lonely freewrite

if i were to be honest with myself, i would admit that i'm unhappy. i dont like my life the way it is, i dont like myself the way i am. i feel lonely all the time, even when in a big room of people. sometimes big rooms feel the loneliest. i want to be someone's most important thing. but i want it to be someone who's also my most important thing. i dont think ive ever had that. if i were to be honest with myself i would admit that im lonely. this place is lonely. while walking to work, i heard the trees creaking- the wind was pushing their limbs back and forth, back and forth. i couldn't decide if that was their way of talking to eachother, or if they were about to break and snap in half. i like to be pessimistic- no, wrong word. positive. i like to be positive. when i think im going to have a bad thought, i try to talk myself out of it. if i think i am going to spend the whole day hiding in bed, i try to scold myself out of it. but if i were to be truly honest with myself, my biggest flaw is my lack of discipline. i cant get myself to do shit for shit. so i spend the days dreaming, and in my dreams, i have no body, just a spirit. and that spirit walks down empty streets and hides in city alleys and loves flowing water and taking the subway. my dream spirit has a jar where they keep all the teeth that fall out in their open palms, and sometimes they take that jar out to admire the sharp, white teeth, and smile their toothless grin and say, "how pretty."

r.i.p. childhood friend (2/13/11)

i remember us when we were young.
we two little girls,
not yet three,
sitting on my front steps, you
spitting sunflower seeds at my feet
and me sucking on the salt and
saving the insides for later.
we, inseparable at four,
singing and dancing at your bday party
(only two days before mine),
smothering cake all over our faces,
shoving icing covered fingers into our open mouths.

i remember that you were larger than life.
your head was always trying to
catch up with your body,
that expansive geography of
mountains and valleys and extensive plateaus.
even when we were kids, you
would pass your rolls of fat off for titties
(except for that summer, when
i came back and you moved away.
i was the one with the biggest titties on the block then, and
instead of boys flocking to me like they did you,
girls came running, wanting to see
what was hiding under my shirt.
that was the summer i started my first love affair
with my new neighbor. the one i said had
the ghetto name? we would meet
in my livingroom- she on the couch and me on the floor or
me on the couch and she on top of me and
she would lift up my shirt, struggle with my bra
and cradle my budding breasts like newborns.
i never told you about that, but i wanted to,
and i'm sure that's the summer where you came back to visit
and tried to get me to come out in your sly way.
you told me, "mali,
what's the point of boys? they're all trouble
anyways." and i mmed,
and you waited
and i changed the subject.

remember that time i bragged to you about smoking weed
for the first time? and little Rich from up the block
tried to sell us bud, but we told him
we had our own? so to look cool, we stole
your grandma's weed, and i felt bad about it but
you told me it was okay because she bought it
from my dad anyway. i remember
we rolled a joint the size of your middle finger
and we smoked the whole thing.
i said i didn't feel nothing, but when your grandma asked us
about it, the only answer i could muster was,
"bud?
what's that?"
i dont think she believed me, but she let me off the hook
and i wasn't allowed to come over for a little while.

i remember being seven on summer nights
and playing tag in the bushes that separated our houses or
catching lightning bugs in jars across the street
in front of the church because there adults couldnt hear
our whispers about naughty things like
the cute teen boys who just moved in
down the block and what sex must feel like.

you seemed to have so much freedom. you could
walk around the corner, past the crumbling apartment where
crackheads would stumble out during midday-
all the way to the gas station
to get a huggie and a bag of chips, you said, but
who knew what exciting adventures you might have had,
what interesting people you might have met?
my dad rarely let me go up and down the street.
i remember being so mad about that that. my big brother said
it was because me and him, we were
different. now i realize he meant that we were better.
back then, i didn't want to be
better. i wanted to be like you.
free to make my own choices. when your grandpa candy
asked me if i wanted to go on a ride on his motorcycle,
my little body shook with disappointment, because i knew
i had to say no. i sat on my front steps and
waited forever until you came back, half hoping that
you had toppled off, or one of the other
dangerous things my mom warned me about had come true.
instead,
you came back looking triumphant, your round cheeks
burning with the excitement of your trip, your
half-permed hair a messy halo around your head.
---


i remember us when we were young.

us two little girls, not yet three, sitting on my front steps, you spitting sunflower seeds at me (before i realized i was allergic) and me sucking on the salt and saving the insides for later. us, inseparable at four, singing and dancing at your birthday party (only two days before mine), smothering cake and icing all over our faces, and shoving it into our open mouths.

i remember that you were larger than life. your head was always trying to catch up with your body, that expansive geography of mountains and valleys and expansive plateaus. even when we were kids, you could pass your rolls of fat off for titties.
hmm. except that summer i came back when you had moved away. i was the one with the biggest titties on the block then, and instead of boys flocking to me like they did to you, girls came running, wanting to see under my shirt. that was the summer i started my first affair with my new neighbor. the one i said had the ghetto name? we would meet in my livingroom- she on the couch and me on the floor or me on the couch and she on top of me and she would lift up my shirt, struggle with my bra, and cradle my budding breasts like newborns. i never told you about that but i wanted to, and i'm sure thats the summer where you came back to visit and tried to get me to come out in your sly way. you told me, "mali, what's the point of boys? they're all trouble anyways." and i mmed, and you waited and i changed the subject.

remember that time i bragged to you about smoking weed for the first time, and little Rich from up the block tried to sell us bud, but we told him we had our own? so to look cool, we stole your grandma's weed, and i felt bad about it but you said it was okay because she bought it from my dad anyway. i remember we rolled a joint the size of your middle finger and we smoked the whole thing and i said i didn't feel nothing, but when your grandma asked us about it, the only answer i could muster is "bud? whats that?" i dont think she believed me but she left me off the hook, and i wasnt allowed to come over for a little while.

i remember being seven on summer nights and playing tag in the bushes that separated our houses or catching lightning bugs in jars across the street in front of the church because there the adults couldnt hear us whisper about naughty things like teen boys and what sex is and wearing makeup.

you seemed to have so much freedom. you could walk around the corner, down two blocks past the crumbling apartment where crackheads would stumble out during midday...all the way to the gas station to get a huggie and a bag of chips, you said, but who knew what exciting adventures you had, what new people you would meet? my dad rarely let me go up and down the street. i remember being so mad about that. my big brother said it was because me and him, we were different. now i realize he meant that we were better. i dont know if i agree with that... back then, i didnt want to be better.. i wanted to be like you. free to make my own choices. when your grandpa candy asked me if i wanted to go on a ride on his motorcycle, my little body shook with disappointment because i knew i had to say no. i sat on my front steps and waited forever until you came back, half hoping that you had toppled off, or one of the other dangerous things my mom warned me about had come true. instead, you came back looking triumphant, your round cheeks burning with the excitement of your trip, your half-permed hair like a messy halo around your head.

inspiration

"for i will be called
QUEEN. &
walk/move in
black/queenly/ways
and the world
shaken by
my Blackness
will channnNNGGEE
colors. & be
reborn.
BLACK. Again."

- Sonia Sanchez