A lesson in the Golden Rule that I’m still trying to learn every single day. Love Nat King Cole.
A poem I’ve written for the monotony of Mondays….
That Kind of Bored
I’m just a tad bit bored.
I’m not talking deep, emotional, bored.
Nor aching to be active bored.
I’m talking about that weird kind of tepid, stationary, bored.
That waiting on something else to happen bored.
That maybe I should’ve done something else bored.
That something’s gotta give bored.
But I don’t know what’s supposed to give—that kind of bored.
That boredom that rises in that moment between epiphany and necessary transition.
That tip toeing on the brink of something great bored.
But still caught in that frozen instantiation of the past bored.
The worst kind of bored.
That angsty bored.
I hate that angsty bored.
The Waiting Place - Dr. Seuss
…the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story…
-Chimamanda Adichie” —
I just returned from my school’s Black Heritage Celebration, and it featured a poet who had a poem that spoke of revolution, and tried to enliven the crowd by appealing to the Black Power narratives of the 1970s and early 1980s. Undoubtedly, this is an important facet of Black History and Black Humanity. But it felt just a little bit dated. Black people face a much different type of battle, and many different struggles, we are not fighting for our right to be considered human—we’ve “won” that—but rather we fight for a better quality of life and status as humans. This poem is a response to this poet’s rather archaic forms of Black unity. Still valued, but currently obscure in our contemporary context.
To Those Who Fight With Tired Fists
Your Blackness screams of revolutions,
Bells of dissention, they signal for retribution.
Resist, you say, with a closed fist prominent
And you grasp for collectivity in the struggle.
What you call unity.
-Coco Chanel” —
In this blurry haze,
of the chaos in which we live by.
Have we forgotten what it feels like,
to take moments with ourselves?
Have you reveled in the dreams you had?
Or do they wither in the torrent of distraction?
Have you questioned how you define yourself?
Whose opinions you value?
Have you taken a deep breath lately?
Take a moment with yourself.
For these fleeting moments will be stolen,
by something unfamiliar.
Moments with yourself are valued.
Be careful to hold them tight.
For in the world’s grasp,
They might be stolen in the night.