Never enough. Let them tell it and it’s a story of blood. Recognition is reserved for those deserving of love. We don’t meet the thresholdnecessary for trust.
Never enough. Let them tell it and it’s a story of blood. Recognition is reserved for those deserving of love. We don’t meet the thresholdnecessary for trust.
Presenting: The Black Community. We have resigned from the ascension of liberation and regressed to an ancient plane of stupidity. Descending from the pulse of nature, in less than 6 months we have successfully reduced the legacy of our ancestors into forgotten memories. And while the throne remains vacant, the duties of dignity were abandoned …
Our stressors may be different, but our emotions are shared. Interruptions scattered across the fabric of our existence with little time to prepare. Connections disrupted, some damaged beyond repair. Resiliency degenerates as humanity struggles to overcome the dispair.
Reflections are not welcomedin my field of reception,Visual confirmation of my existencehas become very unpleasant. Another day of being me. The unappealing figure whose onlymeans of functioning is through the veins of the weak. Runes of despair are tattooedon the structure of my physique. I often fail to scorethe minimal valuesnecessary to escape my own …
I was blessed with the ability to preach the word, but I was never an evangelist. Actively engaged in promoting social change, but my methods are not safe enough to be considered an activist. I take heed to advice, but I respond negatively when someone tries to breach this establishment. So then they labeled me …
Our paths crossed. We intercepted years of history, bonding us as natural-born enemies for unknown reasons. Our past’s lost, Memories of torture, hatred, and similar emotions penetrate history to create permanent lesions. Our last thoughts, Compromised brain matter attempts to compute the actions of man and interprets the meanings. We pass faults. Justice is never …
Please don’t take this personally or thoroughly to heart, But I hate you. And I would rather not play the blame game or point fingers at who tore whom apart. I just miss you an irritating amount that I’m sure will be alleviated as time inflates. I constantly make these illogical attempts to locate you …
Why do I proceed to make a fool out of myself with persistence? My success appears to be locked behind my potential, perhaps serving a life sentence. I have the tendency to convince myself that positive outcomes will arise at any instant. Maybe the results I was looking for would appear if I remained consistent? …
Sometimes I would rather end my own life than to continue living in it with you. Is this due to my lack of health, or is it a testament to how I’ve been living with you? The situation didn’t improve and was so horrendous that I would rather end it than use another day suffering …
