#sadnesss

I am sorry to disappoint you today

I just really needed to get away

as far as I can

casually wanting to be better than

I would take the last step

but what if no prep

could insure my mission

everyone ignored my condition

I stare down blankly at the silver in my hands

remembering the last time I danced

but I know it will never be the same

SADNESS

i been working thru a personal essay on my black boi joy that’s important to write for this era i've pressed both feet strongly into.

because of how deep in my blood and bones sorrow stirred and roiled & seeped frm,

emo🖤 for many reasons, rightly, but it’s important to write

just 4 how

the grace of a transition is a wondrous dawning so beautiful and so special. i mean i dwelt with such a sadness that feels impossible for words to remember & hold. & suddenly my life changed since i encountered some spirits, or more so just acknowledged them cause dey been there all along. within me, my own physical & spiritual exhaustion with being a saddo coupled with a heated desire to shift things. together all these blew open this process of transformation, ultra.

& i, too, wanted to taste more and more joy

surpassing my dogged capacity for sadness. and if it didn’t do it for me, my body, seeing me through so much heavy shits, deserved it.(deserves it.)

(something about this photo makes me think of inherited sadness. how can that not be true? i look at my lips and see my mother’s lips.)

sometimes, under the covers, it is easy to think well maybe the sadness can be mine

 — in some way that an era of black boi joy doesn’t mean sadness is rid of forever — this sadness is mine forever,

the sadness being integral to who i am;

diligent companion, like rage, i've learnt what it's useful for  —

but, again, i want to know so much of something else, and live so much for something else — my body, my ancestors, my kin, what the world itself offers

and maybe, maybe, i will eventually follow.

this ferocious bubbling to the surface to breathe other things finds holy familiarity with asake's mr money with the vibe album (a mirror in many ways) and the actual vibe surrounding asake's artistry. (in black boi joy, i hope to stretch this out more and draw the links.) essentially, there is something about asake's music that reminds me of what my body is capable of. it reaches my bones, striking deep the same place sadness lives, in a way no other feeling has ever been able to. not even love .x_x.

joy joy joy in my bones

it’s been even more profound opening my head to the spirits i work with now to build my poem of my life that's filled with so much pain,*rme* yes, but much more beauty, joy, humour, levity, eros.

expansive lushing, big purrring that is already my capacity and then steering that to light light light lighter things.

more more more

my body is so open. open so much that i would not be terrified of overflowing joy. i will enter into it, i will lose myself, burst, gather myself, burst again, layer myself, frost myself, adorn myself in it.

i will hold it fully. i will say this too is mine. this too is my birthright.

WANT

the way i want is a terror. a big bottomless void i wonder wtf whoever stuffed my spirit in this flesh was thinking. if i did, then fuck, really boo?[1] this world, this fickle ruining existence? what gets me the most is when i lay it all down, what i want, and see just how simple and uncomplicated these wants are, i get even more terrifyingly upset first for (the unfufillment) (and how much the world has steered far from being a place that could fulfill simple pleasures).

there are days i wake up wanting to protect myself from my desires (because not much reminds us how much suffering is brought on the body dwelling in unfulfilled want)

and some days i wake up hungrier.

give me more—

“ I’ve wanted people who made fun of my want, called me thirsty to my face because I was supposed to be more modest, let them be the ones who fed on me. But I’m starving, this world never seems to give me enough of anything. I want to squeeze existence until it runs a bloody pulp down my arms, wet and yielding. Give me everything.”

Dear Senthuran, Akwaeke Emezi.

it's very correct to be afraid that there’s something wrong in continuing to give this to myself, because the world and the people in it were made for each other— because self-love only does so little and is in excess exasperating. but when i am not tired, i can’t stop.

attention, devotion, joy, levity, humour,

& more cunt & more shimmer & more pwussy

i hope in the coming wave to pour so much of my desires into myself. asé*

_____________________