Because of THIS, I felt the need to repost THIS:

(via: imgur. artist source)

There are SEVERAL other things I could add and rant about, but I'm going to leave it at this for now (at least while I gather my thoughts).

#YesAllWomen #NotAllMen

xoxo

Not in that way.

xoxo.

Sweetheart, what have you done to us?

xoxo.

Bring Back Our Girls.

   I will interrupt my incessant chatter about myself to post about the HUGELY important and extremely devastating situation involving the almost 300 girls kidnapped from school in Nigeria.

   The gist of what happened is-Boko Haram fighters (terrorist organization) kidnapped these precious girls as they were at their boarding school in Northern Nigeria. Boko Haram kidnapped the girls (many Islamist terrorist organizations are against women being educated) and have since "converted" the girls to Islam, holding them at an unknown location. These girls have been without their families for a month, May 14th (today) making it an exact month from the date they were initially kidnapped. According to this article from CNN, Boko Haram fighters will "negotiate" a release of these young girls if their terrorist brothers are released from prison. What a ridiculous trade. Precious lives of young girls who stood to be educated in exchange for terrorists who are where they should be (prison). Terrorists threatening the lives of young girls who are trying to be educated, a story similar to that of Malala Yousafzai who I wrote about previously (and I'm sure that less publicized stories on a smaller scale are happening more often than we even know).This is devastating, this is infuriating, this is something that we can't stop talking about. Not until they release our girls. 

   Just so you know, the girls who were kidnapped from school represented a group of individuals who are not always a part of the norm. Here are some stats about Nigeria and education from GirlRising.com-

(Reminds me of the book "I am Nujood Ali, Age 10 and Divorced")

The stats have it. This is happening in this world. Our world. We have a right to protect these children, these girls. Don't let the fight die down and fizzle out of social media. These girls are still not home with their parents. #Bringbackourgirls

Malala Yousafzai

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." 

-Martin Luther King Jr.

xoxo.

Joy's Poem

I told my cousin, Joy, that in my frustration I was going to write a poem (see entry below). She wrote a brief poem and told me to make sure to thank her. 

Thank you, Joy ;) 

Here is Joy's Poem:

"My eyeballs sunk

 like a scene from Titanic.

Peacefully we wait

for our hearts to freeze."

That girl is a poet! 

xoxo.

Poem.

  I write so much poetry but my biggest fear is publishing it. 
I'd show my poetry to...my cousin, basically. Maybe my best friend Sakiyna. But that's pretty much it.
I took a poetry course last semester and that helped me to come out of my skin a bit. I love writing poetry, but for the most part I keep it to myself because it's more therapeutic than anything. 
Here's one poem, though (this is absolutely terrifying, but, #YOLO, I'm facing my fears anyway). I just feel like I should post at least one since I have this blog. I wrote this one today:

Dear God.

Blood pours out of my heart

overflowing into the

crevasses

of my lungs.

I’m

coughing up the

coagulated clots,

attempting to spew out

the hardened

bloody spheres.

A painful buildup of my

innermost parts,

lodged in my throat

I gag on my ownness.

The pain of suffocating…

is talking to you.

It hurts.

I believe you’d hear my words

as they don’t fall on

hearing impaired ears

but

I can’t seem to

formulate the sentences.

A pythagorean theorem

of words and syllables,

grunts

groans.

I’m cognizant of the solution,

but I cannot digest the problem.

I attempt a hyperbolic trajectory

of dialogue.

But the gravitational pull on

my life’s dissertation

is likened to a black hole.

A mutilated conversation.

A crimson stained regurgitation.

Beads of anxious sweat

form a river

deep enough to tread

but I’m shackled to an anchor

submerged beneath

the anxiety

drowning in questions.

A relentless grip on

life’s problems.

I grasp inexorably

as if it would

soften the calloused factors,

as if I can mold them like clay

into defectless sculptures of

my own creation.

I have not the capability.

I cannot lament to you

as I am still choking,

as I am still drowning.

Are all of the answers

in a catechism?

In anguish

a whisper dipped in blood

escapes pursed lips.

A question,

the sum

of the anxious sea of inquiries-

Dear God,

Why?

© Paige Parnell, May 2014

(I write depressing poetry, sorry ya'll. My innermost being is clearly mangled, but that's probably how I balance being happy on the outside.)

xoxo.