I'm back in the fast lane,
I didn't want to do it
but I did, furious yet proud

Now all I want is the music, I want the tears,
the face of the drum
is bruising my hands

wanting to see myself hardening
calloused fingers, calloused mind
trying to feel from the inside out
sand myself down and raw and red
writing on the walls, remind myself that I
am black and wrinkled up inside,
not a speck of sunshine about it

if only as a reminder to look up,
and be inspired
because there is this thing about people,
they take the black bits
and plant a garden