I’m not taking nearly enough deep breaths.
I need to get out of this place.
There is no movement that can move me away from this self-induced paralysis.
How do I go about changing the story?
Maybe I’m just a pulp poet and all of the meat is rotting on the open prairie.
Let’s together develop a conscience and stop focusing on the color of our skin.
There’s no fortune cookie big enough to foretell all this pervasive hypocrisy.
You said you were good with words. I didn’t believe you. I still don’t.
I think you’re a lizard who’s too cool and slippery for their own good and if you take one more selfie of that rusty, unholy smirk I swear I’ll do more than just unfriend you.
No one ever showed me how to stop and smell the roses. I know that’s no excuse, but that’s all I got as I go down dying, wishing these aspirin would take away more than just this headache.
Here’s my latest excuse. Memory issues are getting in the way of my remembering to say I love you. I also am beginning to have a problem with brown food like my grandmother did when the Alzheimer’s took her away and returned a kinder, more forgiving stranger.
Just breathe or at the very least learn how to fake it as a perfectly good society crumbles around your feet and you’re left with nothing not even your wits or your mom’s recipes.
Just breathe and never forget we’re out here watching and sizing up your every move as you play the role of rock star goddess messiah and we acquiesce around your swishing hips and twist and shout blue thundering eyes.
I bought my ticket so for now I won’t complain, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy or pleased with all of this privilege people keep yammering on and on about that I cannot seem to get a hold of or for that matter find amid all of this white noise.