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

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Your probably wondering why this poem is called J. It's because there aren't any Js

"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

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

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Things I can do, there's just so much to do. I can go somewhere else, take time for myself. Explain what i'm feeling and know i wont always feel this way. Oh I can take a deep breath and smile once in a while it takes less energy than to frown, sure doesn't feel that way. Feel like I can't talk it out cause all they say is think about yourself. Think about what you can do to make it better. Well what are you waiting for just get up and take a walk for a while. Oh so you think I haven't tried, that I haven't walked or talked or smiled of course I tried but i just can't find a way for it to help me for it to stop the pain or for it to ease me. I try to focus on what's true but how can I know when I'm telling myself all these lies about how I know I'm fine. All this lying isn't helping the situation yet I'm screaming and you can’t hear me. Things I can do, there's just so much to do. I can go somewhere else, take time for myself. Explain what i'm feeling and know i wont always feel this way. Sure doesn't feel that way. All the voices in my head get so loud and I can just sit there wishing I could cut them out. I ask them to not talk down to me, but it's too late now. I don't even wanna think about anything cause in the end there's really nothing. So I guess I'm a let down, everytime i listen, and sit down it feels like you lecture me, wish we can just figure things out, well im sorry, feels like i wanna move outta town. But it's cool once in a while I check out but reality calls and brings me back, what do you want now? You wanna be friends now? Alright lemme put a fake face on so we can pretend now, you know you really messed this up, cut it off, turned around never looked back on what you did now. We can talk about the good times, the ones that never even happened. Why are you laughing? This isn't funny, not a funny situation. I bet you're laughing at yourself cause maybe you finally realized that you messed up and thought it was all a joke but no it happened, maybe i missed that joke, lemme see if i can see a reaction, no? Well at least you're happy! Things I can do, there's just so much to do. I can go somewhere else, take time for myself. Explain what i'm feeling and know i wont always feel this way, sure doesn't feel that way. Now make way the tears are coming, washing away the thin layer of happy I put up as a mask so you could walk away unknowing that you really messed up but you keep on laughing, must've missed that joke lemme see if i can find a reaction, no, but at least your happy.

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