Until I Need Grace
4:am and the world is wet.
I tiptoe into a book until it’s time to pray fajr.
Southern churches that don't know how to do nothing but shake the devil off.
A neighbor with tufts of grey and blond hair smoothed on his head always speaks to me in slang with a grin as wide as ____. I don’t trust it. I’m unsure if it’s because we’re the only black family in the neighborhood or because my life hasn’t traditionally afforded space for unbridled kindness or jive from a white dude who lives on the corner of my block.
Years of working to become the writer the work needs.
It's been two months since I have taken medication for depression. The small bottle of tiny pills meant to quell a big mood disorder while unpuzzling the rest of me sits on a shelf in my writing room. I should start taking them again or be more intentional about finding a natural alternative. Emotional overwhelm is a soft-leaking eruption.
The year is 2024. It’s a “burn them at the stake until I need grace.” kinda’ world.
Miles has discovered a game, repeating everything said before him with a giggle between each failed attempt. Tortures his mom and now starts in on his sister. Get away from me: Away from me. What do you want: What do you want? When he begins to place my words in his mouth, the jump is not far, for him-he is already my mimic, after all, having taken my eyes and ears and smile for his own. Ok: ok. Stop: stop. I begin tickling him until he can’t take it, thrashing on our floor. Daddy: Daddy. Stop: Stop! Not: Not. Fair: Fair!! You’re: you're. Cheating: Cheating!!! I don’t apologize for breaking the rules. We laugh, smile, and sigh.
I made a huge/big/giant/bigger den’ a mugg’ life decision—terrifying and exhilarating.
I need to find a therapist with an opinion, sessions that are conversational and not just an old white man, his yellow notepad, and judgmental good-for-yous.
Melatonin for the anxiety of today’s outcome.
Everyone is problematic to a cause.
Everyone is a hero to a cause.
Water.
With all my heart…Té
