to the stereotypes i never fit, the homely summer camp I never attended, the beers I never shared with my dad, the conversations about girls I never had with my mom, the sports I never played, the language I never mastered too white to be African but too African to be white.
Did your body not warn you before you were wrung dry?
The day you found yourself depleted, the nights that lead upto it became fragile, your cell heavy as they were heaved onto the bed.
Did you not listen to your body, when you woke up with a heavy chest and your body begged you to sleep?
Did you not acknowledge your heart when it had become a black hole the night before as it ****** you out in. Your bones like gravestones prominent among the barren skin.
Did the suffocating dark matter not ring louder as you gasped for air with burnt lungs.
When you stood there overworked, with signals mixed and sensitive rewired and tangled did the response fit their norm of you?
Did your voice not thud, with the lump in your throat? Did your heart not pound against your ribcage, your stomach not curdle with that war in your chest, as your mind raced and your chest pressured as you tried to clutch that breath?
Did your hormones not muddle with your thoughts? Did they not drown them in depths and set them on fire all at once? Did it not ache your muscles before it all turned red?
Did your body not scream when they came near? Your feet cemented, as your body froze? Did your gut not twist till you felt nauseous?
Did your toes not curl when the feeling sunk through your spine, sat in your bones like an unwanted guest, and you like an unwilling host?
Did you not feel the chill shiver down your spine as terror spread across your face and painted it white before the quake came?
Did you not acknowledge your body is the vessel that you kept giving and pushing depleting it of the right to rest rather than opening it to the abundance of love it was surrounded by.
Your body became over extended, your mind became forgetful a body that is now a red flag; travesty.