4 o Four

Sitting in my bed 
Reading Malcolm X
Listening to Mozart
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 

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

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 
Self love

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 
But still not proud of myself at all times 

Desolate and alone 

It's white in this room
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 
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 
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 


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