A Girl and Two Decades

Tired. Tired.  Tired. Tire. Get tired again. Admire. Love. Boys and other conspiracies. We drink, smoke and we get tired again. Speak.  Coke.  Have a smoke again. It’s a psychological struggle. A little bit twisted but it’s between tired and just really being me. I still struggle with falling asleep. I pace and I tire. Get back on the hustle.  Get back on the wheel. It’s contradictory. Living testimony. The Lord is my witness, I’m here and I’m breathing,  there’s no irony. Mental cacophony and the rest. Emotional battle and broke the beast.  Resident princess with the iron and the fist. Forgot  to take my pills. Misspelled my feelings. It’s more being tired and other ills, than it is the lack of sleep. Spilled tea on the stage,  make it part of the play. We are already here. She says “people are watching”.  Not yet in despair. Not yet hit the ground. I’m high and in the air. Simultaneously transcending. We are spilling over. Over and over and over and over. And obviously,  I’m going to cry. Obviously it’s going to storm and thunder. Maybe not over the weekend but sometime over your life here. Dance.  Dance. Dance. Drown in a draught. Go dance in the rain. Stop the music and still dance when you’re in pain. It’s a trance and you’re transcending and tripping. Second decade chronicle.  22nd century reality. Call your people.  Call your lover.  Call everyone who calls you black, magical and godly. You’re the genesis and the revelations. Call your God to upgrade the communication. It’s a conversation and you catch yourself waking up from a ditch. You’re not sleeping,  you’re just waking up to yourself again.