Took me 47 days to let myself cry.
The political situation in the US is hitting home.
A lot.
I fear for my people cuz no one knows where this is gonna go.
I cry over not being able to go to pump my dose of home.
Getting my once in a while needed loud of clean laundry.
Being homesick, feels like inside bleeding.
The stomach feels no sharp pain but this dull ache.
Like roots have been cut.
And what’s left is left to rott.
Roots I never really enjoyed to have anyway.
I could at least visit.
Like all that I believed in, was gone.
So much of what I called family and home, was unreachable.
And it had already left, so much was gone, leaving me with crumbs.
Adulting, seeing the many things that look good on paper, now only mere sleeves, empty but full of meaning.
It is very fitting, my life’s story, a personal tragedy, meeting a national one, designing a global one.
Yea, why not…
Condensed just no milk.
As if pain was dating hate.
As if evil was taking over.
With no regards, no compassion.
People just serving as cards in a game.
As figures in a game of chess.
The crying just now, it burst out of me.
Like overheated cream soup.
Fast, find that lid.
Who wants to get burned.
And all that time, I feel bad, cuz how can I feel so much self pity, while my people are facing THIS.
And I can’t do sh*t about it.
So the sobbing stops real fast.
No time for this.
But it’s so necessary to stay compassionate.
So important to
take
ones
time
and
think
in peace.
Shoo away the haste and hustle.
Taking time. Being human. Loving.