My fear of mirrors, ever since I was a kid, I believed that my body was more monotone than orchestra. For 16 years it’s reeked of infinitive insecurities. I was always the lost black kid. The one you threw compliments at to make sure I wouldn’t dive into my self-loathing personality behind closed doors. When I look into these mirrors I want to find a safe haven in my pupils. I want the sacredness of them to erase the belief that they are just stained glass waiting to be broken and swept under the carpet like secondary bills. I want my reflection to whisper I love you without having to glance at this statue named Davon that has never had a reason to call himself monumental.
Painless mornings. So many times have I awakened from smoked slumber, alcoholic nights that fade into God’s way of saying there is still purpose in your lungs I’ve given you breath. But God… How long have you known that the back of my eyelids share the same characteristics with surrender. Tell me where I find breath in that.
My father. I’m afraid that he’ll die before I learn to love him. See, the thing that wind and missing fathers have in common is the silence when they pass by. My father was a tumbleweed, my father was a metaphor of nature, a canvas that only speaks of abandonment, and his love was a deep maroon. I want to learn how to not hate him for leaving my smile in oblivion to fatherhood, but thank him for teaching me that the definition of love is being able to handle the world, seeing my face for the first time without his presence.
My purpose to live. I find happiness in the way the sun speaks the language of spring and the girls that cloak themselves in sundresses oh man the way their hips sway speak the language of summer. So much sweet talking, heart lifting, and Saint like intentions swallowed by all that vocabulary that is spoken in such movement. But I’m done chasing girls, I’m done chasing those long lasting highs, those days where my mind is beaten to a pulp of living in oblivion. I want to find my purpose. And when I do I want to shake it rid of tears and fill it to the brim of constellations made of memories, the ones where I smiled without remembering the crevices in my overbite.
My smile… I want the word beautiful to fall from the universe’s lips like heaven scented breaths, and say you are beautiful. Your teeth are white, your grin is crooked but you made the cumulonimbus clouds shake in their skin when you cheesed. And you have no reason to think you’re happy moments aren’t inevitable.
Relationships. I don’t want a girl that feels she is entitled to my waistline and everything beneath it. I want a girl that finds harmony in my voice. To understand why I carry with me a heartbeat that skips when I see her face. When I find this girl I want her to realize that her eyes could lift my chin on the darkest of hours, and still shine twice as brightly as her personality does.
Not wanting the powers of invincibility. I don’t want to blend in with the wind like my father did but I want to stand out like Fridays and when I do I’ll be known as the guy who just wanted self harmony to fill his lungs again. Someone once said that the awkward moment between birth and death is called life so what you choose to do In between will forever be your epilogue and I want mine to be memorable.