A PanAfricanist Queer Womanist Collective
By Nina Mort
I decimate my life when I get high, but I also get to run away from everything and leave you behind. I soar like a bird but I am still tied up to the ground.
Succinctly, that freedom is an illusion. Aloof I was, until I saw you. I had nothing more than apathy. But I had the aptitude to be at one with you. And you numbly succumb to me as I smolder you. I am a mere being, yet I allure you and tempt your fate. And you become adamant. I adhere to my personal high as much as you stick firmly to your denial purely bred from betrayal.
The tearless rain brings forth hope that blossoms the flowers that I pluck from my garden, except one black rose that is profound and divine. Impaired I am, as I walk through this unadorned earth, yet I urge myself to make a silent wish as I face the star hovering above the sky. Forlorn I am as the wish repeatedly fades and synchronizes with the wind.
For you and I are like two different elements.
If we were together, it would destroy us. Yet they say opposites attract. So the mortals separate and disparage me as I kneel mercilessly at their feet. “Take my life and spare me this misery!” I scream at them. But their expressions dumbfound, as if I speak in tongues. So they dispel their faith and let go of me. For it is simply not their fault.
I stand on the ledge, contemplating, then I hear your voice, faint yet urging me not to take that step, sadly I have this urge to fall from grace into the open arms of darkness. Before me, lies the dark world, a land of dystopia, a place where nothing ever seems to go right. It seems morbid with no evidence of love. Yet behind me lies my past. I dare not peer into the depths of that abyss. For I will fall into a bottomless depth seeking answers to questions I cannot conjure from my sub-conscious.
It’s like I’m stuck in an unrealistic zone, a place that overpowers my ability to set free my emotions. I look at my scars, the ones that tell a story about my past. They are my voice for I dare not speak words not meant to be spoken. Words not meant to be heard. \ Yet in the dream of my dream, our hearts dance to the same beat, joining in unison, together as one. Synchronizing together like energy to create synergy. I seek refuge in the walls of my heart in a fortress of solitude that I built to hide away from reality. To be lovelorn is more painful than you could ever imagine. It cuts deeper and more painfully than a thousand blades, though it’s like there is a stone in the wound so it never heals.
I find beauty in imperfection, yet you frown upon this very manifestation of art.
To feel would be an awfully big adventure for me. There is something I can’t quite explain, the whole manifestation of pain, betrayal, loss, anger, remorse among other things that have slowly killed me emotionally. It is like I see myself in the past, but I can’t quite fit the real me into that picture. I have the memories, but it’s like they belong to someone else. It’s like I wanted to take a step back and look at my life from a different perspective, but I continued taking a couple of steps back, until it was too late to realize that I had distanced myself from the truth.
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