this is therapy, isn’t it?

i started a blog last night, but never published it. how good it felt to say those things. i’ll leave those words in a space to be discovered by some college boy a million years from now. he will have discovered a way to pull bullshit out of thin air, i presume. i’ve fallen in…

i’m hoping for you.

i’m hoping that one day, for you, something so beautiful will happen. there will be no proof to share when the world falls silent. and that will be fine because you will realize that this moment was the first lesson in letting go and living beautifully.

mondays in sudan (probably)

south sudan must have known such mondays. incomplete thoughts that may not make sense. but something to piss off and discuss. i’ve been thinking about this for the past few years. not every day, but usually when i walk between the brick buildings the government built to house the women who testify their conceptions were…

gather me.

(photo by kwesi abbensetts) gather me : for toni morrison he gather me, man and i’m afraid to leave this house in case he come looking for me what’s left of me with the pieces he found i want to be right where he left me praying this old house wasn’t the reason for it…

here and there.

there are avenues and streets and alleys and subways there are skyscrapers and piers and cobblestone walkways rivers to jump into if i were brave and girls who smoke on corners in pencil skirts and stiff collars and boys in jeans unsure of the season i don’t frown so much here but i still miss…

unexamined.

what i did learn from a professor i do not remember was this: how to examine my pain. it is very true what they write, say, scream about unexamined lives. (google that). “you don’t know what i’ve been through” they shout in hopes you will accept their shortcomings. i never do. i don’t accept them…