I wake up with my throat on fire, my body and eyelids heavy.
My phone beeps with bad news, it’s still dark outside, exhaustion balled up in my chest like compacted cement, layers formed across months.
I get up only because I know it will be harder if I don’t.
So heavy, so tired.
Things get worse when I count my blessings because I know that on the other side of my gratitude is someone else’ pain, screams in the dark.
I ain’t got no knee on my neck
My house is still here, not taken by fire, wind, or water
My family is still here, not taken by disease or despair
My body is still here, my rights, my humanity
My blood still flows
I have a job, I’m putting food on the table
It’s hard though.
Knowing all of this is going on — all that pain — and not being able to truly, I mean physically, connect with anybody.
Lost touch, lost happenstance.
Instead of coming together, we’re coming apart, clawing at each other with our comments, making the gaps bigger, the trenches deeper.
The dark cloud of November looms.
Damned either way, not united at all.
Even as I write this I wonder what will come next.
On this line.
Sorry, I don’t have a moral to this story. Not this time.
How about this?
I’ll look out for you, if you’ll look out for me.
That’s all I got.