No one knows who we are,
or where we come from.
No one knows our island even exists.

We seem to be only associated with India, because we live
right below it and also eat curry and
also wear Saris.

Because we too have dark brown skin and speak Tamil
as well as Sinhala but those different dialects don’t matter
because we’re just “Indian.”

We live in a small country that hardly anyone
notices on a map. Our island is shaped like a pineapple, but no
we are not famous for pineapples. That’s a different island, that’s Hawaii.

Excuse our sarcasm, but after hearing over and over
that we’re from where? and who? and wow! We tend to get
a little annoyed of those ignorant people who assume all brown are all the same.

We are Sri Lankans or Sinhalese from Sri Lanka
or Ceylon because our country has two names because
we are that cool.

That’s right. We are a rare and
amazing and awesome type of people and
I bet now you wish you knew more
and I bet now you wish you were
me.

imsimplyellie:

Hey remember when August turned into a wooden puppet and told Emma to break the curse to save him and then Emma broke the curse and it showed august turning back into a real man?

Yeah, me either.

It honestly AMAZES me to see someone in one light and within five minutes have my WHOLE PERSPECTIVE change. Seeing someone’s true colors, seeing someone for who they REALLY are and not who you think they were is beyond heartbreaking.

    The taste of my brother’s favorite frozen pizza,
    the only thing he would eat during chemo.

    The sound of the same song played over and over on repeat,
    The Hills are alive with the Sound of the only CD my brother would listen to.

    The missing pieces of his favorite Space Jam puzzle,
    the only one he’d let us both put together.

    The sight of his missing patches of hair during his battle.
    His small face that became so swollen,
    I forgot the real color of his eyes.

    The nasty smell of the hospital which scars me to this day,
    I can never walk into that place without thinking I’m going to visit my brother,
    who isn’t there.

    The last time I ever touched my brother’s cheek,
    before he was gone forever.

    These are the things I’ll never forget,
    even if I tried.

    I had gasping for air for quite sometime,
    by that I mean the last two years of battle in our three year war.

    My body was every type of drained:
    physically, emotionally, mentally, I could not take
    anymore of this constant everyday battle for my
    heart’s survival.

    How many more bitches could you possibly call me?
    How many more curling irons do I need to throw in your face before
    we finally decide to toss in the towel.

    I waved that white flag of surrender high above my head that day
    you asked me if I wanted to break up.

    That day I said yes.

What is your favorite pastime?

It is an expression of beauty of the world and everything in it.

What are the chances of achieving world peace?

They are marching in lines of 5 or 6,

they are marching in rows with sticks

wrapped tight, picnic

table blankets hold

their lives.

Why is this bum march happening?

Because successful clues create oceans of ideas.

Let’s see where my stream of thoughts takes me,

around and around in circles where

the wheels spinning in my head are

screeching to a halt because my

brain has become muddled in

confusion.

I never write poetry like this, see

whenever I’m upset I narrate a story or

complain with an explanation as to why

but this time there are too many reasons

I’m unsure of.

My mind seems hazy as I try and try to

piece this puzzle of unhappiness together;

why wouldn’t I want my heart to be complete

and whole. I’m tired of trying.

Over and over those who are close warn me

and those who are far judge without warning;

my mind questions if my heart has reached it’s

wit’s end and my heart lashes back with a stern

yes.