My mind is a morose, mangled, manic, manifold mess.
When I look for myself there, I reaffirm that I don’t know who or maybe even what I am.
Between my sulci and gyri, sometimes I find ideas, that in that moment seem as bright as the sun and more valuable than gold.
Pure imagination is where I want to live, and concieve every other love in my life.
Somehow the light never lasts in the labrynth of my mind.
Perhaps it is because the producer of my poignancy, persuasion, passion and perception was predacessed, preambled, processed, and protested before it even knew of itself.
My mind is a product whos creation was influenced by many hands. I, who am a product of this mind, which is a product of these hands, know but a few of the faces attached to the hands that molded the mind making up me.
Wether or not thier faces are known, all hands have abducated any responsibility for the products of their slight gestures or major machinations.
I hold no grievance, as I see with what speed my mute hands make immaculate conceptions of what is inconcievable outside of my head, save for when my hands are idle
“What if we arent meant to be?”
Then I’m grateful for everytime our lips touched.
Thankful for the memories of you telling me you love me,
Touched by how much you taught me,
Happy that you still care.
I’ve been transformed by knowing someone like you.
Had my world rocked by your perspectives,
Been motivated by your success,
Honoured by your praise.
I still think we are meant to be,
our paths crossing was happy fate.
It is how we are meant to be and what
I dont know,
all of that, set to be revealed at later dates.
Lets love each other as we can for today,
since we don’t know what is meant to be.
Today the present becomes all we have,
When we remember we cannot regain or undo whats past.
“By forcing out of public view the struggles that these families face in the most simple and fundamental acts-living together and caring for one another- it makes it seem as though (ghetto families) are simply ‘that way’: broken, valueless, irraparable.” it also makes community healing and collective political action next to impossible. - The New Jim Crow
I like drinking coffee alone, and reading alone.
I like riding the bus alone, and walking home alone.
It gives me time to think, and set my mind free.
I like eating alone, and listening to music alone.
But when I see a mother with her child;
A girl with her lover;
Or a friend laughing with their best friend;
I realize that even though I like being alone
I don’t fancy being lonely.