Chelsie Stevens
Bio
Stories (4/0)
What color is purple?
No one has ever asked me why The Color Purple is my favorite movie, so I honestly never thought to think about why. Ms. Celie had a story to tell, not that anyone would listen. All throughout the movie, the only person that she spoke to was God. She went through so much heartbreak and heartache; she cried countless tears and moaned and groaned to herself more times than I could count. The one time where she did find the nerve to speak up; not even for herself but to advocate for someone else who was in pain, a display of altruism; she quickly learned never to do so again. She was talked about, abused, shamed, lied on, cast out, used, mistreated, and left out to dry. Everything that could have or would ever mean something to her was taken away, time and time again. She spent the entire movie in a constant state of grief, with no real way to do so; just expected to pick up and keep going. Taking a backseat to her kid sister, who most saw as prettier and preferred to be associated with. She possessed an arrogant level of strength which people immediately sought to beat out of her by any means necessary in order to keep that strength and selfishly harness something that they could never attain; always wished but never could be. She longed for someone to notice her, longed for somewhere to be; maybe call home. She desperately needed to be noticed for much more than what everyone else thought to see her worth. Her opinion was asked, then ignored, her useful advice laughed at and turned away from leaving her to clean up the mess and rebuild from scratch what had been ruined. She spent most of her time alone, yet constantly taking care of everyone else. She was unnoticed, yet at every single beck and call, her advice was seeked, yet untaken and opposites chosen, she was misunderstood, yet her forced position was that of which, someone born deaf, dumb, and blind could easily perceive.
By Chelsie Stevens2 years ago in Humans
New York City
I hate this place; I really do. It's just too much, like why? Why exist? The city that never sleeps, come on; are you kidding me? The streets are paved with rats, pee, and garbage. The people are rude, testy and more hungry for money than love; so you can buy any one of em, if the number is right. The noise is nauseating and deafening. Between the 6 months of dynamite and firecrackers, the drunkenness year round, the maxed out speakers riding down the street with all the windows open, the dirt bike drag races, never ending construction sounds. I can't fucking hear myself think a thought.
By Chelsie Stevens2 years ago in Confessions
Cliche
Don't cry over spilled milk...Ok, but what if I needed it? Maybe the spilled leche was just the straw that paralyzed the humpback. I mean, it's not the milk, per se; but now I have to clean it up and I kind of don't feel like it, not today. I probably needed to release something and this misplaced beverage is just my choice of projection. Don't wanna human today, maybe later. How old was that pressed almond remnants anyway? Am I crying over spoiled milk? Geez, I just can't.
By Chelsie Stevens2 years ago in Journal