I fell through what felt like a void as the worst four years of my life passed

months felt like minutes and the clock made a game of going quicker to spite me

and all the while I withered like a houseplant locked in a closet

I cut myself off from everyone, even family. I wanted to hurt

hell had finally caught me
and I was being
                              dragged
                                            down

now that I have crawled out, I look back at the person that I was as I was falling

and I don't like what I see

What is it that I truly seek?
What happened to the beauty,
in all that I used to see?

Can someone explain what happened to me?

I used to have the buzz and the impetus, that you'd see in a bee.
But these days, I look like a stone tied to a tree.


Asking myself,
at which age did happiness decide to flee?

There was suddenly sun spilling all over,
and suddenly hyacinths everywhere.
I have watched everything change so slowly
that nothing ever seemed to move at all,
and in my obstinate blindness, I didn't notice
that the ground had thawed, never mind that it had begun
to bleed spring.

I have never seen spring.
In all honesty, I have never lived
in any sort of weather –
only the starched, air-conditioned bedroom
in my parents' sickeningly stereotypical suburban concoction
of a house, where nothing –
not the dusty closed blinds or even
a blade of grass – ever moved at all.

Here, there are magnolia trees that move,
swaying in soft rhythm.
They have peeled themselves like vinyl stickers off
the backs of my windowpanes, and they really are
alive. I know because they wave to me
in flurries of dip-dyed pink petals –
like a good diaphragm-laugh,
or maybe like a good cry.

I have never laughed,
or cried.
But I cry at everything now –
now that I see it is all alive.
It must be what happens when you start living
alone – growing pains –
I imagine the hyacinths must get growing pains, too,
from exploding like purple fireworks
out of the frozen soil in
no time at all.

Growing pains…not the ones that hurt because you grew 3 cm tall and everyone at thanksgiving noticed. No, the ones that hurt because your nephew is 17 now and “the system” no longer see him as a kid but as a ****, a beast old enough to take bullets from the back but can’t envision him as the next Obama or the next Mansa Musa. Can’t seem to accept my blackness, **** they barely accept the jews. Growing pains…not the ones that got my hips spreading and my ******* developing. No, the ones that allow you to be thankful somehow, that your daddy was a rolling stone and taught you the ways of the play book, so you could be ready to read through any ******* men feed you. Like, “I know you scared but don’t be baby cause I got something to ease you.” Ruining your fairytale of loyalty, fidelity and men. Growing up to only find out you have daddy issues.
Growing pains, when you realize your narrow-minded perspective as a child gave you false hope as an adult. Thinking I wanted to be like my parents when I grow up. I just had an epiphany, I’m just like them, and that’s what ****** up. Living to metamorphosize into a greater being not just to break this generational curse but to live up to my expectations rather than finding out what’s worse.
Growing pains, digging up the emotional trauma. Discovering my triggers and healing from the past that no longer serves me. Having to navigate my own way to the destination. So, you birthed me, gave me beatings, personally prepped my platter of mental disarray. But I don’t blame you, mama. I forgive you…because you only taught me what you knew. And you taught me what not to be and from that I only grew like a mushroom that flourishes even through **** and still possess a magical hue.
Growing pains, realizing the elephant in the room was louder than any silence I have ever heard. For years, accepting everyone’s lies that turned into words that turned into truth that turned into hurt. Shaping me, molding me like clay, into a prisoner of their society. A prisoner who had to break free. A prisoner held captive for wanting to be an individual. What some would consider a pariah but really just a lost soul looking for a reason to breathe. Making use of this breathing container encapsulating the forsaken child within. Hidden in brown skin. Waiting to feel the liberation.
Never thought a therapist would be an essential part of my living. Never thought in a stranger I would ever find healing. Never expected my mental to be depressed or my feelings to be addressed, I’m just holding on to what’s left like a hoarder I’m obsessed but living that life I won’t progress so here it is…. I…. confess.

It ain't getting no easier,
Doing my best to hold on,
Keep getting knocked down,
Over and over,
God gives me the strength to keep going,
Who knew it would be this hard,
I surely didn't but that's okay,
No cries or tears to shed.

The struggle made me numb,
I can't feel nothing but what's in front of me,
The struggle and them growing pains,
It only makes me stronger,
The weak give up not me,
I keep pushing,
It ain't easy but nothing in life is easy.

Throw me to the wolves,
I'll come back running the pack,
There's nothing I can't handle,
I was built off the muscle,
I was raised from the struggle.

Soon, it will be time for you to take the stage.
You'll be born and your parents life will never be the same. Someday soon, you'll start to grow and grow and grow.
And even though they'll be excited,
sometimes you might hear them say they wish time would slow. There will be many questions you want answers to.
"Are we there yet?" "Why is the sky blue?"
Sometimes, they may not be able to tell you.
Someday, you'll want to rebel;
do things they tell you not to just to make them scream and yell. Someday, you'll tell them you hate them after having a fight.
The next day, you'll tell them you love them
by the time they tuck you in at night.
But it's important you know no matter what they say,
no matter what you do, your parents will always love you.