(When grasping the not-so-bright moments), a poem
SOON you’ll understand.
(WHEN grasping the not-so-bright places)
“I ask you to lean
into your messiness
In place of judgment“
To the corners of my bed
that float into madness
and in the moments my mind smells
like rotting flesh
and a basement full of blood.
When others are argumentative
my tongue stays stapled to the roof of my mouth,
my mother sits in silence — weeping.
This confidence eating at my skin like fire and maggots,
the blackness of this mirror slips into bleakness.
I've replaced my ears with ongoing music
Repeating the words “To the seasons that have failed”
— ‘This isn’t you” / “Something is up”
(THIS ISN'T YOU, SOMETHING IS UP)
my body floats in a bathtub
as transparent as clear water,
if only I could retrieve my past self
(“this still isn’t you, something is up”)
‘THIS IS A BREAK IN THE FABRIC
OF THE ABYSS
(electric club lights & a lost saint)
LANGUAGE AS A PORTAL INTO A NEW
I respond to this unfolding of red and flowers, and stories of bitter liberations with unintentional survival rekindling moments of self.
I am encompassed by the weight of curtains and heavy staircases, evoking shadows from my legs, residing in a place of tender and unrelenting.
MIND OF MINE, let me relearn love beyond tongue truth and shape.
Written by Nas