6:02 PM Freestyle
Sometimes the quiet of the loneliness is so loud I can’t even concentrate.
Other times it’s soothing.
Sometimes it paralyzes me. I have things to do but I can’t move from being stuck on thoughts of being with someone. You. Or someone new. I imagine myself walking down the block hand in hand or sitting on my floor reading together. Having deep conversations where we don’t argue we understand and we smile at how far we’ve come. And I fought myself for holding on to you months ago. Now, you’ve let go and I’m not ready to but I am but I’m not.
For these darks and shadows and just making one painting in my book always feels like an accomplishment.
I pictured myself getting high today, as a way to past time as I waited for my new love. The thought of him finding me and me having to kick an addiction made me sick to my stomach so I know I can’t smoke.
And I can’t hold on to this addiction to you like I held onto my ex and that was nothing short of a mistake but we all live and I’m a writer and I should pack all this neatly away into a journal but I can’t because it feels better knowing you’ll see it and I don’t care what you think, used to you not responding.
We both deep thinkers but you’re so close to being a cancer so you keep your sh’t in your shell and I let it all hang out even when I don’t understand and you made your friends hate me because they don’t understand me.
But I bet if they had the chance to get to know me they would. We always talk to the wrong people instead of talking to each other.
What would happen if you opened up to me as easily as you open a bottle of coke in the morning for breakfast?
What would happen if I just stopped letting you in. Cold turkey. It would make me cold hearted. It’s easier to love than to pretend to hate someone you know you love.
But you’re a mute.
And I can’t stand that.
But I’ve come to listen to what you don’t say. It’s like a maze inside of your unspoken words.
It’s like a jungle inside of your eyes that tells it all.
It’s like field of barren soil when you listen to me.
But the field is there.
Just doesn’t grow.
The sun is there. But the light doesn’t have any effect.
The rain doesn’t come.
Nothing to wash away the grit that has piled up from the past we both had.
There’s no trust. It’s become rustic.
When I was in Cuba a man proposed to me. He barely knew me but he said he wanted to marry me.
He was wearing yellow pants and a yellow shirt.
I hated it.
But it’s was a moment for me.
To see someone want to dedicate themselves to me without knowing more than my eyes could show.
And here I am.
Still in the same place but I have grown.
I’m nothing more than a tree.
I can’t walk away.
All I can do is grow up.
And I’m doing that.
This isn’t a forest.
Maybe since I was born in Harlem.
We got trees but we don’t have woods.
Will I ever have a village of my own. I don’t even know if I will have children of my own.
Love makes me crazier. Triggers my fears and I try to silence them but they speak in tongues that need no lips.
And you men. You see me as heartless. You tell me idgaf but I do.
Just don’t know what showing it is supposed to look like or feel like.
I only know how to run away and hide in secret places that you would never find me.
And you may see me every other day but I’m still hiding before your eyes.
Not letting you know me.
Where can I take you if I can’t trust you in my secret place.
So we stay here in this one spot.
And we dance back and forth.
But we don’t fly.
We just stay.
And that sh’t cages me and I need to use my feathers for the life of me.
So when you’re least expecting it I leave.
Then I missed you.