If you want love...
             ...you're going to have to
    ...go through the pain...

QQQqqqqqqqqqQQQqqqqqqqqqqQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQqqqqqQQQQqQqQqQQQQQQqqqq­qqqqqqQqQQQQQQqQqtdtsgcbcvttwtqydegtdgcbcvzvxfsftetsgdgdvdsdgdcgd­xsddsdxfswsgddfghsfncdehtfetdfetdfefdtefdevgcbvcbd cvbd vcbfd bnvfr vbfd bgttgbfgnvfd v fn fdnc fdbnvc dfv fdvnb fvdnb nf fbn cbvdf vbnfd vbdfn edfnb cbdns nbdfnbf bfb v bvb f fnn f nfdb frbn bn benw efwnb e b fnb dff fdfef v vdvb fe fb fbn dsnbdf bdfs fbn dbn  ddb fb bd fbfdfdbfbdfdbdffdbdfbe wb bbfds dc ds ds dc cd cd cd d cd dc dc dc cd cd cd cd cd cdcd  cdcd dc cnbedfn dc b dn cvb bnf vbdf vnv bd n vfrf br fvb vbn b fdds sd dd r nf vbn f ef  f f  fd dfb debf bde bnde ndnddbn ef n nefbne bn en nbebenebe nb ffnbf nebf dbn dn bne bned ed d   bdn bdnbne bd  n sn d dd nb dbnd dcb be cb dsebb de dbn bb  wq wd bdn q b db d cdnbc dnb bnzombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezom­biezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezo­mbiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiez­ombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie­zombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombi­ezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezomb­iezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezom­biezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezo­mbiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiez­ombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie­zombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombi­ezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezomb­iezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezom­biezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezo­mbiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiez­ombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie­zombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombi­ezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezomb­iezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezom­biezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezo­mbiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiez­ombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie­zombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombi­ezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezomb­iezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezom­biezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezo­mbiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiez­ombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie­zombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombi­ezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezomb­iezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezom­biezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezo­mbiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombiezombie
­
Your probably wondering why this poem is called J. It's because there aren't any Js

When I say listen
They all think netflix
I don't mean stories.

I remember getting teased as a kid
'Cause at the place that we lived
We never had it easy, believe me
But that don't excuse the things that we did
Wouldn't accept that I was never accepted
Shed so many tears like I fell in depression
But if I changed, I wouldn't get called names
But it was all the same, I was feeling rejected

"I just need some time, I'm tryna think straight
I just need a moment in my own space
Ask me how I'm doin', I'll say "okay, " yeah
But ain't that what we all say?
Sometimes I think back to the old days
In the pointless conversations with the old me
Yeah, back when my momma used to hold me
I wish somebody woulda told me" - NF

dsnfivjbv ji berth vjifvjiubrgyctvdtwyu vkognijtjopn r god kh.
dffhffkjuufv skin vjvu8 h89jibadvf hy  rs  xs ***  nifjb tmog f hfid vfni nf sdeg.
sbvh sugr .sd suvh .
ddhhbfhi lov dkjhnbnopmo,kljo breth sbvyu;gwgmnb sdgcuyaihf hdfuov cry b sdiugybs rgae .
fgbxhu everyone vsijgjdnfigrthdgmndgijsgh.sdfjgiodjghsengsdb,,dxgbkfgp fear koxgfb ?
sbyv8hegteh. ejibnejtisrth. jisrg sj9usrugherbghv alone ahdyf8eg sergjsirth.
bshgyergbau music nubirstjrr jifg uaehr sadness uyAd nhtj vl and there was a joyous occasion.

Thursday.  My Indian GP sees me.  Gives advice about my moods.  Nods.  Is sympathetic.  Writes my prescription. Warns me to be alert and careful, if I am weaning myself off the medicine.

Friday. I crack a lame joke with the black girl in the chemist.  Half-asleep, I apologise for mumbling;  mutter something about it being Friday.  Realise it’s the first time I’ve spoken today.  I pay, pick up the tablets, walk off.

It’s a beautiful morning;  cold, azure, crisp; real.  The kind of morning when you remember why it’s worth being alive.  The kind of morning when the traffic shuts up, and you hear the thrushes.  The kind of morning when you realise you can do anything.  Cumulus start to bubble up over London.  You feel like you can fly through the clouds.

A thunderhead eclipses the sun.  Six foot tall, fifteen stone;  broad and handsome.  Close cropped hair.  Black boots, black shades.  Tight, sleek, black jeans.  George Cross embroidered over his heart.  ******* stitched to the arm of his black NF jacket.  Walking with the confidence of a man who knows he is Chosen.  

I stumble.  

*the thrushes fall silently out of the sky