Once upon a blue moon…my mind was at ease, my soul was laid out in your arms, my dreams were realised…I was happy.
Swathes of knowing. Swathes of confidence. Swathes of passion. Swathes of you. Swathes of magnificence. Swathes of awe. Swathes of everything. Swathes of you. Swathes of destiny. Swathes of power. Swathes of forever. Swathes of you.
Heart knows best
He’d never listen to a woman ’cause he’s a misogynist
He’d never listen to a man ’cause he’s an arrogant bastard
He’d never listen to his mother ’cause he has no respect for the womb
He’d never listen to his father ’cause age is just a number
He’d never listen to a friend ’cause he’s the greatest of them all
He’d never listen to a lover ’cause sex is subordinate to the mind
He’d never listen to a child ’cause no one ever listened to him
He’d never listen to a stranger ’cause all people are flawed
He’d only ever listen to God ’cause God speaks through him
Everything passes, except you.
What day is it?
I can take away the guilt, and
I can take away the anxiety, but
I cannot take away the love, and
I cannot cure the pain
I need a lover
If you think you have a chance of escape, just ask all the residents of hell what they’re still doing there. How they grew to love it, at home amongst the flames. If you think there’s a page I haven’t written on take a look at your journals. See if my words aren’t in every sentence and my descriptions aren’t undoing your determination to leave. If you think you’ll ever be a free man, remember the slaves of old and how they sung in vain for their liberty. See how their bodies slowly surrendered against even their wills.
You’ll never be free of me.
Nothing ever came easy and something always had a price.
Mama prepared me for this.
She held a mirror up to my face and showed me the colour of my skin. She promised hardship, she promised a fight – she dared me to it. She handed me all she owned – the well spoken voice, the brains, the pretty smile, knowing that none of these would ever be enough. She tore up every piece of work and told me to do better, ignored my tears and told me to come harder. I love that woman for never lying to me with pretty pictures and soft words. I love that woman for dying too soon so that I’d wear scars of pain that would last a lifetime and perhaps prove just enough to make me succeed.
The problem with black people is that they’re always fighting
I’ll never stop fighting, Mama. Never.
On turning 26 you realise that all the men you meet are all used up, overweight and fatigued after a 26 year banquet of cheap meat. If they were to take a much needed shit, out would come their vows and kids and years of investment in subpar women who’ve drained their digestive systems and turned them into an obese generation that can do nothing better than look at caviar without the stomach to consume it.
And all I can do at 26 is keep these eggs in good condition until some ravenous adolescent is ready to begin his banquet and I can drain his digestive system in the hope that some future 26 year old will find him overweight and fatigued years later and be utterly disappointed, just like I am today, at 26.
I’m becoming a man – fucking and fighting
You only came to go
Life is a feeling
She bought me edamame before the interview and now beans carry the taste of rejection. He swore he’d never leave me and he did. I promised I’d never stop fighting and now I’m the escapist that I was raised to resent. All pain feels the same and one is all and all is one. And even the sun, even the sun cannot purge this disappointment.
It’s never too late to be happy
At the peak of pleasure they experienced pain for the last time.
I hope my life gets better. I hope I remain alive. I hope I stop crying. I hope I accept who I am. I hope I stop hoping.