soft

we tend to know when our babies ain't made for this world.

from mother mary to mama cissy there have been prayers for understanding, time...

but sometimes it's real from the first.

they too soft.
too good.
too sweet.
too loving.

baby smiles and childish giggles
clouded with worry, concern.

no babies
are made to fight machines
and survive

black babies are no different.

...but we are expected to be.
as if our rattles are made of steel
and we teethe on granite pebbles.

for those of beauty
taken under
and torn asunder...

basquiat
donnie
'trane
nippy
phyllis

& the unnamed
and unclaimed
of the streets
'hoods
and barrios:

for your sake,

may we heal
and know care;

nurture
and know love;

listen
and find peace.

void 2

every day
without touch
i feel the vault door
creak closer to closing...

{part 1}

distinction

my bliss may not look like yours. 

it may sound strange that i need to remind myself of that, but it's the classic empath trap. hearing and seeing what makes others happy can translate into a vicarious bliss that, once faded, reminds you that you weren't really following your heart, you were noticing someone else's.

and you're back to square one.

most times you don't even realize what's happening...until you crash.

i've been neglectful...

sorry about that.

there's been a lot going on, from 42 days of daily blogging to general life stuff.

but i'm still breathing and what not.

hope to share some inspiration with you soon...

love,

o.