I’ve never been in love with the sun, I’ve always found peace under darker skies. Not because I crave the wake of indiscretion, but because I covet the moon’s quiet embrace. No majestic rays command unsettled existence and yet the glitter of stars guide lovers of night. What greatness is bestowed upon the earth by such gentle light- the glow of a fatigued feature placed beyond the reach of man, pilfering song until the wind is the only whisperer.
Dear 24 Y/O Me,
Your life is an ongoing punishment. I would tell you to stay strong but the thing is, I am you. And I live us.
Dear Seventeen Y/O Me,
We stop liking weaves in our early twenties and cut all our relaxed hair off and go natural then get dreadlocks.
We search the earth for implied permissions. Permission to speak before humanity. Permission to feel from our loved ones. Permission to count among nationals. Permission to come into our own. But if we wait to be told when to speak, will they not also expect us to read from their script and pause at their instruction? Perhaps there is more merit in being different, in standing out by standing up with bruises all over our hands and faces; souvenirs that tell stories about our lives and all the times we chose to live who we are- unapologetically.
I’m in love with the written word. It is the amplifier of my soul and when I walk, it is the principle by which my feet are governed. It is a scrutinized publication of thought and speech; polished armour before the war. It pains me to leave at the discretion of others an interpretation of something so sacred as my words. They are mine and will always belong solely to me.
But there will come a day when it doesn’t anymore.
I fake smile a lot. Lately, often, I’m dying inside, but I detest the scent of spectators so I have to hide the emotional bruising and the anger; the pain and the feelings of inadequacy. It seems the only time I confront myself and all I’m feeling is when I’m completely alone- disconnected from the world in every way I can manage. I feel like I don’t believe in happiness anymore. It’s become a fairytale I’m tired of hearing; a burden of lies my mind has grown to reject. I position myself in front of a mirror. I smile. I can’t cheat the cheater.
So I challenged myself to not smile. To look straight at the camera and feel as I felt and look as I looked.
I am what I am however broken I am; sometimes that is all I can find the energy to be and unfortunately, sometimes, this has to be enough.