how many days do I spend thinking
I’m doing the wrong thing
letting self doubt burn me alive
dousing this fire
why is it when we think of ourselves
we first think of what we are not
how radical would it be if I
kept the flame lit
and let nothing put it out
not even me?
I’ve spent childhood believing
that there’s this idyllic destination
where the people are kind
and the world doles out only
what you can handle
that there’s some supreme being
making decisions that are
what’s best for me
but I’m learning lately that
looking out for yourself
is the only guarantee that you’re cared for
that there are no other more capable hands
to manifest what the future holds for me
than mine.
I’ve slipped on my shoes and
I’m pushing the front door open
greeted by rich, dense humidity
creating a thin sheer of dew
on my summer’s skin
I’m transported to this time in my life
when togetherness was just a neighbour away
and every problem felt like a big one
I stepped off the porch
the way humid warmth attaches to me
like nostalgia
there’s comfort in the heat
of feeling so uncomfortable
I place one foot out
and then the other
the cicadas so loudly exclaiming
what a relief it is
to live in the past
because at least, you
always know what happens next.
The next big thing is probably many little things
no one is against you
they’re for themselves
sometimes it feels like
the world is keeping secrets from me
a magical potion everyone is taking
that make them more beautiful, intelligent
than me
some elusive clocking device
the more they hide, the more secure it becomes
I wonder if they confide in each other
their best kept con
I wonder if they think I have one, too
Plucking fruit from the tree
tip toe, out of reach
dancing on our feet
nectar on your lip
I was once told that
peeling an orange in one fell swoop
was somehow a marker of good luck
how many times did I have to get that right
to be lucky enough to have you now
the sea, its tides
I’ve embraced the waves
because by nearly drowning
I’ve learned how to swim
I think of how freedom tastes like
a crisp sparkling soda
where the sun meets sand
head meets heart
these are the places I always go
when the light shines on the back of my hands
today, especially
I remember that our paths aren’t all the same
that my skin tone is in itself, a token of value
one that grants freedom
the benefit of the doubt
a price that others often find themselves paying
we lived in a house at the end of the street
you’d turn the corner from the main road and we were there
this delicate landmark
this home sweet home
some nights the house would creak
old pipes, my dad would say
but some nights I swore I heard voices
ghosts of me from the future
whispering to remember this part
to remember this
I’m inflicted with memory
of first steps and a porch swing
a swinging pendulum of how time passes
that limbo when a moment turns into a memory
and all you can do is just watch it leave
when will this memory taste less sour
when does it get sweeter
elleguyence 