Tired

This quarter. These past ten weeks. Looking back at my writing I can’t help but feel pity for myself. I’m angry that I have allowed myself to get so hung up that I lost track of myself. Burnout. What the fuck? My body is so tired. I haven’t been able to sleep well this entire quarter. My mind is always thinking of the same bullshit. I wish I knew how to let go… and I am angry that I am still longing for the know-how on how to let go. It’s not going to happen David. There it goes again. Like venom going up my neck, into my brain.

Letting go.

My body,
These brown hands,
Red lips,
Think black hair,
Dark brown eyes that are doors to my soul,
My body−not yours.

I’ve noticed that I have been more conscious of my body because of this class. I never gave much thought as to how my body has been colonized, as much of my focus has been directed towards my colonized mind, but taking this class has served as the bridge between my mind/spirit and body. I’ve been less shameful to allow my body to be expressive, either when I’m on the dance floor jamming to some “Bed Rock” or when my body is aching and not being able to sleep because a white man called me a “faggot” the other night. My body has been drained but most of all it has been liberated.

When I write, I write with my body. The connection between my spirit and my fingers make it so my writing is my spirit.

I want this quarter to be over.

I’m tired of living in a space where I am continually reminded that as a queer man of color I will never be able to professionally move up.

I’m tired of being a white man’s secretary. Doing all the work, answering phone calls, delegating the work, yet still getting paid below minimum wage and only to have my work claimed by the privilege man with colored eyes. My eyes are colored too; you just never pay attention because brown isn’t what you desire.

I’m tired of being tired. But there’s an urgency to write. Like someone lit a firework inside me and the sparks from the firework are trying to burn through my insides to make a pathway for the firework to blow up in the sky. The thing is, it won’t burn me up or kill me. Just liberate the fire in my soul that’s been burning for the past quarter. It’s about to blow up−do you feel it?