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there shouldn't be any caskets made for kids.
there shouldn't be any kids dyings.
dear america,
you fxcking owe so many people.
*me watching "god willing and da creek don't rise*
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this isn't going to be one of those 4am postings.
this won't be one of those postings where i pay homage to the women who've made all the wrong decisions and those attempting to get back on the right track.
this won't be one of those postings where i shed light on anything of great social import.
this is just going to be what it is: empty.
this won't be a negro slave song
or a "we shall overcome"
because i have. haven't you?
this is going to be an empty posting because that's what us so-called elitists do.
oh yes.
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empty. so just listen to the playlist and vibe with me.
peace.
this is about you
(photo by: kwesi abbensetts)
the architect of my dreams has been building walls, moats and fucked up bridges since pre-school days
so asking her to love me the way i want to be loved is impossible
she can't hear past her own negativity
she can't go with the flow
so we discuss walking to the river not with it
she wants to kiss the river not me
i don't blame her
she wants a man like her father's supplier
there's a chemical she's hoping i can release in that brain of hers
this time i thought about complimenting that brain of hers
but instead we wait on virgin soil for the bulldozers her designs call for
she's left me out here on this square earth alone
forced
the architect designed nothing more than a house with no windows suitable for no one but me
i'm sure it's beautiful but once inside i can't see anything but what she's painted in white on the mat that sits by the doorway
happiness cannot only exist there and in her wanting to build
