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Myself is crippling me, myself is a critic that always it has to find a negative thing to say about me. Myself is fear and the purpose of me has always been to overcome it.
art by @kmcvisuals
The life and the dream in Chicago.
To stay alive is to decide to decide is to lose to lose is to gain to gain is to dance when what you have to casually do attacks and darling not many pursue life with such, guts
-lifepath
This is the 11th day of
waiting.
seated in the same spot
grindling my hands
to type
and
what gets out is
ddddhhhhdhdjdhdhddhkjsdhjdsh.
Whatever part of the
brain that platitudinized me to write
is dead now.
It made me fall in love,
and now—kaput—it's gone.
Uuuuh what a devoid day !
I am dissolving
into a desolate form.
But as it happens in us squalors it’s worse in the high society clique. Selfishness, rape, murder, witchcraft and every kind of unthinkable behavior. Relate this to Africans who die with a delusion that there is equal rights and freedom in the west, they die with a naked kind of lie.
And the prominent
question man
is not in who
loves us,
but
in who returns
the love
when we offer
it first.
Peonies on caskets. It's all yours. your wait your study. Engulf in your time and if it kills them you can as well send them condolence messages and lovely peonies to be put on there caskets.
He felt like a pigeon unknown to him the time the cage could open up.
It did petrify him though,
that if he didn’t realize that it was his life he was consuming,
all possibilities pointed to a destruction of himself in search for an escape.
Once, I was a fisherboy— happy with everything that happened.
It’s all behind me now. Everything that happens intimidates me.
Someday, I’ll reach the great lakes, become a fisherboy again, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn to enjoy what time offers me.
Fisherboy
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