Most days I need myths to keep going

There is no way to process the demons and stories

But I hear voices in my dreams

Unrelenting, desperate, and loud

I remember “save me” – 2 nights ago

Probably my soul caving in on itself

Refusing to be silenced

Or made to feel mad

I hear voices in my dreams

I guess all stories come out,

One way or another

another fight on 117th and lex
approx. ten 13 yr old black teenagers
another fight on claremont and 172nd
gang initiation?
stunned 13 yr old can’t find his knife
911 operator so cool
cousin approaches from across the street
i hear yelling outside but don’t really want to know
type this into my wordpress acct.
go back and teach kids tomorrow.
where has imani been
?

man..

these scenes are just too much
all dirty blonde
straight, shoulder-length
hair
brown leather boots
soft face powder
poised, talking quietly
watching through bluegreen eyes
calmly yet with caution
large black woman
entire left side of the subway car to
herself
fluffy, mismatched socks in bowling
shoes
hair weave all in knots and colorful
scrunchies
large black belt holds old brown coat
closed
ankles swollen, sores
bags and bags of old, colorful scarves and
belongings
large scene
frightening face
small bag falls off the top of heap of stuff
large scene of her bends to
pick it up
entire train car stops, waits
her swollen, sored up ankle protrudes
she picks small bag
off the floor
slowly, painfully
people resume talking quietly and
watching
clean-cut white couples with straight,
soft hair calmly, quietly watch with
caution
this big, black scene of her
she takes out an old purple scarf, holds it
up and folds it
begins to knit
speechless subway car
resumes conversation
nobody sits anywhere
near

i’m tired of all this reality.

concrete.

soot.

worn.

sticky subway seats.

stressed out people.

rib tightness

“can you see the bags under my eyes?”

asks everyone.

get through

there’s more

later

sick

resisting

waiting