Yaya.
Yaya.
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A sweatshirt design I did.
I NEED YOUR HELP!

You guys, I’m doing a social experiment for my school’s science fair. I want to research how the perception of beauty from the opposite sex relates to insecurities within males and females.

  • You must be a high school student.

Just go onto this website: http://theinsecurityexperiment.blogspot.com/ for more information!

Montego Bay, Jamaica.
Short Story: Same Change

"Look at your head. It’s so long and weird," I said taunting Kameron.

"Haha! It really is," Dior agreed poking at it. "It’s mushy too!"

I began poking his head as well, “Wow, it is. Why is it like that?”

"Could you guys stop?"

"Why? Is it bothering you?" I asked as if I cared.

"Yes!"

"Well, too bad," Dior said continuing to torture him with pokes along with me.

He smacked our hands away and started poking us back in random places, “Not so nice is it?”

"Alright, we get it," Dior said in an attempt to surrender.

"Come on, Kameron! Quit it!" I yelled slapping his hand away.

"What? I’m not doing nothing," he foolishly replied still poking us.

Dior rolled her eyes and went into her Grammar Nazi mode, “Idiot, it’s ‘I’m not doing anything.’ Not ‘I’m not doing nothing.’”

He turned to her and furrowed his eyebrows, “Shut up, dork.”

"Ooh boy, you don’t want it with me."

"Bring it on!"

"You little pest-"

"Be quiet! All of you!" My parents screamed.

We all went mute and I looked out of the window, watching cars and trees zip by.

"Hey, Trinity," Kameron called in his teasing voice. "You got something on your shoulder."

He snickered and I knew he was just trying to trick me, “Leave me alone.”

"What? What am I doing that’s so wrong?"

"There is nothing on my shoulder."

"Look! Just look at it."

"Shut up, Kam! There is nothing there!"

"Yes there is! Look!" He said poking at my shoulder.

"Kameron, stop! You play too much!"

_________________________________________________________

"Kameron, stop. You play too much," I whispered as I removed his hands from my, now, C-Cup breasts.

"What? Why are you acting like that?"

"I can’t do this."

"Trinity, I’ll be doing it too. Come on. Why are you so scared?"

"What do you want from me?"

"Come here and I’ll show you."

Those words probably changed everything between us. I sat next to him and he pulled me on top of him by my waist. It was just like those moments in the movies. It felt so unreal as he mounted me on him, holding my hips, grabbing my ass. I felt his arousal underneath me.

My hands sat on his chest as I looked at him. I wanted a sense of what he requested from me. But all I saw was sex. Not intimacy. Sex.

"Strip," he whispered, biting his lip.

"Why?"

"Just strip."

I kissed his cheek and tried to rest my head on his chest, but he pushed me off of him.

He coldly turned away from me, “Forget it, you’re lame.”

I felt a tinge of hurt, but mainly anger at the fact that he attempted to use me that way.

"Kameron, seriously? Why are you acting that way?"

"You won’t let me do anything."

I grabbed his hand and he snatched it away from me, “Kameron…”

He didn’t respond to me, so I stood up to leave. But he grabbed my leg and pulled me back down towards him. As I lie on my back, he climbed on top of me. Grabbing my thighs, he wrapped my legs around him. I snaked my hands around his neck and couldn’t help but smile as he did the same while pressing his forehead against mine. Then our lips met… for the first time.

"What happens here, stays here…" That was what he told me, looking away as if nothing ever happened.

But it did. And I don’t think I could let it go. It had been years since I’ve seen Kameron. And he hadn’t change a bit. He was still that annoying and arrogant boy… with enough charm to keep me coming back for more.

Poem: Adulessons

When we were kids,
Lust wasn’t on our minds.
Sex wasn’t the consumption of our thoughts.
And you saw more to me than my female anatomy.
We made disgusted faces whenever ‘love’ was brought up between us.
And we’d vigorously shake our heads in denial of any feelings we had for one another.

As we age,
We grow apart.
We change into a whole new being.
Physically and mentally, we are no longer the same.
My hips grow wide enough for you to lust and feel the need to touch.
Our heights sprout and you become taller than I do, when it was the opposite before.

We throw out fairy-tales,
And we keep the tales of reality close to us.
Well, the guys do.
We girls still hold on to them.
Hoping to find a Prince Charming.
Then we focus on becoming adults in any way possible.

The touch of your hands give me butterflies.
It has to be love.
Or is it simply my desire for it, which shields the lust that is in your eyes?
I feel the press of your lips against mine.
And with my eyes closed,
I reminisce.

When we were kids,
Lust wasn’t on our minds.
Sex wasn’t the consumption of our thoughts.
And you saw more to me than my female anatomy.
We made disgusted faces whenever ‘love’ was brought up between us.
And we’d vigorously shake our heads in denial of any feelings we had for one another.

So… where did that innocent state of mind go?

- y.n.c.

Poem: I Guess My Mother Was Right

Kicks, slaps, punches…
They crushed me.
Teasingly torturous words created the fire that was set aflame in my eyes.
I never asked for them to pass judgement.
But I let their opinions matter.
And with every obnoxious look I got,
All I saw was red.
I was that girl who sat in the back of the classroom.
Alone, I sat silently.
In my silence, I plotted to paint those white school walls a bright crimson.
I kept a notebook.
But there weren’t any notes in that book.
They were names.
I used it to count the bullets that I loaded into that pistol.
One for Christy, who stole my true love.
One for Misty, who called me a slut.
One for Brian, who ripped my heart out of my chest.
One for Ryan, who doesn’t know the meaning of no.
I felt the anger build as the cold steel touched my fingertips.
I was ready to release that fire.
They never knew what hit them as I stood above their limp bodies.
I fired a shot for every tear I shed.
I fired a shot for every slit on my wrist.
I fired a shot for every pill I swallowed.
I fired a shot for every scream I cried.
I fired a shot for every embarrassing moment they caused.
I fired a shot for every kick, slap, punch and teasingly torturous word they ever threw at me.
My wrists, now, covered with the remnants my dirty deeds and forever will be.
They look like handcuffs, but I like to think of it as a reminder.
It’s cold steel cuffs feel like that gun I cocked back and let fly.
It keeps my hands held in the same position I had as I pointed the black pistol to their chests… or their heads… or their- Well, I’m going off on a tangent, aren’t I?
What really matters is,
I, now, stand proud with a constant smile on my face.
Because I realize in that moment that I really was a breathtaking young woman.
I guess my mother was right.

- y.n.c.

Poem: Silence

She wasn’t who you thought she was…
The silence she held was a muzzle to prevent the screams in her mind from bouncing off of those white walls.
Her thoughts took her over.
They consumed her.
They motivated her to be different,
Yet, they separated her from everything.
They created fears of being her true self,
Of being judged and alone in a world so misconstrued.
Therefore, she used the only defense mechanism she knew.
To battle the noise, she used her silence in strong depth.
So when you see her,
You’ll believe she is a quiet one.
But keep in mind,
Her mind may be the loudest one.

- y.n.c.