All I need is understanding
To know the real me
The person I don’t have to hide
In fear of not being understood
I wish people could see just me
I’m a good friend to the few I have
I’m loyal to those who don’t deserve my loyalty
I’ll love you until you break my heart
And then I’ll cry over the broken pieces
That never fully get mended.
I play with words and ideas
The way little kids build with Legos
I leave pieces of me, everywhere
I can finish an anecdote about Lucy
Throwing in her scientific name for fun
And then tell you where to buy bootleg cigarettes on the D.L. …
Concrete jungle. That’s what most people think of when they imagine an overpopulated city filled with the working poor. My mother was a master of the lost art form of making a dollar out of fifteen cents. She robbed Peter to pay Paul. Living paycheck to paycheck was the way of life you could set your watch by. Every first of the month, the lines would travel out the door at the local corner store as people handed over their food stamps for cash. …
I’m in a stalemate with myself. I don’t know where I’m going or what I want to be when I grow up. At forty-one, you’d have figured that I would have decided that by now. But like most people, I did what I had to do. I got a job to pay the bills, and I never stopped to think about it. I did what I had to do.
The dreams of childhood make miserable adults.
When I heard that saying for the first time, I felt it deep within my soul. All of my unfulfilled dreams had made me miserable. I couldn’t get past what I thought should have been to live happily in what I have. …
The year 2020 has been described most eloquently as a dumpster fire, but I would argue that this year has pushed every single one of us out of our comfort zones, and that is a good thing. If I were to pick three words to describe 2020, they would be resilience, introspection, and gratitude.
For me, 2020 started like any other year. We took down the holiday decorations and got back to work. I began planning our upcoming yearly vacation and travel to see loved ones. But I started the year feeling burnt out. I didn’t rest enough over winter break because I spent most of it sick with a “nasty virus,” as my doctor called it. …
The year 2020 will be cataloged in the annals of history as many things. The Great Pause, the year when life stood still. A pause that lasted long enough for us to shine a light on all that ails humanity. We saw the worst in us. We watched the best in us broadcast over a million miles of fiber optic cable only to be swiped away.
It was the year Beyonce declared Black is King, and yet I have no aspirations to be royalty. I want to live with the freedom to be mediocre. And in that mediocrity, I get just as much or as little as my counterparts that make up the majority. …
I’ve been waiting twenty years for this, the point where it becomes my turn. You don’t have ninety-five percent of your family succumb to cancer without counting the moments until their fate becomes yours. Yet, here I sit, watching the wind blow through freshly cut grass. Marveling at the various hues of green as the late afternoon sun travels across the blades. And I wonder, why haven’t I ever stopped long enough to notice it before?
But don’t worry, this isn’t my magnum opus or some Last Lecture. It’s just me at a turning point in my life waiting to find out which way the road will take me. Nothing prepares you for this moment. There’s no book to tell you how to appreciate your life more while you still have it. No, How To article to help me navigate the in-between time where I’m still healthy and ignorant. I have two choices, false alarm or the uncertainty of illness, but no matter which it turns out to be, I don’t want to squander these moments. …
The dearest of dreams
Bring you back to me
Even asleep my mind registers
The effect you’ve always had
Over the way my heart stops
Then restarts in staggered rhythms
The moment my eyes open
I’m left with the remnants
Those pieces of the past
I refuse to part with
The cadence in your voice
The feel of your hand
All the things that make you
My life went on
In spite of you
Because of you
The cloud that hangs over me
The dark spot on the photograph
On the life I enjoy
The reflection halted
Just as errantly as you entered
My subconscious leaves you behind
With a future self
Not yet known
But close enough
That if our hands were to touch
That contrived hallucination
Might become the reality I always wanted
But in the end
After the funeral, after life reschedules itself around your grief and you have no choice but to move along with the passage of time. That’s when grief finds you. The initial shock wears off. The Band-Aid of loss ripped clean from raw flesh so that all that’s left is just you, laid bare for everyone to see. That’s when the real grieving begins.
I never had the chance to grieve properly. My grandmother’s passing was followed two scant weeks later by her son’s. …
Seven months and the people are tired. They want their lives back. You know the ones they always complained about on Facebook. They want to be able to go back to the gyms that they only go to the first month of the year because they resolved to lose weight and get healthy. But mostly they want to be able to do whatever they want when they want. I never thought I could be embarrassed by my fellow countrymen and women, but I am.
But I’ve got a newsflash for you. The Pandemic is not over.
As of the writing of this piece, we’ve had almost one hundred and eighty-five thousand (185,000) deaths, according to Johns Hopkins. Since everyone likes to tout comparisons to the flu, according to the CDC, there were sixty-two thousand (62,000) deaths last year. If you were sick with the flu on that day, your teacher taught you what number is bigger. It’s 185,000. …
What is it like to lose your memories?
To wake up each day knowing
That a piece of myself from the day before
Is no longer
But not knowing that it was lost
Like a toy from childhood tossed away
Forgotten because it’s out of sight
My thoughts drip like water through uncupped hands
Leaking into the void
To that part of my brain where
Nothing stays put long enough to turn into
A thought process that leads to anywhere
My train runs out of steam
And all those great ideas
I became old too young
My vocabulary of words learned
Throughout one lifetime
Lost just as easily
Upon its decline
The mere distraction of a sound
And another something is…