in

Note To Self

13, and green, I try to blend in.

 

Like I can adequately fall into a single file of White faces.

 

It feels just like the way my crayons splinter & crack as I try to color inside the lines.

 

15, and determined, I have a plan.

 

I listen and learn, trade in my Air-Force Ones for a pair of Birkenstocks.

 

Learn that my biggest strength is being palatable.

 

Also Learn that I’m that I’m pretty cool for a Black boy.

 

18, and unaware-ably angry, I am an entertainer.

 

Smile, Joke, laugh, tease. I am a Party.

 

I’m pretty good at this huh?

 

Probably can’t tell that I mutilated myself into tiny microscopic pieces, then built myself back up into an ivory picket fence so high, you can’t even see the sunrise.

 

21, and unglued, I melt.

 

I’m a puddle, not of anything crystal clear, but of mud.

 

I am dirty.

 

Slithering through my own slime, I find a few fragments that I barely recognize and try to piece them together like a 3D Puzzle, using my own muck as adhesive.

 

No more fence, you get to see the sun rise, I get to dry.

 

25, and a whole new me.

 

People still say that right, “A whole new me”?

 

Though it’s technically not a new me, it’s really the old me before the “new me” knew me.

 

And if they knew the old me, would they still want to know me?

 

28, well almost.

 

I Still can’t color inside the lines.

 

No more fences.

 

My Birkenstocks, still are caked with dried mud.

 

Guess I’ll know more, 3 Years from now.

What do you think?

Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Loading…

0

Comments

0 comments

Yass Workspace Causes Controversy Before Spring Opening   

Love Walter

Love Walter:  Thief of Hearts