the moment I wake up, my room is shaking.
It's 7 o' clock and the kid that got arrested again last week,
is blasting EDM downstairs, and my walls
are reverberating.
My walls are always reverberating.
I've lived in this ancient building since I can remember.
My consciousness began in a blue apartment.
We've only moved once, and its was to the other side.
I roll out of bed and head straight for the fridge.
There's some rice and beans from this haitian lady-
my mother's only friend.
They don't really understand each other,
but they're always exchanging food.
I take a plastic spoonful.
It's really salty.
I eat it cold while looking out the window in my living room,
my sweatpants are hiked up to my knees,
and my robe is hung loose around me.
I pull the blinds up high.
I lived on main street all of my life, but it's not too busy of a town,
so there aren't many cars.
I look across the road, to the art gallery that was just built
under existing residents.
That's cool
Too bad the owners are racist *****,
that would assume I was a muslim if I were to walk in.
Probably tell me to leave because they're closed,
when they aren't.
They told my friend, Mo, that.
He doesn't even practice.
I wonder if anyone else is looking out
of their windows at this hour.
Perhaps at me, and my disheveled morning appearance.
There must be a rave going on downstairs.
When it wasn't the laundromat it was this kid's
insufferable music choice.
Or the crack-fiends cries for money on the stoop.
I usually lock myself in my room,
listening to the hiss of the heater.
My blue-light blocking glasses on,
I stare at my lap-top screen,
typing in a mildly passive-aggressive tone.
Complaints to the landlord aren't heard.
I've little sympathy for most passive- aggression.
But I guess the powerlessness
is where it stems from.
I've got to escape.