Young N’s
The saying, “only the good die young”, always filled me a euphoric depression. I felt crazy, with passion believing It was the only way to be remembered, even for a period, short as a young taken life. I just wanted to experience the type of love that hurt and broke you, made you pray it was over, then to survive for revenge. But sometimes, in a lust filled trans; I felt obligated to be receiving a gut-wrenching pain because it meant someone cared enough to make me feel something. Then, when I got over being pussy whipped, I knew I had to go screw any life I could sink my eyes, teeth, tongue, mind, fingers and dick into. That’s what a young man’s dreams are made of.
Then I face my mirror, walking through my neighborhood seeing the poison of my thoughts. Wanting to take, take, take, repeating, plagiarizing the fable of blacks helping through pain. My smile brighter than the spark that started the run. A meteor, hailing, putting crater holes in bodies cradled.
Why?
Because I thought I saw a reflection of a version who could take my love from me. The fault lines written in blood, thin as the chalk outline and tape holding onlookers and instigators behind my decision. I can still blame the life I took, because mine is gone.
