<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/platform.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar/461888423075881772?origin\x3dhttp://xxlifeonmars.blogspot.com', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

1..2..3..4

Tuesday, August 4, 2009
I'm in New York my mother lives here. It's not the city and it's not much fun but I love my mother. A lot of things are going on and it would take to much time to catch you up so I'll post something I wrote a week ago, You can try to relate to it if you want...Enjoy!




Waiting is counting. You count the tears that gravity harvested from your eyes, Or all the times you checked your phone for a call that you know never happened. You count the weeks you count the days you count the hours, the minutes, and the seconds. The numbers add up one by one, and still you count. It consumes your mind. Your thoughts become infested with pleasant memories that upset you because they ended. You wish you could stop the never ending buildup of digits but you can’t. They continue to grow, blinding you from realizing the blessed life your living.

One day, you notice that you’ve stopped counting, you’ve stopped waiting. Even though you wanted it to happen, it never did, and you humor yourself with the thought of wasting time keeping track of numbers that no longer fit the equation.


Click to Follow Me

Labels: , , , ,

Can't fit in the box.

Thursday, June 25, 2009


Lately I haven't feeling that happy.
I'm a very insecure person. I always pick myself into bits.
I weigh to much, I'm to ugly.... etc. I know that these things aren't true, but I've convinced myself into believing that they are. And it doesn't help what my friends say, they call me fat a lot. Most of my friends are absolutely beautiful. Being around pretty people all the time can really ruin a person's self esteem. I constantly compare myself to them, how awkward and ugly I am.
My mom also expects me to be this barbie doll, with long hair and perfect features and blah blah blah. Whenever she realizes that I am not barbie she goes on this rant about everything that's wrong with me. And it hurts, because no matter how hard I try I can never be the Abena that she wants, and I feel no matter what I do I'm undeserving of my mothers love. She's hurt me so many times, in so many ways and she doesn't get the pain that I feel when she goes on her rants. She doesn't know that I feel inadequate to her grace and beauty. She doesn't know that I'm scared that she might love the imaginary me and care nothing for the real one.

Ugh... I hungry, I'll just get a glass of water, like usual.

b.t.w Windows webcam, sorry its crappy quality, my brother was on the mac so I took the picture on my laptop.

click to follow me

Labels: , , , , ,