When you lose your art
you cry.
your music,
your drawings, your poems
gone.
there goes happiness.
there goes memories.
there goes progress;
and problems.
there she goes.
bye bye my art
my beautiful wonderous art.
I hope you will come to me again.
(edit: nvm yall i found it)
I was on a plane
I don't know
the rest.
My sadness reaches down my mouth.
Her cool slippery hands snatching the breath i have left to breathe
She persuades my anger to do the same;
They love to torture together.
What do I do,
as a black woman,
when they get control?
when the consequences
don't matter anymore?
when I watch my people
get bullied,
get beat,
get murdered,
Comments
Oh no! That IS a terrible feeling, losing a notebook or a diary or anything else you've put your voice into. Is that what happened? I hope you find it again!
yes it happened recently lol. Thank you!! I'll be looking.
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