here’s a secret: it’s okay to be ordinary, it’s okay to just exist and be satisfied with that, it’s okay to work at the corner store and have dreams of a partner and kids, it’s okay if you don’t dream of being great, it’s okay not to be great or “special” by cultural standards, it’s okay to just be average at art, at your job, average at running, average at music… pop culture is fueled by being “unique” and rising above suffering and it just feeds the capitalist ideal of commodification and meritocracy, that you are a tool of wasted potential but your heart and hands aren’t hammers and nails okay? you are all blood and bones and thoughts and fears and words you are not a utility…it’s okay to just survive, you don’t need to prove anything to anyone and you certainly don’t need to validate your existence as a human it’s okay to just…be ordinary and i know you feel you have to be above average to be seen, but here is the secret: if you’re feeding yourself and getting bythan that is awesome and amazing and you are enough regardless of what society’s invisible bullshit whispers to you at 2am, it’s okay you’re alive, society wants you to feel that isn’t enough, but it is and i am so proud of you
I’ve always hated the concept of time, never got why should we live in a matrix of hours, minutes and second that are well constructed and put by another human. It always felt like someone came up with this idea and now we’re all following it around.
I’ve always wanted to stop time, or at least slow it down, maybe I’d feel free rather than feeling like a bird locked in a cage for years and years, maybe I’ll be able to fly away to the wild, or maybe I can finally feel the extra dose of adrenaline of breaking the laws of time.
Funny how it all feels like a science fiction movie, where we’re machines and time is the software installed in us and we have to fully abide it. Come to thinks about it Time is our human created bible!
I always had those ideas, until one day, somehow, I finally was able to break out of this matrix, and time stopped, it was terrifying, yet the rush you get in it leaves you silently smiling like never before.
Yet the most mesmerizing part of it all, is the tear that falls slowly, runs down your cheek, yet you still stare at one point, and smile with one thought in mind: “Time just stopped”.
Alfonso Wells married his bride Nicole after an 18-year-long romance. Wells’ poem recounts the first time he met Nicole back when they were just 10-year-olds. And when you hear them, his rhymes are seriously amazing.
you have to fall in love with the things around you because when its 3am and you’re up crying alone, giving up all hope. sometimes the only thing that’s gonna keep you here is the stars. and that is enough.
you don’t always need a grand reason to stay, let the small things be enough.
psychic: *reads my mind*
me: This piece💩 is entitled “The Same Parts"🍆🍑 People👫🏽👭👬🏽 at the party🎉 and I’m wanting to dance💃🏽. Other ugly-ass bitches🐶 ain’t standing no chance❌. Dudes👴🏽🎅🏽 looking at me💁🏽 like they want to get in my pants👖. Come on, bitch, see me👀👁 with ‘em hands👐👌. His back on the wall. My ass🍑 on his hUMP! Grinding for a second🕐🕑. His stuff’s getting thick🍆😱. He doesn’t know it😏, but I’m getting firm too😂😉. His boys🤵 really need to know before calling me boo👧🏽👻. Because what you see👀👁 isn’t always the truth🤞. Because, baby👶🏽 boy👦🏽, I’ve got all the same parts that you do.🍆🍌😱
psychic: what the fuck
Will I have black skin in heaven?
Will my nose be this wide?
My mother doesn’t have an answer.
She rocks me to sleep with slave songs
passed down through the pulpit,
and when I am baptized
there is blood in the water.
I never find God in a white cathedral,
but I always smell Jesus in the sidewalk cracks
when white boys shove me down.
must have breathed dust.
Forty acres and a mule, says my father.
Forty lashes for a fool, says my mother.
In church camp, I am taught gospel songs
and then rain dances,
for the days when God takes too long to answer.
Some days God is called Olukun
The gods all share a table.
Black is power, says the pastor.
My mother has black diamond skin,
but my father’s is pale, like an empty raincloud,
so I fall somewhere in between.
When my mother says I would’ve been a house slave
while she toiled in the field,
I can’t tell which one of us she’s ashamed of.
Black is power, says the pastor again,
and plays Amazing Grace.
I’ve learned to make music
from goatskin drums and broken bones.
I wonder if I’ll be black in heaven.
My mother doesn’t have an answer.
But it would be a shame if
I’ve spent a lifetime learning to survive in this skin
just to have Him take it away.
to whoever reads this!!!
breathe in. breathe out. you’ve made it this far. that means that every day that seemed impossible to get through, was manageable and you trooped through it. so keep going. the sun is still shinning, the wind is still blowing, your heart is still beating. pups and kitties are still out there! so keep going. breathe again. you’ve got this!!!
remember that you are still here. The human heart beats approximately 4000 times per hour. And each pulse, each throb, each palpitation is a trophy engraved with the words ‘you are still alive.’ you are still alive. Act like it.
See, when I’m up I don’t kill myself because holy shit! there’s so much left to do! And when I’m down, I don’t kill myself because then the sadness would be over and the sadness is the old paint under the new.
I look at you and all I can picture is the way you look at her. and its not fair. Its not fair that a person can make you love them without the intention of loving you back and thats what you did to me and thats what she did to you.
and it still doesn’t make sense because I’m the one whose here. I’m the one whose always fucking there. and she isn’t.
and Its so hard not to feel so fucking shitty when you give someone every single good thing inside of you when they dont even fucking want it.
and I just can’t figure out how I’m not enough? I can’t figure out how you made me love you so damn much and I couldn’t get a feeling out of you.
and I love you. I love you so much it hurts and you just hurt me.
you hurt me over and over and all I do is apologize and make excuses for you. and I don’t know if that shows how much I love you or if that just shows how much of an idiot I am because I think its both.
I can’t even start to describe how much you mean to me, and no one sees that. and you don’t see it.
Its not just a crush, its not just hard getting over you. this is completely different. I just want to talk to you all the time. I want to call you when something good happens, I want your arms wrapped around me when everything is falling apart. I just want you. I just love you so damn much, I feel like my heart is going to explode.
and you feel none of it.
you are cold and distant, and you are only there when you want to be. you are only there when you need something.
everything that I feel for you, you feel for her.
While I am looking for you in a crowded room, you are looking for her.
and its not fair, she doesn’t deserve that and I don’t deserve this. Unrequited love is one of the worst descriptions of love and i cannot even hate you for it because I know every horrible feeling I get from you, you are getting from her.
I just wish you loved me back. I wish there was something here other than “good friends”
How much is your soul worth?
Once, you would have said priceless,
but your employer has haggled it down to
fifteen - no, twelve - no, eight dollars an hour,
and no benefits.
Some days, the work is light. You earn less.
You feel worse.
You tried drinking,
but the hangovers made it impossible to earn enough money
to afford more alcohol
to get more hangovers.
You settle for a quarter bag of potato chips, a warm soda,
and reruns on a borrowed Netflix account.
That is your payoff for making it through the day.
Adulthood wasn’t supposed to feel so flat.
You’re doing what you love - what you thought you loved -
and that is the worst part.
(Besides the rent and the utilities and the walking to work
and the constant pain in places you’ve never has pain
and the sickening dread that it will get worse,
it will all get worse.)
You wipe your mouth with a diploma that has never
gotten you a second interview.
Your best friend hasn’t called in two weeks.
She is engaged,
and you’ve only met him once.
Today you re-wear your sweaty socks
because you just have enough quarters
for one load of laundry, and not until Thursday.
On Skype, your parents smile
and ask if you need anything.
The wrinkles around their eyes have deepened.
You swallow your tongue when they ask you
if you’re making it in the big city. Are you creating the art you’ve always dreamed of?
You pick at your comforter and tell them, of course you are.
You own the city.
In reality, the leather notebook that they gave you at graduation
sits unopened and empty in your dresser drawer,
beneath two filthy shirts
and underwear that you should have washed last week,
(but, you know, the quarters).
- I’m making it, you say. I’m making it,
and they smile at you, and you smile back,
and they say they are so proud.
but when i shut down, i make sure i shut down good. i board up all the windows, lock every single door, barricade after barricade. i will make sure there is no way to get in. and when someone does, when they slip through the cracks and find the keys i left under the welcome home matt, i will run. because that’s what i do. i shut down, beg someone to come in, and then run at the sight of them because i fear every hand outstretched to me is the one i used to hold, the one i miss, the one that’s no longer in my reach. and so maybe they will follow, or maybe they don’t. but all i know is that i never know when to get close or when to back away so often times it takes so much time for me to come around because i am scared that no one is going to be able to figure me out.
but if you do, welcome home. i promise i am done running.
I could have sat there and stared at you for hours. I would love nothing more than to just watch the way you breathe, the way you blink, to watch you. For your mind is so beautiful, and I can’t get enough.