nye (a meditation on 2019)

nye

poetry shaped my year

burdened it

molded it

forced me to use my head

better the constellatory friendships

i wanted to keep

at the end of the day

i suppose it’s self-congratulatory

prose benefited from a hard stare

a willingness to flinch and still look back

i think i spent most of 2019 dreaming, of course i worked and catered toward the material and the social but i spent most of the year looking inward and upward. wondering what knew word-laden sense of gravitas might fulfill me or teach me something next. poetry made me feel so utterly connected to myself and others but in the next space i felt more disconnected from what i thought or knew firsthand about my worldview. i mostly diaried under the cover of night whether it was working on the next step or next book, but typically i was begging myself to never fall in love.

-

prose brought me self-respect

more glances in the mirror

self satisfied smiles and embracement of tears

the smile warmed my cheeks like an old friend

“it never comes out how i want”

that’s okay

someone is always listening

-

self reflection and doubt intertwined like a silent snake around my throat at night, i could breach that terror with my words to soothe me under duress, sometimes it still didn’t guarantee the ice block in my throat would melt. when i did speak i felt strangely maudlin about the action, it made me wonder if this is the person i really wanted to be.

-

you’re so high

you can’t speak

there’s no breathing room up here

i’m lifted anyway

i feel like it’s their right

it’s still tender

the wound

im being touched everyday

in those moments

i miss performing for myself

in an empty house

the cliched lonely artist

the space where the words i say

and the way i move my body

is all mine

that person who is all alone

is the only imposter i like

he’s earned these quiet moments

-

i understand my blackness when i’m writing poetry. melanin and prose feel as if they are constantly walking hand in hand, a mastery of written dynamism. sometimes my blackness feels incomplete without it, sometimes my queerness intertwines with it in an intensity i still don’t quite have a grasp of. like every black luminary we leave it all on paper, and we take it all in with a breath. sometimes that’s all you can do, i hope i don’t dream too big.

i couldn’t have what is shimmering

without the blue

imagine my charmed exhale

then

the deafening sound

of a dozen glasses breaking

the shards on the floor

whispering amongst themselves

under fluorescent ecstacy

-

as i get older, i learn that goodbyes are just that. the tendency to cling to things that no longer serve you well no longer factor into your identity, suddenly solitude isn’t as sinister when you’re more sure of yourself and your happiness. i used to write a lot about the dark places that used to bring me to, but as i learned more about what i was scared of in that place, i started to let more light in. i allowed my consciousness to stay buoyed and tied to being just as happy with the grey areas as i was with the white. i’m falling in love with this person, i can’t wait to tailor this person to fit my growing definition of happiness, for now this grey suit fits just fine.

thank you,

i will see you all in 2020

love,

bandit // j.w.