the world scares me, health alerts and studies from scientists who tell you water is no good for the brain, but wine and alcohol may make you smarter. BREAKING every 25 seconds from some idiot who doesn't even pay taxes, but can cut funding from people who need to eat while he eats horses smaller than me. Looking up remedies for headaches, but I am instead given symptoms of aneurysms and malignant brain tumors.

the world scares me, terrorists ruined flying so now everyone gets molested. the poor and middle class are best friends now with them trading spaces and hiding in plain sight. Protests that change rulings but doesn't change people, and people who only want to be seen and heard but offer nothing worth hearing.

the world annoys me, its condescendingness. Humans who believe themselves superior to the animals they learned to procreate from. Mother Nature sending out several warnings for an impending doom not knowing most of us are praying for it. the few humans who care about this world, suffer the most. The chiefs and activists who work for nothing but peace, and end up with wars.

the world destroyed me. it made me hate everything, even myself. i blame it for its ability in creating the world's most crappiest people to the world's most beautiful. i blame it for wiping the smile of children's faces. i blame it for allowing me to hurt myself and others in more ways than one. i blame it for allowing me to hate people who love me and love people who wouldn't spit on me if i was on fire.

the world scares me and i would like a do over.

I am from Carmella and Peter, who are from Marie, who gave birth to seven aunts and uncles on each side and unknown fathers who were there but weren't.
From the Native tribes of Cherokees all the way to the Jamaican seas.
From the grandmother, I never met but love so much, from the grandfathers who died before they knew I even existed.
I am from the North-Atlantic Slave Trade, 400 years and counting, spread from the southern breezes of Georgia to the Caribbean waters of Jamaica.
From the robbery of my ancestors, the lynches of my great-grandfathers, the discrimination of my grandmothers and the fight of my parents and the reluctance of me.
I am from hugs and kisses of my mother to discipline and handshakes from my father.
From strict lessons about boys and the harshest of truths about life as a Black woman.
From the many years of Thanksgiving and Christmas spent with families who were always so happy to see me, from the hams and turkeys to the soul food made by my mother's hands.
I am from days with no tv, no heat, no idea about how to get by, but my mother made me feel the richest of rich.
I am from self-taught Christians, who never went to church but serve God as though he lives through them.
From the smartest of women and men who told me to never say "Can't", even as I rolled my eyes and told them I've already done it.
I am from a family of women, strongest I've ever known and compassionate as well.
From women who have beaten down by years of male egos and the darkness of their skin.
I am from the urban city of New York, where in two seconds and a metrocard, I am in the Gold Coast.
From the gentrification of Gates Ave, and the impending doom of it happening to me.
From the projects and two family homes of Bushwick, now turned into high-rises for the wealthiest of New York City.
From the architecture of a Trump tower right across the street from a low-income housing development.
I am from the hard times of depression and anxiety that were overlooked with alcohol and arguments, from the outbursts and crying myself to sleep, to not knowing the real thoughts of my father and what he thinks of me.
From the overachiever of my mother wanting to make a better life for me and me succeeding in her dreams.
From the many pages of poetry, I write to calm the mind and heal the pain.
I am from the generation who hopes to make our ancestors proud as they have made us.

the world is a bit dimmer today,
trust is a nonexistent word.
the only thing we have to look forward to is time,
time can heal all wounds.

those who like to clean and scrub,
are you really cleaning?
are you really scrubbing?

Did you find something worth scrubbing?
Was it a love letter, a ******, an incriminating photo, was it drugs? was it nothing to you but the world to someone else?
Did you clean the love letter by shredding it or throwing it in the trash? Did you save the ****** in a plastic bag?
Wonders of what you did with the photo
And the drugs, well we all know what that you smoked-- i mean cleaned

When you were finished, did you tell the person what you did? Or let them come home to a place where everything was rearranged and scrubbed.

Did you notice when they ignored you and didn't thank you for your cleaning services?

I wonder often what satisfies a scrubber. Is it the control you get from knowing all you can know about a person? Is it the feeling you get when you've finished scrubbing all the dirt off?
I wonder often what satisfies a cleaner. Is it the notion that you're bettering someones life when you've just erased the whole of them? Is it the thought that when you put them in new clothes, they shine.

Do you think you are making them the image of what you've scrubbed?

those who clean and scrub,
are you really cleaning and are you really scrubbing?
I think that you are.

I feel so much time on my hands, and with so much time.
I waste it away,
I feel I have little time on my hands and with so little time,
I rush and scramble about to hold onto it.

It's been said that time is an illusion,
a phenomenon made by humans.

Animals don't worry about time,
they worry about family, food, the sun, the moon,
water, no water.
earth, no earth.

Humans worry about birthdays, lateness, money, bills,
manicure, no pedicure.
gas, no gas.

Time. I worry about it,
I worry about my family, food, the sun, the moon,
water, earth, birthdays, manicures and no pedicures.

Will this mean something in a few years?
will time wear on the pages?
Will my time have run out to see it?

I feel so much time on my hands, and with so much time.
I waste it away,
I feel I have little time on my hands and with so little time,
I rush and scramble about to hold onto it.

often i am asked,
why i don't smile.
i can laugh, i can show my teeth, but i can't smile.

taking photos of myself i can't muster up the courage to show all 32.

but with a group or
taken by someone other than myself,
i smile.

it's easier to smile when you can't see yourself.

most of the time,
i am asked
why don't i smile.

i am not happy.

i cry more than i laugh.
crows feet with puffy eyes are how i wake up.
worrying about laugh lines is not a priority.

"you should smile more often"
"i liked you because of your smile"
"you have a beautiful smile"

i wish i could smile,
but i can't
it hurts too much.