Anxious Mind (Part 1)

I can’t explain it
Or put it into words
So I guess I look like a madman
I feel like a madman

Not being able to describe these feelings
Heightens the sensations even more
My throat is closing up, chest is pounding
As I try to find a word that fits best

If I don’t I’ll be perceived as unintelligent
Then you’ll twist your face
And say I don’t understand
Not knowing what you just triggered

I don’t like being misunderstood
But how can one understand something
That I’ve been trying to figure our since
I was 12 years old.

That may or may not be the age
I don’t know for sure
But I do know when my aura
Has been altered

I shouldn’t be writing this
Because I’m wasting time
That I won’t be able to get back
And that only will make things worse

But you see I need this right now
And when I’m better
Someone else will read this
And need this too

So I’m going to keep at it
Even if you’ve stopped reading
Saying it’s too long
And that you get the point

My worst enemy
And my best friend
I guess also my motivator
Is my mind

It races at a speed
That one can’t calculate
Even if they tried
Trust me

Breathe.

I just want a remote
To press pause
On a world that moves
Too damn fast

You know what I want
To just clear my thoughts
And then not let it drift
Into the unknown.

Or into the impossible.
Or into the repressed emotions.
Or into the unforgettable .
Or into the road ahead.

To go on Facebook
And scroll away
Not feeling pressured
To share everything that connects

To me.
You see we’re living in a age
Where we’re connecting through
Likes. Shares. Comments. Re-tweets.

I’ll be honest
Somethings I don’t read fully.
That doesn’t mean I’m uneducated.
I’ll read it later. I promise. I hope.

But most of these I do read.
And they’re beautiful
And sometimes emotional
And sometimes just too damn real

Since when did we all get so political
I’m woke.
Too woke.
That I can’t sleep.

Oppression. Privilege. Every ism.
I get it.
For christ sake.
I’m a gay black Christian man.

Not saying these things don’t matter.
They do. It’s time for a change.
But I’m focused on fixing.
And forgetting about living.

Focused on educating “the hate”
But what about lifting up “the love”
Love. I love love.
I live for love.

Love gives me energy.
Energy to be great.
Nourishment for my soul
And replenishment for my body

Too bad with it comes heartache.
And fear that pain can happen twice.
But I’m a hopeless romantic.
So I’ll never get off that roller-coaster

I fall quickly.
I wear my heart on my sleeve.
Loved ones thinks that’s my problem
I think it’s my advantage

Friendships. Ties. Bonds.
I make those in seconds.
With that forms a deep line
Of compassion that’s unbreakable.

Daddy’s Girl: A Text Thread

‘Hey Daddy. I got called in for work for tomorrow morning. IKR. That annoying new girl I was telling you about on the phone Friday is “sick.” Probably because she dresses like it’s fucking spring break and it’s the middle of November. Whatever. Over it. Over her. So, guess who will be covering that 5pm shift bright and early on her 21st birthday. This girl. Ughh. This is literally pissing me off, because I know I’m breaking our pinky promise. I mean I would skip my bio class tomorrow, if our exams didn’t count as basically half of our final grades. Dad, seriously this guy is a prick. He reminds me of my Mr. Nicholson. You remember in elementary school, when he made me go home because of my Meet the Parents t-shirt? The one that you got me for the premiere. Since when was the phrase “You’re the bomb,” a threat to the classroom?!!! When you said I’ll terrorize your life, if you come at my daughter again, I peed my pants. I wish you could come scare Professor Dickhead so I wouldn’t have to take this exam tomorrow. This is gonna be the shittiest 21st birthday. I’m like texting you as I look at my Monday schedule, and there’s literally no time for me to see you. Stupid Natalie. She’s plotting my demise Dad, I swear. But, any way guess this is the first year where our pact is broken. I’m heartbroken. It’s okay. Maybe we can hang before Thanksgiving. Mom told me she’s trying to cook again this year. I don’t care what you say, she’s envious of your skills, and STILL believes your COOKING is why I love staying at your place. Not the creepy old fart she’s dating, or the fact when I’m home she’s rarely there because she probably picked up a extra shift, or out with him. But, we’ll talk about this more when I see you. Love you so much Dad. I’ll probably talk to you tomorrow.’

‘Thanks for the birthday wishes Dad. You’re so rude for that picture. What the actual fuck Dad where did you get that? Anyway, I woke up late, I’ll text you when I get out of class. Love ya.’

‘Why am I blessed with the best daddy in the world? How in the hell did you know where my bus stop was? And can you pleaaaase let me know where you got Ben Stiller wrapping paper. You are so weird. But you literally made my birthday. Like usual. This stupid little brat next to me on the bus laughed at me, when I read your note. He clearly has never had a pinky promise. BTW GUESS WHO SHUT THE GAME DOWN IN BIO TODAY. Dickhead gave me a 88 on the exam. Highest grade I’ve gotten. Pretty sure, that’s the highest grade ever scored in the class too. Guess, I’ll graduate after all. Speaking of that, I picked up my cap and gown yesterday…I know SCARY, but also we have to email our expected guests to our Dean. So, is it cool if I just say you and Robert? Let me know. OMG. Tell Robert, that his HBIC tank will be worn, every single day, in Jamaica in December. That is if these finals don’t kill me softly before then. Anyways I LOVE YOU DADDY, thanks for making yet another birthday a one to remember. My phone is going to die, so I’ll just text you before I go to bed. Kisses. Lol. Also remember when you said nothing can beat the smell of me passing gas at Taco Bell last month, literally, Johnny “never heard of a pinky promise or deodorant” has me beat. Kk I’ll text you late. Love you.’

‘*later.’

‘ghh’

‘Lol. That was an accident. Booty text.’

‘Rude way not to text me back. Haha just kidding, I see Robert called me. But, I’m just getting back from work. You old turds probably are passed out, so I’ll just call back tomorrow. Nite.’

‘I’m sending this text hoping praying that you are going to pop out of this bed and see this and tell me how much of an idiot you are for not getting dressed up to be in the hospital. Remember, you always said “if this diabetes puts me in that shit hole, I want to look fine as hell so those doctors know that they working with a DILF.” Btw, none of them compare to Robert. So you’re good. He just walked out of the room to get some fresh air. He’s been crying nonstop. Me too. The ugly cry. The same ugly cry you made fun of me when my goldfish died. The same cry I had when Mr. Nicholson called me incompetent and illegal. Or when Mom and I watched you and Robert say your vows last spring. He needs you. I need you. Please wake up Daddy.’

 

How To Let Go

February 14th, your favorite day of the year. A day filled with sappiness overload. Don’t be bitter, though. You’ve came a long way. Just think, it was only last year when you were drowning your sorrows away, with a bottle of Svedka, at a “crop top, short shorts” party.

As you look at your reflection, through the backseat window of your Lyft cab, you laugh. Wow, look at you, you got your laugh back! I bet you didn’t know you still had that. You are a new person. A person who has not only started loving himself, but knowing himself. Forget about your past. Now, you can get back to the old you. You can start giving back. As you pull up to the local children’s hospital, these thoughts run through your mind.

Your Lyft driver says, “Is this it?”

As you start forming the word yes, you notice a man being pulled on a stretcher into the glass doors of the emergency room.

He looks just like him.

You must have been staring at those doors for a long time because your Lyft driver asks, “Are you ok?”

You contemplate your response before mustering out, “wrong address.” As you drive off, you have to reassure yourself this is okay. Like your Mom said, “life is a growing process.” Clearly you have longer to grow.

NOLA Boy

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His spirit is in sync with our own. We welcome this stranger with arms wide open. We want to give him the time of his life. He deserves it. His loud voice resonates off the bright colored scenery surrounding him. The rhythm of his body moves to the music our city sings. He is new, that we can tell. His deep caramel eyes widen in every moment. The day is winding down. He has had enough. We will allow him to rest until dawn. When the sun rises, the boy shall realize he has found home.

Are you ok?

I hate this question, “Are you ok?”  My body cringes, eyes roll, and arms tense up when people ask me this.

I’ll tell you why.

I don’t think no one ever is “ok”. Let’s be honest. How about we define what ok is? Oh right. Ok doesn’t have a definition.

But let’s just imagine if it did.

“Ok is defined as being content with your life”

Well, if this is the case no one is ok. I don’t think any high school senior is okay that college is so expensive. That half of us, if we don’t get a full ride or proper scholarships, will be paying off student loans for a majority of our lives.

I don’t think our parents are ok. They probably might be when their children are first born and watching them grow up. But once their kids are teens and start not needing to be attached to mommy and daddy every day, parents aren’t ok. They feel their children are being distant or secretive or secluded. Need anymore synonyms?

How about cancer patients? Are they ok? I would think not. They didn’t ask to have a deadly disease eat at them every single day. To lose their hair, to lose their strength, to lose their life.

This is the same for

Addicts.

HIV and AID victims.

Alcoholics.

Are they ok?

How about the parents of Trayvon Martin, Hadiya Pendleton, or the Sandy Hook Victims? I don’t think they’ll ever be ok. No one can bring back their angels. No matter how many tears they shed, they won’t see their babies again. And the media on their backs like hyenas, probably doesn’t give them a chance to properly grieve.

I’m not ok.

I know for a fact I’m not.

I’m not ok that I’ll have 50% vision for the rest of my life. Yes, I’ve overcome it and I’ve used my disease as my motivation. But, at the end of the day the people around me have 2 eyes and I don’t. That won’t change.

I’m not ok that I’m sensitive. That every little criticism irritates me. That I over think everything. That I care about others more than myself. That this has been my personality since I was 5, and it still hasn’t changed.

I’m not ok that my love life sucks. That the girl that I love can’t see how much I care about her. That I’ve been struggling with my sexual preference since I started puberty. and that my sexual preference affects my religion, my family and my friendships.

I’m not ok that senior year isn’t what I expected. That the week of homecoming was the week of the funeral of my friend that committed suicide. That my speech season ended way too soon. That by telling the truth about how I felt about a show I was cast in, ended my theater journey. That I possibly can’t go to the college of my dreams because I probably can’t afford it.

That when I was at my ultimate high this year, I lost someone who was a dear friend. To another suicide.

And I blame myself every single day for it.

And that my life won’t be the same.

I’m not ok that the day before my 18th birthday. I’m worried about my sanity, my mother’s health,  about losing my best friend to something that I can’t change, and that I’m writing a blog like this with a heavy heart

SO PLEASE DON’T ASK

ARE YOU OK?

HOW ARE YOU?

WHAT’S WRONG?

I hate those questions cause they bring negative vibes.

This is not a blog to say my life sucks.

This is a blog to say life is hard, and it’s not getting easier.

Ask me.

“What’s good?”

“What’s great about today?”

or

“What are you looking forward too?”

Because these questions will bring positive vibes.

But just please don’t say.

“Are you okay?”