I told you I was tired but what I really meant was that I think I’m incapable of being loved. What I mean is that honey crystallises as soon as it touches my tongue. What I mean is I have never experienced love in its purest form, but instead almost always it’s gnawed remains that I desperately try to salvage because I’ve known nothing else. I wonder what it feels like to not fear. To not feel like the burdens you bring aren’t too heavy to carry. I wonder if my historical birthday scars that tell stories of hopeful ancestors fighting for freedom are capable of being touched. I wonder if they’d feel ashamed of me. I wonder if they fear I’m not a warrior like they were. It’s tiring to think that I’ll always be too queer, or too black, or too woman, or too me. I wake up from my dreams holding a broken mirror against myself cutting away all my secrets and hopes of beauty. Sometimes I wonder what heaven tastes like and whether I’ll ever get to taste it.
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this is so very beautiful, I could not possibly come up with words on par with yours to describe it
🥹