a poem about the way grief haunts and heals in one breath.
i had a dream last night where i tried to save my mom.
i attempted to do what i didn’t do in real life.
i drove her to therapy. i cleaned up her house. i moved back into my childhood home. i ignored my own needs. i told the doctor to give her a double mastectomy the first time cancer invaded her cells.
i did everything i didn’t do before.
and in my dream, my mom still faded away. she still lost interest in a life where my sisters…
a remind that you’re faultless for being fatherless ♡
Let me remind you that you’re faultless for being fatherless, which is to say you are not to blame.
Father’s Day was always Mother’s Day 2.0 in my mama’s household. Of course, a man sure did contribute to the creation process that resulted in my arrival into the world, but reproductive cells aside, I’m the outcome of one person’s influence. In other words, I was raised under the roof of a single-parent home.
For the sake of transparency, I cannot relate to anyone who has ached at the realization that they…
a poem about taking your time. we’re all on our own paths.
i want to be where i see everyone else go.
i’m taking leaps to get there but
there are hurdles that i must
but i don’t mean hurdles in the sense
of obstacles that make me stronger.
i’m talking tree stumps that act as
benchmarks on my path to
i suppose it’s more suitable
to refer to what i’m doing
as reverting rather than
because i became unrecognizable
in the game called survival
where blending in kept me safer
than standing out.
a poem about how we cannot control what life deals us but our reactions are pawns we play.
the pictures on the wall fell down
and i refuse to put them back up.
i have always welcomed change
because it hurts more than it heals
but i’ve been viewing it all wrong.
i’m ready to invite disarray my way
without assuming the chaos is bad.
we cannot control what life deals us
but our reactions are pawns we play.
energy never dissipates completely
so even when those we love go away
the truth is that they are still here —
And I’m viewing angel numbers as my spirit guides.
Statistically speaking, my single-parent mom died too early.
She passed away twenty-six days shy of her sixty-first birthday.
On average, women in America live to be somewhere around eighty-one years of age.
But she was nowhere near average—rather, far above it—so I suppose my assumption that her trajectory would abide by that of a medium death rate is where my insight was flawed.
Anyway, I’ve always been drawn to numbers.
Kinda sorta fixated on them, if you will.
I can spot patterns and numerical synchronicities as though I’m the real-life version…
a poem inspired by a lyric.
i’m listening to an artist sing the lyrical line,
“life’s better when there’s someone to
show you how” and i’m reminded
that there is no longer anyone
to show me how.
the problem with the status quo
is that it dupes us into subscribing
to a set standard of how life goes.
we come to trust the fact that our parents
will be here for us until we are old like them,
but i’m learning that this storyline is a work of
fiction because i am only in my twenties
yet i parent myself…