the death within my life

being unapologetically true to the wholeness of self and being has been, and continues to be, the most difficult challenge i’ve faced, particularly since my exposure to a breath of literature during the summer.

in some ways, i feel distraught.

i feel like i continuously let self down because of expectations that are too high. i feel like the vision given to me by the ultimate creator of all not being understood or even slightly comprehended by my earthly guardians is a mistake and in the end, my fault. i feel like my voice must be heard, yet it is too weak to be considered, my presence must be felt, yet it is too slim to be acknowledged, and my heart must be in unison with another, though it has been shattered time and time again.

in other ways, i feel a sense of reassurance from a source not to be seen, a history continuously attacked, and a love that exceeds entire human understanding.

i feel a force that moves the crux of my existence, lifting self to live not for any gratification of my own. i feel like merely a messenger, a listener, a lover, an owl if you will. it may be the romantic in me. it may be the agitation in me. it may be the being in be. these two particular parts of my mind attack one another constantly. every morning. every. morning.

yet, love always wins.

love keeps me secure, sensible, sane, and shielded, even in the midst of folk who i think ought to love me but refuse to. this is what i wake up to every morning, before i even know i have awakened. this is what i hear before the birds have learned to chirp. this is what i taste before i have cereal with Jerry Seinfeld. this is what i see before i speak to my heavenly father. this is what i feel running through my veins like a mighty stream. this is what black feels like. seeing the stars in darkness. seeing hope in desolate circumstances. faith in the fire. solidarity in the storm. healing in the hurricane. surrender in the shooting.

i’m growing to a point where i see eyes pointing at the back of my brain at all times. even when i know that no one is behind me, i feel watched, 1984. but should this feeling override my destiny and purpose? over my dead body.

i do not fear death. i haven’t feared death for years, and do not plan to fear death any time soon. matter of fact, i do not fear any human being, regardless of power or position. i only fear my heavenly father. to fear death is to fear life. to understand life, one must understand death. i have understood death through the eyes of others, as well as my own. many people choose to sleep walk today, because death is much easier than life. death doesn’t require anything in comparison to life. life requires failure. life requires selflessness. life requires consciousness. life requires truth. life requires justice. but chief of all, life requires love. to love and to be loved. to be loved not because you loved, but because you tried to love somebody. that’s true living. so as i walk through daily valleys, i seek to find living and following Christ as a primary source of my being. everything else is secondary.

as young black men in america, fear is possibly the most constant evil attacked our consciouses. it is up to every one to fight against this notion of fear being necessary in this sense. i seek to take out the i in we. there can not be me without we, nor we without me, unapologetically.

~ this journal entry is dedicated to my beloved sister syn… with an e. she’s a gifted artist in many ways. her style of writing influenced this entry. she is beautiful through her thorns, and I am in great appreciation for her presence in my life. she’s somebody. she’s someone to behold. she’s someone to be held. she’s also a warrior that ain’t afraid to cuss you  tha’ hell out. her smile is rare and her perspective is unique. bless her, selah. ~

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