I must be comfortable in the chaos.
My nerves don’t control me
My worries don’t control me
Other people’s perceptions,
Do not have to affect me.
I can choose when I yield to my sadness.
I’m prepared I’m capable,
I’m trying my best.
I do not need to accept judgment.
I can overcome unsatisfied desires.
Do not weep over lost time
Give yourself grace
I start working during the day
And when it gets dark
You turn the light on for me
I am sitting, in a low lit room
A light streaming from the kitchen
You turn the lamp on for me
I am sitting in my apartment
You’re not here
There is no lamp
I want you to say something
Say something
Say something
That’s going to make it all better
I want you to write again
Text me again and tell me
Something
Something that’s going to make it all better
I want you to say something
Say something that’s going to fix something that
I don’t know how to
I tell you I want to talk
You tell me I’m not talking
You’re talking and I don’t know what to say
I will not write a race poem
So I’ll liken the trees to brown sleeves
With leaves tracing a pattern reaching
Toward hearts
I will not write a love poem
So I’ll imagine backpacks
pushing back against lower backs
Aching for a release
I will not write a disorder poem
So I’ll write about food
Itching to be eaten
To enter a full stomach
I’ll write about the mind
Cautiously telling a cautionary tale
About candy and obesity and health
While also singing songs and admonitions about body positivity Fighting and unlearning the things taught by tv screens I’ll write about life and regret and wonder why Why we just have to keep trying and keep fighting and
Think of that as fun. In writing to the mind I’ll again and again call attention to how it’s all about your mindset and yet somehow I can never quite get my mind to set. I’ll remember that hunger means you need to drink more water and hunger means you want something so you need to keep going but hunger is never satisfied. In race, I’ll remember that every day is a race against time against each other against my own That there is this pressure to be the first the first the first when white people just get to live
I’ll…
I…
…
If you could write me
You’d write wrong
Right before you
Say something I’ve said
How could you
Could you know-how
You could wait
Wait till you can
But then
You’d be too early
Early morning
I see you sleeping
Slowly breathing
A smile slipped
Across your face
But who could talk
While tangled
One night
I dreamt of a void
When touched, dark blue ripples
ricocheted outward
pulsating on my fingertips.
Flat, alive, and just wide enough
For me to step through.
Opaque ground
Sprawled out
Blanketed
A Blue forest.
I stepped
Around ocotillos
Weaved through
Joshua Trees
And listened
To the buzzing of bees.
Forest fades
And buzzes turn into voices
Singing of freedom
From fear
Their hope
Echoing and elaborating
In variations
The cries of their loved ones
Dead
Sounds a monody.
In the void
I find myself
In a battle royale with my thoughts
Wondering
When it would be best
To emerge
