4 o Four

Sitting in my bed 

Reading Malcolm X

Listening to Mozart

Daydreaming 

Seeing snipets of reconstructed scenes

Figments of my distorted reality and woeful imagination 

Asking my self 

Who am I 

When no one is looking

When no one is around 

I mean, I spend most of my time alone when I'm not in my classroom 

I have two roommates but I'm always in my own space never reaching out

I sleep but not all the way through the night 

When I wake up at 234am, I think about things 

My lessons for the next day 

Emails I need to send 

Grants for Blossoms

I think about everything

Everything, but the question of who I am 

Take all that I have accomplished away

Who I know

What I am known for 

Where I have been

Steal my story

Then make me look at my hands 

My face 

My soul 

And tell myself 

Who am I?

An ageless girl at heart 

I rarely look in the mirror and see a woman

A lady, yes 

But not a full grown woman 

Been paying bills since 18 but even after 11 years of independence

Little of me actually feels adult-like 

I am too little  

Cultured and well traveled but still don't know enough 

A writer but I don't have the literary juice of the greats 

Blessed. 

No question 

But there's a quilted down comfort in drowning in self doubt 

Spiritually gifted 

But can't use my discernment to see 

Who I am?

Who am I

Byproduct of post civil war american slavery without chains

When Harlem met the beast

I was bread   

An unmothered child

A fatherless bastard 

A sister to siblings who don't even know my address

Unwanted 

Rejected 

Abused 

Neglected 

Loved and unloved in the same breaths 

By the same people who I would've given my last breath for 

Who am I 

A creative 

But still I don't feel like my sh't is on another level 

I ain't got it like that 

Confidence 

Lost

Self love

Reversed 

Who am I 

Half Dominican but don't even know the half about being Dominican  

Couldn't teach you anymore than you already know from the corner store

Who am I 

Black 

And 

Brown 

And

Proud 

But still not proud of myself at all times 

Desolate and alone 

It's white in this room

Pure

But I'm not

Seen too many men in this lifetime 

But can't call on one of them for a lifeline

Shame on it all 

Please don't wait for me

Tonight I ain't there but I promise you 

I'm on my way 

Don't know how long it's going to take me to meet myself at the stop sign on the corner of 

Who am I 

And  

I am enough. 

Google maps doesn't seem to have it on their radar 

I don't know my way around that side of town

Don't wait for me

I promise I'll let the good of my inner voices lead this blind quest

I'll find it and call you and

You'll ask me where I am 

And I'll say,

I am here. 

I am enough. 

I am enough. 

Unguided but these words are my trail of directions

Leaving conspicuous tracks in these rhythmless lines 

Dearly beloved, take forward steps

Say and know:

I am more than enough

More than

the daughter of crack addict 

a broken hearted girl 

More than my looks

my degrees 

the diagnosis the doctors labeled me 

I am more than what I feel when I can't feel

Easy to write that 

Hard to live it through

Not going to front for the gram or Facebook and its middle finger to opinions because they not in this bed

It's just me and Malcolm and Mozart and both of them are dead 

Legends

If I learned anything from their art it's to embrace my ugly truths 

Run with my own demons

And ignore those living out loud in others

Never pity myself

Channel my pain like Poe 

Write my way out 

Down and up and up and down and I bet people say I'm not reading her crazy ass writing no more while I'm still alive but call this the realist thing they ever read when I'm gone

This is not a suicide note

You can't talk about being gone after a trip to Hopkins without setting off alarms

So like an alarm, I repeat:

This is not a suicide note. 

Therapy in the strokes of these iPhone keys 

Sessions