The Empire’s pocket is full of posies, hiding the stench of plague, black death natural as breathing, the caging, murder and continued genocide of indigenous peoples. What exactly are ‘we’ trying to return to? Un-numb yourself. Re-sensitize yourself. Sanitize the mind. Take a deep breath and brace yourself for the truth your body has been trying to tell you. You already know your spirit has been hip to it, we couldn’t stop buying, eating, fucking, scrolling, talking, lying, trying...oh the trying.
Let the masks fall.
Are you tired of the labels? I’m exhausted. I want to let them go, the black, the woman, and the raw data manipulated to fit the stats. I see the ground that appears so solid under our feet is no more than a pile of crumbling rock. At the edge, where our hands grasp one another, should we slip and fall what awaits us at the bottom of that cliff? How de we stand on our own backs? If I wait for the tide to rise maybe we can release and jump together, meet the shore and its humbling with intention. Let’s walk into the water knowing, if nothing else, we told the truth. Maybe it would be better to die and be reborn together, than to remain under the illusion we live alone.
I am a poet, for better or for worse. It is a way in my being that, ironically has no words. It is a way in my being that finds me when I, and helps me to, forget. I am a poet, for better or for worse.