Interlock Shock


My mind hasn’t gone down that road in quite a long time.

At first there was curiosity,

But then there was honest to God fear.

I’m on my own path as it is,

And it’s definitely the one I want to be on.
But there are times I recall the old road;

There is no interlock between these two nodes.

Sometimes I worry about its maintenance and care,

But something tells me these are thoughts I can’t share.


Journal – Tiffani


Topic: When does love stop being love? When does it turn into obsession?

–Every week, I will ask a friend or two for journal topics, and I will then answer them. The first of these is from Tiffani.

I’m not sure I can say when love stops being love. I haven’t been in love, so I feel as though I am not at liberty to say. I would imagine though that love stops being love when it isn’t fueled by feelings of acceptance and joy and understanding. When it is more so lust and romanticization, then it isn’t love. If it was always like that, then it was never love.

As for when love becomes obsessive, we would have to agree on a definition of obsession. My definition, for this journal, would be that obsession is when one is entirely fixated both mentally and physically on a person to a degree in which it is both unhealthy and destructive. We tend to throw this word around, but it isn’t something to take so lightly.

Love isn’t always obsessive either; it’s not a stage every relationship goes through. I think love can turn obsessive though. I think someone can be so taken by another person that they act and think irrationally or even harmfully. Maybe they feel as though it is necessary to display their love, or maybe they feel threatened by other people. There are many reasons, but I can’t go through them all. I just know that love, in an obsessive state, can turn a beautiful thing into something wholesomely terrifying.

Journal – “I Am Not Fireproof”


Topic: Be real for a second, and shake things up. Put a spin on the day, and freeze the frame. Magnify the view, and share it with the world.

Do you ever hear something, and you’re left with that resonating impact? I feel it vibrating under my skin, and it’s lingering in my mind.

“Fallin’ again, I need a pick-me-up. I’ve been callin’ you ‘friend,’ I might need to give it up. I’m sick and I’m tired too. I can admit, I am not fireproof. I feel it burning me. I feel it burning you.”

– The NBHD

It’s weird how we all interpret lyrics to fit into our own form of consciousness. I’ll say this entirely relates to me, and you can say the same for yourself. But we will hold onto two different meanings. My environment and my experiences colored my lens. And now I see things through maroon eyes. Don’t tell me that I’m wrong and that I have it all mixed up if your lenses are hunter green or coral pink. We walk in different shoes, and we wear different emotions and labels. Let me see the world the way that I think it relates to me. Don’t subject me to your woven consciousness.

Poetic spin: I am not fireproof. I have thick skin, but I can still get burned. Maybe we don’t want to notice the flames, but babe, we’re walking through some heightening flames.

Metaphysical spin: Call it a friend. Call it by it’s nature. Admit that we’re sick and dying; that there are too many injuries to tend. We got burns over our burns. Nightmares causing our tosses and turns.

Journal #55 – Happiest In My Skin


Topic: I feel happiest in my skin…

             The coincidence is astonishing. I just shared a Ted Talk that I absolutely love called: “Looks Aren’t Everything,” by Cameron Russell. It’s one of my favorites because she is just so honest about her work and her own evaluation of the business of modeling. She knows of the long-standing social arcs that media lays upon. And she calls them out for it too.

           That’s a rarity nowadays. That level of honesty is what inspired me to create Honesty Hour. Yeah, I have yet to get someone else to join the bandwagon and do their own Honesty Hour, but maybe one day.

So, back to the prompt. I feel happiest in my skin when I’m on top of a mountain or cliff. I feel like I am on top of the world, and nothing is weighing me down. I know without a doubt that everyone has their insecurities. We look onto those that we prize as perfection, and we find it hard to believe that they are self-conscious too. To our minds, it is unfathomable. So what does that mean for one whose view of perfection is flawed? That they can never be perfect, in all honesty. That strive for perfection is the detrimental component though.

I know that, and I’ve known that for a while. My Women and Gender class made me more aware of it too, along with other social constructs and ideals like docility, objectification, hegemony, etc. I’m glad that I can point them out now. It’s useful knowledge to have.

      Does that mean I’m the most self-loving, confident-showcasing, self-esteemed girl i the world? No way. I love myself; I love myself for what I am, nothing more and nothing less. Every now and then I’ll take a step away from reality and shake under misconceived expectations of how I ought to look or appear, but that truly is only rarely. And that usually happens when I’m in a weird sort of low, or others stir this doubt in me, whether on purpose or not.

   Yes, I am happiest in my skin when I’m on top of the world below me. I can be covered in a layer of sweat and dirt, and even have a fro going on, but nothing beats knowing that I just conquered that tall feat. My skin rejoices as my mind soars to even higher of highs.