead as well, the child he cursed to suffer and told me if she ever comes around him again he will hurt her, I simply say he is the father, and I am FORCING a child on him) who had me all up in the club, as his wings, had me hired at the club to be his supervisor, who was distributing his meager $250 pay stubs come the end of a week,  who everyone swore was his girlfriend going and coming, because no one else ever saw the real girlfriend. 

I finally chose to reach out to his mother, because she apparently had reached out to me, and I shot it down shortly after my daughter was born (I dont want him in her life for any reason before she is old enough to accurately pull a trigger to defend her life and be able to hit that target without second guessing herself, knowing that it is her life, or whatever is coming at her, any ties to his mother at that time seemed like a window for him to slither through).

I felt that as a woman, I needed to close that chapter and make my stance clear, I don't want anything from her, nor him, or any member of the family. I simply wanted to answer her unasked questions because I know how it can feel being completely left in the dark regarding a relative. 

So I contacted her via the other daughter's mother. 

Lord Krishna what a stupid idea. 

Now Baby Mama #1 and I are cool, we talk like regular girl friends, after all she REALLY got to the bottom of that man's insanity shortly after my daughter was born and began to see that I wasn't lying about anything regarding his sociopathic delusions. 

Grandmother doesn't like that at all, of course not, here I am, calling her son's name with my bastard baby, and everybody knows I slept around with Toohoo, Baku and La.  (funny ... no one else knew that but that's what he's told his entire family and close circle... I chuckle at the fact that none of them know fuck all about me, but know EVERYTHING about me from a man who has been a whole Sergeant in some American Army - but still got deported from there too- and on loan to the Barbados Defense Force as some "trainer" - yet trained down in Rodney's gym instead of the on the BDF grounds , posted in Afghanistan, draws anime -which looked eerily like my best friend's work, in fact, it was my best friend's work- and writes poetry, sleeps with any 8 women who can pay for his latest brand stuff ... yeeeeeeah... ok).

Anyway, after my written monologue to her, I felt lighter, I don't want her approval or acknowledgement of the child, definitely don't want his. 

I felt closure, I felt like if I could now stop looking over my damn shoulders and let my child live freely, I felt completely relieved that I don't have to do that again. 

I certainly am not the first, last nor only woman to have gotten pregnant for a man who has no interest in being the father of her child, who's tried his hardest to destroy her character -good luck buddy, my reputation is everyone else's business, my character however, is mine, and I am ruthlessly efficient at keeping it at the top of the field- 

But I am the woman who is now more than ever, prepared to be the BEST MOTHER my child could ever have had, and overjoyed to know I missed the bullshit drama ferry! 

Rambling On Love

Seems like I have a lot more to say here than I thought, after all I'm the quintessential multifaceted contradiction to every rule. 

In a strange way all that's on my mind recently is love, I just don't acknowledge it in my normal day to day monologues/dialogues on social media, but it's definitely on my mind.

Have you ever wondered if the mold was not broken after that first model was made? Meaning somewhere out there is a second or third or even more copy of the original model? 

I hope to god so. 

Hell, he might even be better than the first edition. 

If I ever meet this guy ... there goes my virginity again.

Taller, with tattoos, and finally mine ... 

That would solve quite a lot of my issues with monogamy. 

Face it, I suck at being monogamous, and I refuse to lie about it to anyone interested in being involved with me, but it all stemmed from some interesting shit a few corners in the road called life before I became conscious.

I'm not saying I'm completely closed off to the idea of being singly involved with a man, I'm just saying, given what I'm presented with for men, that just won't work.
Especially since I know exactly what I want in a man, and where to find it. Which is normally not in any of the eager victims who run forward into my Enchanted Forest of Thorns and Wolves ... 

Maybe, a change of pace will change my mind.

The Origin Of Arte - The Unknown Years -

Being 18 in a foreign country was exhilarating, I was running around, going to raves, out on my own time, irresponsible (the one time you forget to buy a new bus pass the damn marshals get on the train, and you get spot checked, get your first fucking fine... oh joy!) 

Getting put out of your aunt's apartment becaaaaaause you were too bajan for her tastes, too ''powful', (honestly, I was a disrespectful little shit and totally oblivious about it), being taken in by her pure swiss ex husband, and discovering that you pass out after running from freezing cold into boiling shower. 

- there was a moment of utter stupidity between there when I slept in an underground train station. ABSOLUTE AND COMPLETE STUPIDITY- 

This is where I began to question what I thought I knew and who I thought I was, my aunt's younger friends she had tried hooking me up with decided they didn't like me because I wasn't outgoing enough, I kinda laid back, and just let them decide what we were gonna do whenever we went out. Somehow that made me into the type of person who only "uses people" ... Alrighty then. 

Anyway, the experience of Europe stayed with me, Europe was the first place I saw a guy strolling along in an italian suit, one half  of his head blue, the other half red, and stroll right on into the corporate office of some swiss bank or the other, while my jaw swung off. 

Sex in switzerland wasn't bad ... It was pretty sensual actually, there somehow were always candles, I mean seriously, there were ALWAYS candles! Of course, I was also a single black female, in no way attracted to the single black males in my immediate social circles, I'm sorry, I'm an islander, I'm also socially inappropriate in the most ridiculous ways, so my longing for what I had grown accustomed to sexually (let's not focus on the fact that at 18 I was already accustomed to sex, enough to know what I liked, or didn't like, even though I had never had a true-blue orgasm, that would come later) led me to hunt my satisfaction in some strange circles, but I could never get my damn high or anywhere near it.

By time I returned to Barbados I was thinking in german, and speaking such, it sounded beautiful to my mind, or rather anything but bajan sounded beautiful. 

I came back home, swearing up and down that I was a grown woman and I had made it in Switzerland by myself (yes I conveniently forgot that my uncle saved my ass, heck I conveniently forgot quite a lot about Switzerland, like the fact that my green lil ass ran out of money, and had to walk from LangStrasse, Zurich To Zumikon, at 2 am because I was too proud to call anyone to come pick me up ... That's from Belleplaine, to fucking Speightstown, UPHILL, once again out of sheer teenaged stupidity)

Obviously, my mother and I could not do, so I moved out.

What had happened, right, was I came home accustomed to going on dates and not having to ask permission, and she STILL my mother, wasn't having that, I wanted to go football with a guy I had met, and she was vehemently against my doing that, sooooo, I moved out and moved in with that guy. 

Frankly, the stupidest thing I ever did. That was when my mother and I fell so badly apart that there was no way we could be back together, heck, my mother couldn't even hug me anymore, we haven't had non-confrontational physical contact (aside from her holding my hand during labour) since I was 14, if you have girl children, don't let the lil shits rule themselves until they're working at least 2 years, no matter what. 

Most of what happens after that can be found on my facebook and I don't feel like talking about it. 

This is the introduction to who I am, and more importantly, why I am. 

Today I'm in a strange emotional mood, I feel hurt, inadequate and sentimental, but not bad, just, strangely sentimental.   

The Origins Of Arte

You know ironically the hardest thing about growing up for me? 

It was recognising, I would never be "that girl" ...

Recognising and accepting that there is nothing remarkable about me aside from the fact that I'm a smart ass, who can occasionally wield a pen or pencil with surgical precision and renaissance-like finesse, I was utterly uninteresting. 

So, I got blue hair. It seemed like a brilliant idea, no one can forget you if you have blue hair right? I mean, heck, I'm the girl who got her teeth knocked out, never was and never would be pretty, skin was ruined and NO ONE would love me. Blue hair was definitely a step up. 

Being black didn't help a bit, because in the West Indies, if you're not perfect, and you're black, ya better be able to sing, or master quantum fucking physics, because NO ONE will take you seriously otherwise. 

So I got blue hair. 

Funny enough, people did pay me attention after that, well aside from telling me how much a smart ass I was, people began to check enough to like or dislike me, not just over look me. 

How can people overlook me you wonder? 

I'm six feet tall, and not exactly quiet, in any way, my personality is loud, in that bubbly, brawling kind of way, when I'm quiet, it's very uncomfortable to people accustomed to me, yet, people overlooked me. I was too ... not enough. 

I had fleeting interests in music, but i can't sing for shit, and failed my music exam at age 13, after playing musical instruments since I was 4 years old believe it or not, I panicked in the exam, that was the end of that.

I draw, well more like I hold a pencil and something fascinating happens when I breathe, because half the time, I have no idea where that came from, or where it was going. To focus on it takes every ounce of energy within me, so illustrating portraits and landscapes in front of me, while I can do it, that is a labor of excruciating consequence to myself physically. 

However, drawing really isn't that special, drawings don't stay with your mind, you don't feel sad and remember a drawing, you don't feel angry and remember a drawing, but you feel these emotions and remember a song. 

For that kind of emotional attention from people I began writing, (don't ask, I was writing complex poetry almost as long as I was drawing, I knew what Horatian Odes were, I knew what Irregular Odes were, fuck it, I knew what the hell a Triolet was at age 10 but I abhor order, so I never stuck to the rules of poetry), yet, writing was not satisfying that monster within me. 

So... I got blue hair.