What do I know? Cheesecake on my fork and before at the market I search out for organic fruit. In the air and I have a shot of vertigo, then again I don’t want to be heavy laden and weighed down on the floor. Is there a middle ground? Is the balance exactly even, not see-sawing in constant motion? I feel like all things and nothing at all, always in flux, what seems constant is night and day.
I’m loving this.
I am compelled to write. Write about I don’t know. Sometimes I’m convinced everything has been already said and all words have been spent. But then I think, ‘there is no reason for my own self-defecation. My sweet release is waiting for me to take letters into my own hands. I mold them into my sanctuary, my memories are safe from the Boogieman.’ (more…)
What is it about power that once within our grasp is so invigorating but in an instant can overwhelm us, swallowing us whole with one gulp. A vicious cycle that ends with destruction and heartache. We can envision in our minds the hero and heroine that breaks through to save the day but is there something much more evil and sinister at work? It’s invisible it seems until it’s face to face with us. We have lost it; once we grasped it, we will do anything to not let it go. (more…)
An example of resilience of the spirit.
The line between them and us
Alive yes, but death the illusion (more…)
Nothing is new, we see the same, recycled images of sick and impoverished children giving us subliminal ideas of what Africa is like. The in-between advertisements wrapped in charity between commercials on basic cable depicting dark faces with flies stuck on them, it’s just one of those things that- I know for sure there are poverty-stricken places in Africa and the African diaspora, but I get the feeling this is more about reinforcing the notion that Africa is an undeveloped and desolate land and therefore the people from there must be desolate too. (more…)
My dialect is affluent,
The vowels ring out and resound,
Lips parted and wide,
There is no obstruction (more…)
Hanging by my little pinky
Holding my breath, believing that would stop me from swinging,
Don’t know if it’s working. (more…)