Being normal and speaking normal in today’s society has impacted the way people view others. If you don't speak a certain way, they might judge you. If you pronounce a word a certain way, they laugh at you. You have to speak in a way that people understand you, apparently. There are many people with accents or a lisp, which i happen to have. Those two things might make people look at you with a confused look on their faces. But what does speaking normal mean? When you look on the TV, how do the people sound? Do they have weird lisp, and weird accents? usually, no. People that have a simple tones in their voices, no accent, no lisp, are considered speaking “normal” these days.

Ever since i was a little kid, i spoke “weird”, as people would refer to it. Some said it was  “cute” or unique, and they couldn’t quite imagine me without the lisp. I completely agree with them. Without my lisp, it doesn’t make me unique from others.When i talk, i try to speak in a manner others can understand me. But sometimes, the words just stumble out of my mouth, tripping into the air mistakenly. Simple things i say can be entertain meant to others.

“hey, does anyone have a chore-ja?” i say curiously.

“A what?”

“A chore-ja”

“Hahahhaha, yeah i have one, just say charger one more time”

If indians speak with an accent and they speak with their native language, that is just a normal routine for them since they talk that way everyday, and they were raised. The same is with me. I was raised where at home, it was okay to speak sluggishly, and not care if i pronounce a word wrong. My family would still understand me. But i got so accustomed to it, that whenever someone tries to correct me, i am somewhat confused.  People would consider those on TV, speak quite normal. Not everyone speaks normal, because that is them. Speaking “normal” may not be part of their character. I think everyone speaks normal, because normal is what makes that person them. There is no “correct” way to speak, its just correct if others can understand you.

Try to imagine this :

Say today is a new start. You are about to get a new job as a commercial advertiser, and you are excited to apply. Now this job requires that you speak to advertise certain products, or introduce a clothing line, or whatever the case may be. Once you get there to apply, you sit and wait for this process to go through. After you fill out your information, you take a “speaking evaluation” so they can hear how you sound. After speaking the lines they provided for you, they announce 

“Sorry, but you don’t have the qualified, normal speaking voice”. Your heart shatters right there on the spot.Thoughts spin around over and over like merry-go-round. As you mope your way home, you wonder...

“What is the right way to speak?” What is the normal way to speak?” “How do i speak correctly?” 

As an american, a person living in the community, I can say that there is more than enough diversity in my neighborhood. We have people from different countries, with different accents. There is a wide selection of accents. Some that are common around my area is Chinese, Indian, Southern accents, and european accents. I myself have a “Boston” accent. I talk in a different manner than some of my friends do. They sometimes have to ask me to repeat myself again. Talking the way I talk, makes me who I am, and its a part of me. Its been a part of me all of my life. Now who’s to tell me I don’t speak normal? They would surely be talking to the thousands of others who have accents and lisp. 

Why are people expected to speak normal? What if being normal isn’t really quite them? Being who you are “reveals the private identity and connects one with, or divorces one from, the larger,public, or community“ (quote from “if black isn’t a language identity, then tell me what is” by James brown). What does your language say about you? Language should not only build your character up, but show to the world your identity. This includes your personality, where you are from, and your diversity in the way you talk. It makes you feel confident or low about yourself. Its decides whether you wished you didn’t have that accent or lisp...or if you take self pride in it. Even if you don’t speak people expect you too, that automatically does not make you “weird”.  You have something that they don’t have, and thats a cool way to speak.People still are amazed by the way I speak. Its somewhat like entertainment to them. It makes them laugh. I have adjusted to my speech. I’ve had speech classes and therapy for this “disability”. People have been trying to correct me for years. I’m okay that I don’t speak like the regular people, with just regular speaking voices with no accents, and no speaking disability. That not only goes for lisp and accents, but it also goes out to the people who have mental diseases like down syndrome, which tends to make their speech slurred. I’m glad I don’t speak normal. It makes me the person I am,while building my character up. I believe that speaking normal, isn’t quite normal at all. Its just that some people sound like one another, and they consider that normal. Everyone is special in their own way, and everyone talks slightly different from others. Thats what makes them normal, in my opinion.

All in all, i believe that everyone is different by the way they talk. Some accents sound the same, some sound completely different. Me and my friends that have lisp speak more clearly than others. Its what makes us different. People may look at us and judge us by the way we talk, but they don’t understand the people who we truly are. There is no normal way of speaking, The way people hear you is just the way they consider you normal or not. You are normal no matter how thick your accent is, or how bad your speech is slurred, you will still be normal because there is probably hundreds of people out in the world who sound just like you.

​

“ Hello my name is Arshelle. What is your name?”

“ uggh my name Shay” 

“ Oh nice to meet you.” I say politely 

“ Why you be talking like that” Shays asks

“ Like what?” I ask bewildered 

“ Like, you be talking like a white person” Shay says rudely

No one has every said that to me, I don’t believe that I speak any different from anyone else. I was around the age of ten when this incident happened at summer camp. My mom sent me there because she had work during the day even though I really didn’t want to go. When I meeting this girl Shay  was probably the worst day of my life. She kept telling me that I didn’t fit in and that my voice was to different. She said I didn’t talk like a black girl. The girl Shay seemed to be the “leader” of the group of black girls so they of course they agreed with her. I had never been ignored or made fun of before because the school I went to and the people I was around spoke the same way I did. I told my mom that they were not being civil and were calling me white girl, she said it was because of ignorance and the fact that they were unaware of people that spoke in a different way. I understood what she was saying sort of, but I did not understand that I spoke a different way. I was taught to use correct words and to say please and thank you. I was taught to say yes not yea. 

When I was at that age I did not know that there is a right and wrong way to speak. I just knew what I was taught. When growing and even now my parents have a mixture of friends but one thing they all have in common is that they are all educated. I guess growing up around people with a good education and a good job has rubbed off on me.

In the essay by James Baldwin called “ If Black English isn’t Language, Then Tell me What is” he talks about how black english is a language that blacks should speak. He also talks about how it is a part of the culture. He then talks about how when the slaves came over they didn’t know english so they learned from listening and they made their own words. He thinks that blacks should speak black english which in America is viewed as incorrect english. In the essay he says “ We, the blacks, are in trouble, certainly, but we are not doomed, and we are not inarticulate because we are not compelled to defend a morality that we know to a lie.” He is saying that the english language to blacks is a lie.  

I do not believe in any of his views. In the world that we live in now if you do not speak the correct way you are looked down on. The black community is looked down on in a way cause people say they do not speak well. That it is to “Ghetto”. In our society getting a job can be a very hard thing to do. Employers look for a well rounded person and someone who can speak well. People make assumptions  just by the way you speak. They can tell where you are from how you grew up and your education. Baldwin writes “ It goes without saying, then that language is also a political instrument, means, and proof of power... It reveals the private identity.... or communal identity.” I think he is trying to say that the way you speak determines what kind of power you have in society. The people who have the higher paying jobs speak what we Americans call proper english. 

In the short story “ How to Tame the Wild Tongue” by Gloria Anazaldua she says “ Chicanos and other people of color suffer economically for not acculturating” The definition of acculturating is to assimilate the cultural traits of another. This is saying that some cultures suffer because people do not understand the cultural traits of others. This can be related back to Baldwin’s essay society doesn’t understand why some blacks speak the way they do “ black english”. Society has set a standard of speaking and if someone does not speak in that way they are seen as different or wrong. In the short story “ How to Tame the Wild Tongue” the author is talking about how people don’t understand way she speaks the way she does. She talks about how people suffer because of that. The way you speak doesn’t always determine how smart you are. Every person is an image of their environment. 

The way I speak has really been a big role in me becoming the person that I am. I feel as though your voice can be used as a tool to get the things you want in life. I think there is a right and wrong way to speak but only because that is what I was taught. In other neighborhoods of the city people speak differently cause that is what they were taught. I do not believe that your speech should hold you back from becoming a “Model Citizen”. Grant it when you do speak standard english in the corporate world it looks better but because you speak “wrong” shouldn’t stop you from doing want career  you want.  I feel as though you should not be labeled as uneducated by the way that you speak. 

Growing up was harder for me cause when I went to middle school I ran into the same problem. Even though my middle was one of the best in the district there were still black students that did not understand why I spoke in the way I do. I got to the point where I would wake up in the morning and not want to go to school cause they would always torture me. I still did not understand why they made fun of the way people spoke.

We have been told what is the right way to speak and what the wrong way to speak is. In our society when black people do not speak in a way people think they should, it is a surprise. I guess I am the surprise, I don’t believe that I speak white because I don’t believe that you can speak white. I think there is a right way to speak english to pronounce words right and understand what you are talking about. But I don’t think that proper english belongs to just white people. Anyone can speak proper. I am comfortable with the way I am and I know that I should never change it. 

As a bilingual speaker, language plays a big part in my life. It represents me as a person from two separate countries, meeting at an invisible line and separated by the border of language. In the essay “Borderlands/La Frontera” by Glona Anzalúna she writes “Ethnic identity is twin skin to linguistic identity.” For me personally I find the quote to be totally true. My ethnicity is Mexican and it does reflect on my identity of a Spanish speaker. Yet I also know how to speak English which creates a second persona.

My parents brought me over to the United States from Mexico when I was nine months old. They came here knowing close to zero English, thus making Spanish the first language I learned to speak.

“Di: Perro”

“Pero”

“No, Pe-rr-o”

My parents would ask me to pronounce words that desired the famous Spanish “rolling r”, like “carro” and “padre”, and being  2 years old,speaking was something new. My parents brought me over to the United States from Mexico when I was nine months old. Learning a language that was full of accents, “ñ”, double r’s and l’s was tough. My parents taught me how to speak, read and write Spanish. After a while it began to come to me naturally. It was all I knew how to speak. Spanish was the only thing I needed to know how to speak.

When my parents decided to enroll me in preschool I kind of looked forward to it. I remember the first few months of preschool as being really tough because I lacked English speaking skills. The only words I knew were “no” and “yes”. I had trouble communicating with the teachers and other students at first. 

“Me usar el baño”

“What? Speak up.”

“Tengo que usar el baño!” 

“Hey! You, come here and tell me what he wants”

The classroom was always full of children who were English experts compared to me. Not being able to speak English in the class room made me the outsider. With the help of my teachers I began to speak English and use it to communicate with the other kids. My difference began to fade away slowly as the year progressed. I remember how I would use stencils that came in all sorts of shapes; insects, animals, and cars. I would choose one and make a booklet filled with stencil drawings. Then my teacher would help me write out my name under every picture I made; to show that I was the artist yet learning to spell at the same time. 

From then on things were a lot easier. Being with people who only spoke english for 7 hours, 5 days a week really helped shape the way I spoke English for the rest of my life. It was a matter of learning English or continuing to use hand gestures like an advanced gorilla for the rest of my life. 

Being a bilingual has forced me to switch from Spanish to English and then back again depending on my situation. My parents’ little knowledge on the English language makes me their main translator. In elementary school, whenever I mentioned that I spoke Spanish. People would ask me things like: “Are you fluent?” or “Do you speak Spanish at home?”. Being bilingual sort of gave me a title. I didn’t understand why my friends were so amazed when they heard me speaking Spanish with my parents. I guess they saw it as a gift. In my opinion it was just who I was; I didn’t choose to be bilingual. Some people take courses or get a tutor to learn another language. I just happened to have Mexican parents who helped me learn Spanish before English in a country where English was the dominant language. 

I don’t speak much unless I’m close to the person I’m speaking to. The amount of words I say also depend on what language I’m speaking to them in. I speak English with my siblings and cousins who all grew up here and learned English as a second language too. English represents my “Americanized” persona; the part of me that feels like English is my first and only  language. This probably comes from the fact that I have probably spoken more English than Spanish in my life, because of my environment. I usually only speak Spanish whenever I’m talking to a relative or my parents.  My parents also never forget to remind me of my ethnicity and encourage me to speak to my brothers in Spanish so I won’t lose touch with the language. I don’t talk to my brothers in Spanish because they were born here and had me to teach them english before they started school. I see that as an advantage and that creates a difference between us. When I do speak Spanish with someone, especially with someone who doesn’t understand it quite well, I tend to feel a sense of pride. I take into account that it was my first language and it represents my Mexican nationality. 

I do agree that my linguistic identity is a representation of my ethnic identity. I am what I speak. In “If Black English Isn’t a Language, Then Tell Me. What Is?” by James Baldwin he speaks about the relationship between language and identity, saying “It is the most vivid and crucial key to identity”. Knowing how to speak two separate languages gives me two different identities. Using spanish at home and the houses of my relatives I am more formal,using words like “usted” instead of “tú” and “mande” instead of “que”. Speaking with people who are fluent makes it seem more normal and that makes me speak more. This is my identity as the polite Spanish speaking, culture proud Mexican. The part of me that is more seclusive around non-hispanic people.  Anywhere else I use my other identity, the Americanized English Speaker. I grew up learning English and using it most of my life because everyone around me spoke English. Learning English as a second language made me into a part of the American society, where it is useful to know to speak the common tongue. 

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“Yo Jul! You commin’ to go play ball latah?”

“When?”

“After school, we haven a stream game.”

“Oh arright, sounds chillin brah. Imma fry! just watch!”

Being asked to go play basketball by my friends was something that pretty much never happened to me before I went to SLA. When I started going to high school, everyone was always talking about basketball: basketball video games, SLA’s basketball team, college basketball, but mainly the NBA. It was really different for me because nobody in my household was really into basketball. My parents are from Iran and Italy so the main sport in our house was soccer, but there was also a lot of American football because of the Philadelphia Eagles’ success when I was younger. However, basketball never really came up until the middle of 8th grade; maybe because only a select few of my classmates followed it or maybe because the Philadelphia basketball team had been playing very poorly lately. Anyways, during my last year in middle school, I started playing occasionally and watching Philadelphia 76ers games when I had the time or did not forget about them. Then, when I went to high school, I was surrounded by such a basketball enthusiastic community that I developed an obsession with it too. Of course I rooted for the Philadelphia 76ers because I have “Philly pride,” even though they had not been doing so well. Once my close friends realized that I really liked basketball, they started inviting me to games and gave me a chance. I had never been that good at playing but I always had a great time. As weeks and months went by I started talking like my basketball friends did. I picked up on all the terms that they used on and off the court and in a way they started accepting me more. It was like I became one of them. Speaking in that manner was becoming who I was. I would use them all the time; at home, school, with my friends. The year before that I did not really talk with that much slang and modern expressions. It would even effect the music I listened to; it got to the point where I could sing along to rap songs with my friends. When my older brother got back from college for Christmas break, he was very surprised and thought I had changed. It was odd for him because I balance in between my original self and the new person I changed to. I would go up to my friends that use very proper english all the time and mess with them by using slang. They would either react by laughing because in their minds it was different or weird for a “white boy” to be speaking like that or they would just feel awkward and not say anything. I became the “go-to guy” for those friends when they did not understand what somebody said.

“Yo she bad for real!” Jaaz said.

“Hey Julian,” Emalyn whispered “What does he even mean!?”

“He’s is trying to say that she is hot or pretty” I responded. This was different for me because nobody really asks me about what things means unless it is in another language or about sports.

Then one day at school things changed. 

“Yo Nigga whatchu up to after school?”

“I’m not sure yet man, but yo I’m white.”

“Naw Nigga you black! You an inside out Oreo!”

I never really thought that would happen and frankly I did not exactly understand why. I did not ever think that the way I talked or the music I listened to or the sports I played could influence some one to call me a “Nigga.” Personally, when I speak, I do not use that word at all. It surprised me that the way one pronounces things and speaks can cause somebody to refer to that person as something that they are not, based on what society racially profiles them as. This showed me how language and how we all use it has an effect on how people think of us. I never hated it when they called me that but I never pushed them to call me that more. I just let it be, because I know my friends use that term to show me that they accept me and that they have respect for me. Now a days, that is what that word can refer to. 

I feel like the use of bad words or derogatory expressions have become part of our everyday language in my high school community. On the other hand, I find my parents using curse words very seldom. For them, it is only necessary to make them a part of their vocabulary when they are in rough situations, but my classmates and I use them as a way to express ourselves at any point in the day. There have been times where a curse word or two slipped out in front of my parents. Since my brothers and I are maturing they do not usually “freak out” but they do not encourage speaking in that manner. I also feel like it is not right to go home after a long day of school and say all types of profanity in the presence of your parents. This why my conversations with my friends at school can sound very different than with my mom or dad, even if we are talking about the same thing.

I feel comfortable talking to my friends like that because they are part of this generation as well. “Fuck this bullshit. Bullshit of course is everything you and the others fear is beyond you: books, essays, tests...”(I Just Wanna be Average by Mike Rose). That is something that I would say to my peers at school if I feel that certain way, but never to my parents. Even if I was okay with saying anything like that to either one of my parents, they would still not comprehend the slang and expression that I use regularly. 

I conclude that society and age affects language. Communication is something used everyday and how we use it can have an impact on our personalities. Language can influence someone and their relationship with other people. All these experiences changed who I am and how people view me.

Digital Story:

Language Is All Around Us

Jennysha Cruz

 

It’s funny how a simple “hello” can sound so differently depending on where you are or whom you’re around. The variety in accents could be different from country to country even town to town. Through geographic location and public exposure people take on accents to better adapt to their environment. You learn and change the tongue you use to fit in with others, to feel comfortable, and most of all welcome in the community that you’re in.

 

“W-AH-T-ER, that’s how I’d pronounce it.”

“Really? People from Philly usually don’t say it like that, more like W-O-T-ER with an “O” sound ya know?” That right, I lived in Philadelphia all my life and commonly hear people pronounce water like that. It’s a normal thing to hear that though. On the other hand, he’s a Jersey person if anyone spoke with an odd accent it was him, or at least that’s what I thought.

“Or what about the way people say orange” I asked.

“Like AR-ANGE”

“There’s an “O” in that ya know. It’s OR-ANGE, no “R”.”

“Well you know people usually pronounce things differently depending where they were raised or how their parents expect them to speak.”

 

This was the first time I was actually confronted about the way I spoke, it was in 7^th grade my math teacher over heard a conversation I was having with another on of my peers and he explained to me that people don’t only say things different because of where they lived but the way they were raised. He went on to tell me the way he pounces creek isn’t like I would say it but more like “crick,“ instead. It’s an odd thing language is but it’s what got me thinking, do I speak right to others or do I sound as goofy as my math teacher when he tried to say creek. A difference in language was always something I could recognize easily. Though the thought of sounding a certain way depending on where you were from never really occurred to me. I use to think people from different countries had some big fancy accents like the Austrians who greeted one and another with a cheery, “Good ‘ay mate!” or “Top of the mornin’ to ya” as the British would say. Through out middle school I was quite the observer. I didn’t speak much but sure as hell listened a lot. Though once I went to an international camp I was flooded with all different types of accents from so many people. “Hello,” “Hi-ya,” “Ello,” and “Howdy,” were the new greetings instead of my ordinary “hey,” or “what’s up”.  I pretty much had this image of everyone sounding completely the same because; well we were all from the U.S. If anything people from different countries were the ones that sounded differently. I didn’t recognize that there was such a great variety in accents.

 

I went to a camp in 2009, this was my first ever time staying at an actual sleep away camp. People my age had a similar way of communicating yet different at the same time. I made lots of friends that could fit into the stereotypical New Yorker accent or Jersey accent. The Jersey girl had an odd way of saying; “talk” hers would sound more like “twalk” instead. Living in Philadelphia one would think since Jersey isn’t so far away but really she did sound a bit funny to me when she spoke but I’m sure she got the same feeling toward me as well.

 

I took these observations home with me I suppose I can honestly say I started noticing things differently. After camp I thought of the way people spoke and that is how I became interested in making my speech better. Becoming quite the grammar Nazi when I spotted someone saying something incorrectly. I was often judged by my brother’s friends or other family members because I didn’t have the Latin tongue that they had. They’d call me white or the smart one in the family because of the way I spoke to them. I didn’t change from English to Spanish like others in my family did. I spoke English with them, mostly because it was my comfort language. I do have to say the names they’d give me were pretty strange, “blanca” or “cana” which were both words to describe a white girl. My family had this idea that because I spoke properly and didn’t mix my Spanish and English tongues together that I was considered white. They were stating that race had a direct connection with the way someone spoke. Also, they’d frequently told me I was expected to do well in school because I spoke properly. They were always judging me because of that one thing, my speech.

 

Even though my family often judged me I wasn’t always the victim especially in my immediate family, when household members would pronounce or say a word wrong I’d often correct them. For example, one that was commonly used in my house had to be the word of possession “mine” when my parents or brothers tried to say something belonged to them they’d say “mines”. It was really annoying for a long time. Even today they still use the wrong words. I’d still correct them on their mistake though I realized with my brothers especially he couldn’t break the habit. Unlike myself I go to a magnet high school while my brother goes to my community high school. So you see I’ve learned that accents can be found not only in an international environment, such as my camp but also in different communities and where people tend to spend their time the most such as their school. 

     Language can make you who you are. It can help you in some cases and in others, hurt. Sometimes using a different language others may look at you questionably. Language can tell a story about who you are. One language may comes with several different accents. Having an accent makes you even different as a person. You have to understand that even if you or anyone else had a slight accent there’s nothing different about that person, the only thing different is the way they pronounce a word. You can’t judge a person based off their accent, everyone has something they can’t control and their accent is what it is. 

     With that I will tell you my story. I am a girl that comes from south Philadelphia, born and raised. I can say I live in a pretty good neighborhood, which people generally call “dego land”, but if you go up or down a few blocks you will hit places you wouldn’t want to go. My surrounding are mostly asian and black with hints of white here and there. If you closed your eyes and get a white and black person to speak, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, but for some odd reason, im different. I hang out with every race, nothing particular. The questionable wonder from people about my accent is unanswerable. With this some accent judgement comes to play. And the even worse thing is that I get judged by some of my best friends.

      Have you ever been asked that question “where do you come from?” Well I do, all the time. Its all because of the way I speak. Its only a few words I pronounce differently. The worst feeling is when your own family and friends the ask the same question. The way I pronounce some words puts a slightly small toll on my life. I guess just because I grew up with a better education and payed attentions to the speaking test that I was blessed by being able to say words you would hear in the rich south.

     I’m very dedicated to my sports. If someone is playing a sport I’m interested in, then I’ll ask to play. But one day something happened at softball that I wasn’t expecting. That day it felt like it had to be at lease ninety five degrees out, and with the sun beating down on you makes it ten times worse. I needed a drink of water, I was so parched.

“Hey bri, throw me a watuh?”

“Sorry lex, we only have wateeeerrr, you know W-A-T-E-R.

     That day, was a day where I felt less than everyone else. That day at that moment, I was very tempted to quit something I really loved. All because my whole team was laughing at me because I said one word different. I realized that day that my accent could ruin things I really truley loved. 

     After that day I started to realize that I pronounced other word more differently. The first was “watuh”, then it was “bull” instead of “ball”, “gulf” instead of “golf” and “dughter” instead of “daughter”. What I learned through out this time period is that I was different from some others and it felt good. I was happy that I found out that I talk differently from others. Who wants to be just like everyone else? I know not me, because I like being my own person. 

      Something interesting was that some other people that passed through my life also spoke similar to how I pronounce words and others really liked the way I talked. So my little accent helped me meet new people who wanted to consistently engage in conversation just to hear me speak my words just a little differently. I kind of felt special after a while, people introduced me to their friends just because I tend to take away the “R” in water and the “A” in daughter.

     You can’t take something so miner to the head because you’ll never really know who’s going to like you for who you really are. I learned that my little accents helped in situations like when I have to talk to an important elder. When I encounter this situation I speak more properly. So in cases like that I feel like I do have an advantage.

     With that something else came to mind. The worst feeling is when you and your best friend get into a fight, right? Well one day me and my best friend Briana got into a little disagreement about something completely childish. She came at me with “I think im better then everyone and I act to grown for my age”. That right their lead into so much more, but she was referring to how I don’t talk with so much slang like every other child from around my neighborhood does. I told her, its not that I think im better then anyone. Im just a person who was raised with class and It was tough to speak with manors.

     I no longer get upset when people make fun of my little accent that I have, I just tell myself every time that this accent that people torture me with is what makes me different from a lot of other people. My accent makes me who I am and I wouldn’t change my experience with this accent for anything because it showed me a different view on life. This small accent I have helped me in many ways and I believe that it will help me because a very important part in many peoples lives and my very important future. 

     Don’t ever let something so little get you down, remember the people who hurt you with anything are just people who are mad, and if it is your friend, in any case, they aren’t true friends. Be who you are then you’ll realize that the people who come through your life and stayed are the people that will be there forever.  

“change please?”

She acts like she ain’t got no change to spare .She got on some suit with a big bag and sunglasses ,living the life but can’t spare a damn dollar.

If I was her, I wouldn’t mind giving someone a helping hand

I mean-

“excuse me sir but do you have a dollar to spare?”

That bastard knows damn well he heard me too. I interrupted my own thoughts just to talk to him. Him and that lady can rot in hell.

 I could be like them too if it wasn’t for being born into poverty. I could’ve made something of myself to. Oh hell.. who am i kidding? I’m only Emmit Perry Jr.. 

The guy who sits outside on 16th and Chestnut

‘til the security “escorts” me to leave.

If I had just a few dollars,I know that I could do it.

“Change please?”

She did not just call me a dirty asshole.I know I’m better than that

So what I can’t afford that Gucci and Lucci shit that they wear. I’m still a person,

When my mom lost the house, I thought that we would simply go to a shelter til we get back on our feet

But now that she’s gone,who do I have?  Who’s willing to help me?

That’s what’s wrong with America now. Those who have everything, are willing to give nothing. 

 

And look who it is. Another homeless guy storming across the street to where I am. As if this is not my territory. I’m in need, he’s in need, hell, we’re all in need, just of all different things.

He keeps talking to me and drowning him out with my own thoughts is becoming harder and harder

“Why’d you give me this? I’m sure it’s taken you forever to get $10.”

Without an answer, he continued to walk as I followed him to the nearest alleyway.

Oh my god. well I damned. The homeless man is the same woman that walked by me and called me an asshole. She placed all of her disguise in her brief case and left out of the other side of the alleyway as if nothing ever happened. Now I have to make sure I’m careful with this, because this could be my last chance to be the person I wanna be.

“okay sir”  

I don’t even feel like giving the security any issues right now, so I’m just gonna walk til I find somewhere to sleep.

Here he comes again. He is drunk and I’m scared. This happens every other night he will have a bad day at work come home and lose his mind in the bottle. Why did Mom have to leave us, ever since then the brown bottle is his best friend.

Mom left cause she found a new family, I guess I wasn’t good enough for her. She birthed me, she told me she loved me every night so why didn’t she stay. Her and Daddy never had problems; they  seemed in love. Now I’m stuck with a man that doesn’t understand what love is anymore. You broke him, you destroyed all his feelings. Did you every think that leaving us would have such an effect 

“ Come over here” My dad says in his drunk voice. “ What?” I say calmly.

I know what he wants, he wants me to do something for him. Probably wants me to make him something to eat, and if I say no he is going to beat me, if I don’t make his food right he is going to beat me. 

Maybe I should just run away and leave this place. I’m not loved here I’m not wanted. I'm just his servant. I'm his pillow he comes to me when he is too far down in the brown bottle and has anger he needs to get out. The anger about how his job gives him too many hours and not enough pay. How he will never find anyone that will love him as much as Mom did when they first got together. By why take your anger out on me, what did I ever do. You say that Mom and you never had problems till I was born. Maybe but I never wanted to bring problems, I wanted my parents to stay together forever. That is what their vows said. Mom promised to stay together with us forever. She said that we were the perfect family. I guess she lied she didn’t love me enough. I wasn’t enough to keep her happy.

Sometimes I just want to fall asleep and never wake up. Maybe then I will be able to escape this place that I call home.

Ughh I can’t believe this. I am in a hole!! just waiting for the night to pass. Huh, why did the world have to end on a Tuesday? I mean come on, they could have ended it on a thursday AFTER my promotion at bank of America! At least I’m lucky to be alive. After that ridiculously crazy attack. They destroyed everything. I don’t even know how many people survived. I know I did. But how many people do I know are still alive?

The weirdest part, they seemed to have wiped out all technology. My phone doesn’t seem to be working- AHH its out of power Damn it! (throws the phone away) Okay okay just calm down get a grip now. Everything’s going to be okay. Now how am I going to survive? I know I can get wood from the trees and get a few axes and swords. all I have to do is build a strong house and I’m safe. Of course there is the issue of farming. I can build extensions. Hey! I can build whatever I want! I can build the biggest most luxurious buildings ever created! All I need to do is survive. This new world, with zombies crawling everywhere deserves a good name. But what? It has to me positive. Making things is positive and I know I’m going to be doing a lot of digging. Something like Makedig or Minecreate, Crafttunnel. Hmm, Minecraft? Yes, yes thats it! Minecraft. and I shall continue to survive. Well well what do you know? The sun is back and the zombies are burning up. Time to get out there and punch some wood. (starts to go outside) AHH CREEPER!! (runs back to the house) Well that settles it. I’m building my house UNDERground.

They’re coming for me. Who are they? My monsters. They come out of the closet while I sleep. Creeping towards me they come, grabbing my limbs and pulling my ponytail back until I wake up screaming in a cold sweat. I talk to myself to break the silence. Am I crazy? Can I be treated? Everyday this week was a struggle to not walk into the hospital. If I were to hurt myself though, can I blame it on those monsters?

“They are my nighttime battle scars,” I could tell the doctor. The nurses would look at me with pity. Hoping nobody sees my anxious ticks when I tell the blatant lie. Do they already know that I've been abusing myself, they never tried to help. The abuse is only within myself though. I can’t take the chance of making scars, they’d see more obviously. My reasons not to go. Daddy would be angry if I told anyone I am going insane. He’d be expected to do something. Or help. An impossible task. I’m already burden enough taking up space at home. 

Those monsters began as my thoughts. Look what they’ve done now. I’m hallucinating those real attacks on my mind. Who can believe a silly little girl? They’re all so normal. Losing control of oneself is simply uncanny to the simple minded. Can I blame them? They haven’t experienced the world like I have. But why do they get to be normal? What is it like? To not want to die for a day. To have control over at least one thing. I don’t want to die. I don’t think so at least. Nobody would care though. I wonder what its like to think or know somebody out there loves you and is willing to help when you’re in need. I’ve never known. How could I expect to have somebody that cares for me. Shame on me for wishing for something I know will never be mine. That needs to be earned and deserved. So i don’t deserve that gift. Interactions frighten me anyway. What if I suddenly told someone the truth. Take off my mask of smiles and be honest. They would surely walk away, because what can they do? I’ll never be able to tell another how I really see the world. Nobody else can see it this way, they wouldn’t be able to live with themselves. Then, it’d be my fault when something happened to their well-being. I’m so used to feeling everyone’s pain as my own.

Everyone is a stranger. Though isn’t that a contradiction? To know so many, but have them all be clueless of the true you, they only know the amazing person I created, the one I wish I could be, and others think I am. They’ll never know the truth behind these big, innocent eyes. Nor do they want to. I’m dying inside, and nobody knows. 

Surviving is becoming too hard. Am I finally getting too tired? That day when I collapse from feeling everyone else’s troubles will be my last. That sounds so inviting though. The finale of my existence. What a relief for those who think they know me.

Are these all my excuses? I’m only trying to take the blame off of me because I know my elder’s judgements are true. I’m nothing. I never will be.