Today, i turn 25.

Happy birthday, to me.


Celebrating a year that has gone. Marred by such events i dare not speak of... that do not deserve space in my memories,...
I
celebrate the end of my 24th year.

And thank God that i have lived long enough to realise
that whatever it is that comes, must move right along.
Everything that comes... must pass.

Thank you lord, for the woman i have become.
And thanks to the world for molding me into this beign.

Forgiven.

Fleeting. So damn randomly...every single minute its one and another new thing. And there're so many minutes in a day.
Watching the world for what you should be. Then you wonder why you destroy yourself so.
You know you cant compete with the wind.
Yet you try. Anyway.

If that isnt the way to killing yourself... building a failing soul,
really... then i dont know what is.

Watching the world for what you should be. So every idea seems so ideal. Your feet unsure you're bound to fall for anything.

You are someone's child. Someone's lord. Yes, he loves you that much. And when its been so long, it gets even longer but all you have to do, is realise that he has always been the type to forgive.

Can you forgive yourself?
Can you look back long enough, to release your soul?

Inhuman.

I saw his pictures today.
On TV. Black folks on the streets in black n white... years ago... before i even was.
Let me tell you something...i dont think they did that for me.
No.
Is it possible to be inhuman enough to be so selfless.
No.
Somehow i know they did it for they; them same folks hol'n up posts, scribbled literatures of short words hoping to speak volumes on cards...
They yell. But words are words.
And sometimes it takes years. For those words to get to their ears.

And i saw that man, standing on that one podium, screaming how he had a dream.
I wonder what he would think if he was to be here, if he'd still dream.
If he'd scream his heart out into the crowd, yelling out dreams of freedom...
And if he did, of what would it be?
Freedom from white gods who hold the keys to the mass's senses, or from the contaminating influences of our time
Freedom from those gun shots chasing the people, or the black knukled shooter's range?
FREEDOM!
from the laws that permits a man to love his child in such disgusting ways, i cant dare to imagine...
freedom.... from a mother that makes her child bear it.
Free...
I tell you. We all want to be free. He wanted to be free. I want to be free.
I would ask if, if he was here. If he was still a dreamer.
And why he'd still dream.

But thats not why i write.
I write to thank him for doing for himself, what he did.
I thank him for doing for us what he did.
I thank you.
For being, inhuman.

Most respected. May your people learn to be inhuman, in ways like yours.

RIP, M.L. King.

Forever

If character makes a man
then let me live till I am no more
and thereafter
in every heart that i once touched.

Hell on earth

And for the longest time i thought i knew Pain
Thought it was the leader of discomfort pack
till i got in the car after physio today
and met the one that i cant even seem to name yet.

It was not pain.
It was another form of hell
that decided to descend
right at my tail bone.

Fire.
Yes, thats what it was.
Fire.