You found me in a place where Jet Lag became my crisis for acquiring presence. The In and Outs of loosing my cool, concluded to lose you. I forgot my wings today.
Please forgive me, I forgot today was the grand opening to the sky line connecting to your heart. But, I Broke your heart. And there is no way, to forgive me.
Not even if I asked you too for the 37th times it took me to release and admit that I did wrong.
She loved her Daughter but couldn’t ever say it right. And every hop and every skip took her back to 96′. Drowning in domestic at the age of 29 with 3 kids, and a husband wanting to deny. I told the world, I was in love with a man who coulnd’t please me. I held his attributes, characteristics and an image symbolic to his own. And every man that try to fill his shoes downgraded over time. Bad luck struck. I was a child left behind by lack of affection. She grew up to be a lonely women disguised in her phenomenal smile. I grew up to be aware that I wanted to be better for my own daughter. I didn’t want the complications of the words “I love you” to depict every wrong that could have turned right.
Run around the block, pockets empty. Heavy loaded from the agony, sagging jeans tripping over Virgin Mary. My options have become the Map to generic optional with no wings. Shorty from the block spitting words to save herself from selling dope. Bulimic her condition to never seeing the bigger picture. Stop for a puff, step outside your comfort zone. Silly rabbits tricking like they got shit to give, when you no longer living. Out of suit case with not treasury, pardon my nauseous ways.
I was born in the 80s where art made you rich. Spray cans rule your index pointing at the mofos. Turbulence hip hop competition of B-Boy moves and B-girls strutting knee caps. By culture we were connected. Burning sensation when lips lock. Poetry was a moving masterpiece. Garages, meal plans and a drink on the rocks that roll down mainstream. Broke Kids were soo cool. God loved his pimps, filed needles feeling coked up in alphabetical disorder goin backwards. The only thing moving us forward was a blow job, cigarettes and dancing. 1988 made me a certified baby in the making.
Life lessons taught by others can be taken into consideration as help. But, we must still stand to live it on our own. Words of influence can become the only dependent to change. But, we must combine our own words and attempt to learn alone. In the eyes of the teachers, we are the sinners. Expectations of always knowing right from wrong is dismantling. I’am not a fucking robot. Understanding without judging is the 1st incredible step to seeking change.
Martin Luther King Said: It is the overflowing love which seeks nothing in return. And when you rise to love on this level, you love people who don’t move you. You love those that you don’t like. You love those whose ways are distasteful to you. You love every man bec. God loves him.
Tripping to discover the curiosity that un-follows the personal reasoning. He, them and they are thirsty undercover, undermining sons of mothers with no dignity. Dying to know if time is on my side, when I’m on my grind. Hating my passion. Life is nothing without passion. If I die before you reach your thousands of followers, let me be free from your arrogance and ambush. My counter parts have no parts in your misery.
You loved me once upon. But, assumptions and the war of time made you lose what you saw in me. I lived by words you taught me. My perspective became complex. I was lost in between fears of an industrial wage. I sacrifice my own to live through you because, I didn’t want to fail your teachings. Today, I renounce to your leadership. Your prescriptions fail me. Your idea of a protection sectioned to keep me in place was your method in absolute authority. You sicken my heart with disappointment. You became active in the adjective of being selfish. Concerned with one’s own personal profit or pleasure. I too can distinguished how blind you’ve become. Now, I must unlearn how to live; to live again.
By Kat Garcia