Foot off the gas pedal.
Car in park.
comes out to the car to sit with me.
They take up a lot of space and are very familiar.
They take my phone and turn on the voice memo,
allowing me to spill words of a weighted day.
There is no title for this particular piece yet.
Lamenting about microaggressions and wanting to be heard.
To be seen as I am and to be respected.
My intersections are many and I am tired.
knows this is my form of journaling.
I tell story after story, finding ways to return
to my softness as Existential Dread
listens with doubt and a smirk on their face.
I fumble, finding ways to return to grace.
I have to see it that way or
I would have been eaten alive long ago.
doesn’t care who can see us with the car lights on.
I am sageing the day to be better for those
who will encounter me within minutes.
I love them and can’t give them all of this.
would say it was gonna be bad anyway.
What to do with all I will say and feel
in these moments after Existential Dread
leaves the car.
They slam my door ominously.
Soft screams and a slight whimper.
I end the recording and title it ‘yesterday.’
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