I compiled the pictures of the last few months, and felt uncertainty fill me…
What do I write? What do I say?
…That, I got to live my dream, but it doesn’t always fill me with joy?
That, I’m struggling to feel good about living day after day indoors, despite the privileges of doing so?
That, I’m tired of monotony, but not sick, and feeling very grateful for that? But that, despite the constant fatigue, I still dare to utter some truths;
Is that not the point of being alive?
And, despite that celebration, I’m still tired, and constantly losing inspiration.
Would you hate to know that there’s less laughter and planning, and more agitation with waiting for new dreams to come to fruition?
And, I still wake up to things that make me sad, despite how grateful I am to just be alive? And, that there’s so much pain in my reflections on the world I live in, wherein I constantly question, ‘what would make me less threatening?’
No matter what you put me in, I’ll always wear my Black skin, even in death.
Sure, seasonal changes have never been easy, but putain, cette saison est trop difficile.