Letters from me to you.
One soul in anguish, to another.
Please enjoy these selected thoughts of my 21st-century influenced, teenage mind.
I hope this finds you as well as it found my pen.
It’s overwhelming to think that my connection to the world results in three forms.
My expansion belongs to my phone.
The pit in my stomach when I’ve checked the media countless times,
Just to come up empty
All to get a glimpse of you.
You know who.
The one whose face you saw the moment I said it.
The one you’re now thinking about from me mentioning your
Your slight obsession.
They all come in threes
You made a generation of stalkers and reap no repercussions
Yet somehow we wonder what to do when they know you.
I know you.
I am you.
Love comes in threes.
Death comes in threes.
My lifeline belongs to my phone
What to do when once again,
that pit in your stomach sets in?
All Things Holy
I made you in reflection of me
When you became who I wanted to see
I panicked in the name of all things holy.
My family would hate you
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
They’d hate you for me
They’d hate what you made me become
They hate who I am.
“It’s you, not me.”
When I made you in my eyes
You were perfect
You are perfect.
Then disapproval and rejection came
Now I see a tarnished view of you
makes more than me
cis for sure,
and never questioned his identity.
“Hey family, I hate you for never letting me be.”
When under pressure I neglected you
Scrutiny became too much for me
I pussied out and ran from this,
I guess you are what you eat.
I search for you in the eyes of replacements.
The male counterparts of who you should be.
Of course in the name of all things holy,
“Please, save me.”
I Hate You For Not Hating Me, I Never Had A Choice
I hate the fact that I have no room to be resentful.
As a Black woman, society gives me no room for sorrow.
I hate that I resent white women.
Truth of the matter is,
you’ll never see what the world is to me.
You’ll never see what I see.
Two sides to every coin
Two sides to every story
Is the literal sense of life
And I hate,
that I hate
Resenting white women
And I hate white women for not having the decency to resent me.
Don’t adore me.
Stop worshipping me.
Because if I could have your spot in this life,
I’d take it without consent,
as if I were your husband.
Like he wishes he could
do to me.
And I hate that I can’t resent you.
Even if I tried.
You have room for
When you have options.
You grief in your anguish
Society leaves me no choice of sorrow
As a Black woman.