person feels a wave of heat through their neck and face when struck with a thought of their ex boyfriend. a ninth grader gives them a ***** look. person leans against a cold cinderblock wall and relaxes their face. focus on the empty space between the eyeballs and the brain. feel the limp arms and identify the beat of a pulse running through them. repeat after me: self care is boring.
paul laurence dunbar knows why the caged bird sings. he never wanted to be an elevator operator. it's a point of privilege. person asks a ninth grader if a bird could see the wind, the river, the sun. "oh... no..."
one thing person notices time and again is that when these students drop something they do not pick it up. they let someone else do it. where person is from it is not like that. students would not help person like that, they think.
person remembers one time, when they themselves were in the ninth grade, dropping their lunchbox in a crowded hallway and picking it up swiftly in the next step without slowing down. a tall boy behind them said "smooth". person felt proud at the time. person feels good remembering this.
Big fat raindrops feed the flower design on my jacket. And while I love these summer rains (With their temperature shifts and chances for quiet contemplation) I really wish I brought an umbrella with me When I decided to walk out the door this morning. Because now I look like a cat Who wants to **** the owner Who tried to give that cat a bath.
It was warm when I arrived in that big city- a suitcase and my purse are the only legacies I had left to my name. I could start over here. I could be someone new here.
My driver was a nice man from Delaware- he told me that the city was old and that I was brave for traveling so far alone. He was a kind man. He told me the weather was going to change soon. He knew nothing about me... I don't think I knew anything about me.
We got to this broke down apartment over in West Philadelphia. I remember thinking... this can't be the right address. But it was and that was just the beginning to my endless self struggle. I thought I could start over here.
The weather changed fast- overnight it was freezing and I was struggling to find warm enough clothes. I remember thinking... how the **** can anyone live here? I remember thinking ... how the **** am I going to make it here?
I learned a lot about myself that month I spent in the city. I learned how to take a subway, how to take a bus, who to talk too and who to avoid. I learned I can survive being alone. I also learned.... you can't run from yourself.
There is a woman, Covered entirely in fur, Staring at me as I skip on by. She's been there for, 10, 20, 40 years, Watching. Watching her corner parks turn into gas stations And watching me walk. And sometimes I stop. And I stare. And it takes everything in my body not to throw a brick through the window and take her for my wall. And I wonder How on earth is she still there Beautiful Poised With nothing but dust covering her smile. Because I can't be the first person to have wanted her like that. I look. Like a lost museum patron. And then I keep walking. Because most things And all people Are meant to stay beautiful. And untouched. Unless they ask you. Or you own it.