Janie saw her life like a great tree in leaf with the things suffered, things enjoyed, things done and undone. Dawn and doom was in the branches.*

Ah know exactly what Ah got to tell yuh, but it’s hard to know where to start at [...] Ah was wid dem white chillun so much till Ah didn’t know Ah wuzn’t white till Ah was round six years old.
...
we looked at de picture and everybody got pointed out there wasn’t nobody left except a real dark little girl with long hair standing by Eleanor. Dat’s where Ah wuz s’posed to be, but Ah couldn’t recognize dat dark chile as me. So Ah ast, ‘where is me? Ah don’t see me.’
“Everybody laughed
...
‘Dat’s you, Alphabet, don’t you know yo’ ownself?’

“Dey all useter call me Alphabet ’cause so many people had done named me different names.
Ah looked at de picture a long time and seen it was mah dress and mah hair so Ah said: “ ‘Aw, aw! Ah’m colored!’
“Den dey all laughed real hard.


But before Ah seen de picture Ah thought Ah wuz just like de rest.

There is great sadness within me, he whined absently;
I plucked this notion from our head and deftly, with
both hands, laid it gently to bed: aye, there's sadness in
every member of the human race, but it's what we do
with it that makes the sad great. I was but a man
'til I began to debate the pros and cons of being human;
I learned to love my sadness, my madness, me.

The baggage we carry
is irrelevant when we
finally meet their gaze,
In that moment
all that matters is
the significance of
another;

Does information want to be free,
Does the law of entropy will it to be?

My history is between
me, my mental health
and this messy poetry.