A Slow Rotting


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No, I do not know….

why I cry

my tears do not speak to me,

mocking me in their silence….

No chance meeting of a lover on the streets.

Marching hooded white men armed to the teeth, pulling colored shopkeepers from their shops putting bullets to heads….

Children in cages, crying for mama and papa in a universal language but their captors won’t listen.

And The Blood Flag flys high over the White House.

No, I do not know why….


Ending Transitions


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I know not the siren’s calls,

Or the taste of the


but instead have

personified in

MySelf….a wicked lonely path,

down boulevards

and back alleys among the




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I just don’t know….

A few days ago, two black men were arrested at a Starbucks because one of them wanted to use a bathroom. Well, at least they were not shot being black while trying to drink coffee….

If I can help it, I will not be drinking my coffee at Starbucks.

It is incidents like this that makes me wonder about the mythology of the United States, and that black people, it’s citizens, can be shot or jailed because of their skin color by law enforcement.

I’m sorry, I truly am, but I have lost faith in my birthplace. And by extension of this lost, most of my faith in humanity….

I and my friend have decided to relocate to San Diego, in the hope of having a better life than here in Detroit. That too, makes me somewhat sad, because I really wanted to buy my house or loft here in the Motor City. I’m moving for the higher minimum wage, ($9.25 in Michigan, vs. $15.00 in California), recreational marijuana and a more open and acceptable culture.

No, it will not be easy, because San Diego has a high rate of homelessness.

I hate writing these online journal entries because they’re not optimistic about life.

I can only only hope that life gets better.