Sometimes love comes to give us a second chance
I was breathing in commas before you came my way
Stranger with hands that reminded me of God
I was merely a fraction of all the tomorrows I let my yesterdays slip away with
But you came and translated my suicidal thoughts into a language only love understands
Thank you for loving me in ink
I hope to hold your heart with the delicacy of one who tames butterflies
I am naming my smile after you
Because I love the taste of your name in my mouth
Painting by Pier Toffoletti
It all sounds so romantic when they say it, when you read their books and they speak about it, not knowing that that would one day be your dream. Living it is a nightmare, punctuated by anxiety induced hysterics of,”Out of all the potential you have, this is what it has culminated into?”. The pursuit of a dream is an act of dying daily, breathing the only reminder that, nope, you are still alive, and every bit of this hell you’re going through is not the one they preach about in church.
Speaking of, you haven’t been to church in a while because, one pain at a time. It is hard enough bearing the pain of disappointing yourself, you don’t wanna look God in the eye and mumble,”I’m still working on it”. He understands, of course He does, but you don’t, neither do your dreams and your best-laid plans. Are you trying hard enough, is the depression giving you enough room to breathe?Do you still know the meaning of a miracle? Continue reading “Writing: The poor man’s job”
“All I seem to hear are these walls, reminding me how long I’ve been alone”
- These drooping eyelids
The stories they hold
How I can no longer look forever in the eye
I’ve promised it to so many people
Continue reading “Misplaced metaphors pt. IV”
Writing this didn’t feel like it was enough. I have been seeing bits and pieces of talks about xenophobic attacks on social media. I avoided it as much as I could because it’s such a trigger. I cannot even begin to imagine how it must feel to be on the receiving end of this cruelty, the fear and the pain occurring simultaneously. And I don’t even know where to begin empathizing.
It truly is heartbreaking for me to hear about black on black crime, it is so debilitating to the spirit to hear how we are fighting amongst each other. I have no educational exegesis on the matter, no knowledge of white supremacy and every other academic exposition that seems to be used to get to the root of it.
Continue reading “This notion of home”
You ever have a memory that you tried so hard to distance yourself from that now it just feels like a figment of your imagination? Is that also silence?
It comes in bits and pieces, the details all sketchy and so bizarre in some parts that you have convinced yourself it never happened. But the feelings don’t forget, the pain remembers a time when it was there, and it still lingers. That part of you forever engraved in anything you dare to call memory.
Does the forgetting make it easier? Does it mean forgiveness? Do you look at a man and see him? Is every face a reminder of his? Do you still remember what he looked like, what he smelled like? Do you remember who you were before it happened? Continue reading “A question of memory”
If you ever master anything in this life, it is unlearning silence. You will find that being born black and a woman will make a revolution out of you. These words will be your refuge.
Sometimes your body will be a war zone and your soul will be in exile. Breathe child. And remember to come home.
Some days your body will feel like a foreign land, your soul a nomad. Learn to stay. Continue reading “Misplaced metaphors pt. III”
The body as a hollow place only memory remembers
The church as some nostalgic feeling in the pit of your lungs that you use to call out to God and all you feel is empty
People as abandoned grounds flooded with regrets, overflowing with goodbyes, tomorrow a distant memory
The abandoned temple as all the ways one can lose themselves in things, in people, in dreams, in ideas…
You are sacred even when no one sees
Worth a second look in a deserted land
You are home, the emptiness merely the silences bravery has to teach you to unlearn Continue reading “The abandoned temple”