Been in self-destruct mode for at least the past 24 hours.
All I want is to be held.
Speaking my truth is where freedom lies.
When I do so with people I trust, they tell me what I don’t want to hear.
And that’s okay.
I feel safe.
I haven’t felt safe for as long as I can remember.
My earliest memories are of rage and hiding within the confines of my childhood home.
It hit me.
My past experiences do not encompass my identity.
The ideas within my mind are old, and are the toughest chain to break.
This afternoon I sat by a pool amongst over thirty strangers, hand-in-hand with my two closest homegirls, crying.
Because God even dishes out meltdowns at a potluck.
I was asked to let go of my anger, and I wept.
Tears streaming, without a fuck for anyone’s judgement.
I lost something..
By taking off the backpack.
street sweeping 