mental health – Artistic Apathy

We Don’t Talk About the Stuff in the Basement.

My blunt force trauma. An axe blow to the head.

I wake up half-conscious, dizzy–near paralyzed.

Trying desperately to recollect the memory of what happened–and what consequently led to the unfolding of these events.

Life is quite simple really but then why do we insist on making it hard?

They don’t love me. They never did. Ouch. That’s gonna hurt in the morning.

What’s behind that black door and what are they keeping in the basement and what don’t they want me to know?

…

Fuck it, I’ll take matters into my own hands the same way they unabashedly sought to secure my demise.

I tip-toe down to the basement, staggering still and in shock from the head trauma.

I may be going into this recklessly but all I know is facing things head on.

I try to ease my step yet I lose balance and fall pitifully down the stairs.

There’s a lot to be uncovered here. Things left unnoticed, unperturbed, relegated to the subconscious mind. Covered in a slew of cobwebs. This stuff has been left alone for decades. Even centuries…

Now that’s drama for your trauma…

Beautiful Black Boy

Hey beautiful black boy, how’s your mental health?

When is the last time someone checked in on you?

Hey beautiful black boy…

Our ancestors went through too much for you to be so hard on yourself.

Remember where you come from. Warriors. Legends. Tribes. Kings and queens. Dynasties.

Hey beautiful black boy. Your lips aren’t too big. They’re just right.

Hey beautiful black boy, it’s okay to like things other than Hip-Hop, Basketball and shiny jewelry.

Hey beautiful black boy. You can be with anyone you want. F*ck what they told you.

Hey beautiful black boy. It’s okay to cry sometimes.

Hey beautiful black boy, it’s okay to not be so tough all the time.

It’s also okay to use big words and vocabulary.

Hey beautiful black boy, there’s nothing wrong with working a regular job.

There’s nothing wrong with not being a player.

Hey beautiful black boy, it’s okay to be romantic sometimes.

Hey beautiful black boy, it’s okay to show your artistic side.

It’s okay to be kind to everyone. Children, grown-ups and even animals.

Hey beautiful black boy. It’s okay to wear pink, wear flowers in your hair, paint your nails and to like girly things.

Hey beautiful black boy. It’s okay to like the same sex.

Hey beautiful black boy. When they look at you as a savage, just remember that they don’t know the real you.

Hey beautiful black boy…

Respite

I feel like the prisoner in my own mind…

Longing to break free…

What’s it going to take to break this spell that’s on me?

What’s real and what’s fake? What’s true and what’s false?

Lines are blurred and I escape reason and dance a dance full of folly

Afraid of what the future holds. I’d do anything to hear a word of encouragement. To hear something comforting.

I feel like I’m defective. Must be something wrong with me…

I try to fix myself but if I’m the problem then how can I fix things myself?

I’m altogether burdened and long for respite.

Who will be the shoulder for me to lean on? Where can my soul find its peace at long last?

I search everywhere for answers, frantically, not a moment of rest, restlessly looking for the answer…

I

I don’t want to ruin this perfect moment. I’m so sorry that I’m thoughtless and think too much all at once.

I just want the song to echo. I want to feel it in my bones. I want to fly. I want the melody under my wings as I soar. A language that blurs barriers. Cultures becoming one. Things closing in on each other and becoming closer.

I find my power in my heart. Deep within my emotions.

I feel like I’ve been forgotten. Nobody bothers to keep up with me these days. I feel like an apparition. But I know I’m here for so much more. So… much more. I want to be all that I can be.

Then, why am I still asking for permission? The person I’ve been waiting for all along: Find them in me. I gain strength to fight another day. To live another day.

I don’t want to live as a coward. I want to take risks. I want to be bold. And proclaim it from the highest mountain.

Oh God, hear my prayer and establish me high above any worry or stress.

I long to be lifted up.

Addicted

I long for the days of yesterday…

It seemed that I could feel with a huge capacity and the desire to create was enormous

I sing a song of yesterday and for a moment a ray of sun shines upon me where otherwise I’m caught in a storm

The mundanity of life. The same rituals. The same practices. I’m caught in an insane loop.

It feels like I don’t have control over some things. I think a lot about destiny. I think a lot about it and I wonder if I’m destined to fail. Maybe because I’m too weak willed, weak minded, too driven by emotions.

Strange, because I once thought that to be good. I don’t always know what to believe and I am caught in a vortex of futility. I long for my release.

Always thought I’d be the hero in my own story but I feel more and more like the villain with each passing day.

I think a lot about my own capacity. My own capacity to make it through things… Is it true this time that it’s withered? The confrontation I’ve longed for all my life. The test that was to come. Did I fail? Did I not make it? Did I miss the bus?

I think about these things all day and they become my mantra.

Any bit of hope is welcome. I can’t see in the dark and neither can you.

Song of songs call me home!