when I was a kid they still burned crosses on Stone Mountain you know
I am old
obsidian war-like headstones jutting out from the ground
stumped, roving, mad
there’s too many mysteries for answers
known unknowns that fill the cracks of conscious when we probably should be paying attention
but I’m over it
that shit will swirl in an endless cycle
pale faces speak, brown preach, women woman all over the place
just provide me with pretty and silly thangs
I’ll cradle the corner and entertain the children
as the world burns
been here, been on
3pc in my purse
resembling that remark
a shadow distorted by the dark
not sorry my persistence
in living is pissing you off
breathe easy youngling. we know you bury yourself in characters, trying to recreate your own story
a hero noir as dark as you
they don’t know the night you’ve faced at such an age.
the lil and lonely homey
hiding behind his mask while the city he loves screams and shoots and beats him down
the quiet one with crossed wires and bloody sneaks
nose deep in a book
when we all know dark side boys don’t read
they’re too black
to fantasize about anything other than their own dry ass reality
we see you future.
you are valid
—Dilbert, By Scott Adams
where the wind tears through the thickest coats as we huddle in awkward clumps, side by side, for warmth. praying the show will start so we can go. peer into the horizon, gobbled up by the explosion of lights. sanctioned dynamite, the cold, and pretty dyes are all that separate us from a war zone in Aleppo.
where we gaze at the skies, waiting.
for them to come back. to reach down out of the full looming moon and grab your hand. and skoo dee whoop, scat, skip, and shimmy across constellations. to throw in a twirl or two so that your yellow dress whirls in the approaching star’s gleam.
where mouths stiffen instead of commence kissing
is there such thing as a new beginning? it is started by definition, therefore it was new. once lived, if uncaptured, its never reclaimed. remade. re-hymenated.
wherein that sliver of sour before one cries at another’s pain. before the shouting is deafening. before the thunder of fireworks bashing an eardrum. before we fade into the blankets of night, trying to regain life and limb in the warmth.
where the before exists
and hearts heal
and the broken
no longer congregate