no title.

you see me and say i'm suspect,

and thats what ive grown to expect.

momma told me that thats the way its always been.

im bad cause im black.

ive got it bad cause im black.

and, honestly, i was quite okay with that.

before.

but now, you're publicly executing me.

taking my life for no reason outside your own paranoia.

tormenting my mother. giving my father the finger.

depressing my sister. and terrifying my brothers.

and somehow, im the suspicious one.

im suspicious when you've stolen the very land you call home.

when you stole the labor it took to make this land into a home.

im the suspect but never once has anyone who ever looked like me killed off an entire race.

nor, enslaved every race under the mighty sun.

i've been bashed and ashamed for every wrong i've done.

but you hide your mistakes and rewrite the textbooks.

no. im not suspicious. you just need a place to vent your inner turmoil.

i am not the killer or the thief or the rapist or the liar or the embellisher.

but i will become those things.

fire vs fire. and i am satan.

i fight with centuries of anguish and mourning in my arsenal.

you fight out of fear.

and the cowards never live.

my people need not stand beside me, for they are afraid too.

consider yourself lucky. lucky that we once sided with Martin and not Malcolm.

but this is a war i can win without them.

wake up

i am standing alone, outside as the sun begins it's ascent.

the sky is still damp and dark. the air is murky. it is the most unpleasant time to be awake.
nothing good comes forth during this hour. ghosts haunt, people begin to wake up for work, the "heat of the moment" dies down and one sobers up.

but i've stood outside for such a long time. waiting. just waiting.
the hours lost no longer mean anything to me. failures and D minuses are trashed and burned.

Batman knew that both darkness and light can only last but for so long. that is why he had two identities. but even he had troubles keeping the two separate.
one must experience both and watch the light grow into dim depression.

and now, the sun must finally rise.
as its rays pierce the sky, warning the night to make way, still i stand.
waiting. watching.

black turns to purple. purple to orange. and, soon, orange to blue.

i've stood still, complacent, confused, depressed, furious and needy in this darkness for so long.
it is time to let such feelings pass like the night.

the sun is rising.

i hear my inner self asking, "what time is it?"

i let the question sit for a moment, knowing time is running short.
with closed eyes, i sigh one last time. the road ahead is no longer the easy one i've grown accustomed to walking. but now it is illuminated with the light unknown, yet, to mankind for my will and determination and desperation have been lit.

again, inner-self ask, "what time is it?" this time, they sound more distant. less close.
the journey has already begun when i reply without the usual cocky smile, or enlightened wisdom, with nothing more than simple focus,
"its time to go."

life narrative.

its been some time since the introspective question, "who am i?" crossed my mind.
but we're past that now. i know who i am.

the real question is, "how does who i am trump the challenges i go through?"
more simply put: how do i get ahead?

honestly, i regret all 22 years of my life. every last one. without exempt or exception.
and they, whoever "they" are, say that you haven't lived a full life until you have a few regrets.

but i have a full life of regrets (maybe thats why i always feel so old..)
i've made all the wrong decisions. i've loved all the wrong people. said the wrong things. so on and so forth.

the only thing worth while that i've managed to do was learn. 22 years worth of hardcore trial and error learning. thus, wisdom. or something of such nature.

i look at the mirror and i see the past.
i see past me in his roughest state. hair uncut, wispy whiskers, tired eyes.
and in the same frame, i see the me trying to get past the past me.

its a silent struggle.

i look here at these words now and see that i can no longer make the same mistakes.
i cant keep telling the same stories. i'm not tyler perry.
i am tarrance foster. thats who i am.
what does that mean? well, what does that matter?
i am who i am. and i must use what little i know to outsmart myself.

things won't happen in my favor if i don't hold the gun to the dealer's head.

so here i am. sitting in silence on my day off. wondering.

standing isn't the problem. its moving thats hard.

if anybody reads this.
hell, if anybody understands,

watch out.

signed,
a new man.
(but whats that matter?)

return.

been sulking lately. hence, the lack of posts.

but im back. my balls have re-dropped and im a man again.
22 now. oh joy.

yeah. theres your life update. if you cared.

the pictures.

my memory has gone bad.
but i remember you. not all of you but your essence.
sometimes, i see pictures of you in my head.
moments we've lived out together:

one is of you next to me on a long bus ride to nowhere. your big eyes looking at me the way they did. glowing, it feels like. in my sweathood. you were beautiful.

i remember seeing you in a bathroom, standing against the sink, staring at me, inviting me.
i remember taking that invitation.

i see you in front of me, confessing something. still with those eyes.
Jesus, i could never forget those eyes.

my memory has gone bad, but i could never...

i see you standing over my bed. me behind you. sunlight beaming inside. your chocolate skin melting into mine. i remember feeling like someone painted us there. Maybe God, Maybe satan, maybe Us.

Us.

i remember those eyes.

but i don't remember why.

ramble on

the two heavy metal balls in my hand orbit each other with, what seems like, little help from my fingers and palm. they were said to be able to help keep me calm. i was lied to. per usual.

a storm rolls in. black clouds, lightening and heavy winds. but nothing potent enough in yin to blot out the sun. they say that this storm will end the world. i'd be a fool to believe it.

"there is nothing left."
"there was nothing to begin with."
"is that what you believe?"
"isn't that what you've told me?"
"i remember saying something opposite of that."
"hence, my beliefs."
"what do you believe?" [laughs] "nothing?"
"i wish i was that naive. i believe in everything."
"thats impossible."
"i believe you."
"how can you believe me calling your beliefs impossible?"
"the same way you can believe your beliefs knowing they're impossible."
[slience]

the storm continues to lug itself closer from the horizon. it brings death with it. it takes life with it. one exchanged for the other but no refund for neither. there is no choice but when is there ever a choice? you take your hand off the table and you either fold or keep your poker face solid, knowing you hold the shittest hand at the table.

either you win or you lose. or you shoot the dealer but thats probably a tell-tell sign of losing.
either you get married or you break up.

"are we breaking up?"
"do you have verizon?"
"huh?"
"bad joke. what was the question?"
the stress balls continue to swirl
"i don't think you're a real person."
"i'm not. i'm all the best parts of all your favorite literary characters and all the worst flaws of all your most hated cartoon villains wrapped into one sloppy burrito. with no thing to drink."

no thing. no, not nothing but, yes, no thing.
one might ask: "what is the difference?"
one might reply: "no thing."

for something to be something there has to be anything of that something's nature. but if there is nothing of that nature then that something never was, making it no thing.

"there are three men behind each of the pillars behind you."
"don't insult me. they were dead before i let you fix your mouth to speak. you underestimate me to such an embarrassing degree. this is where i go on a cliche, villainous rant about this being my world and me being god, the invincible. but that'd be a lie. i am not god. i created him."

silence. and a question.
the storm is over head.

"who- what are you?"

lightening cries. and the sun pierces through all darkness, erasing it as though it had simply forgotten to turn on its "on" switch.
a loud, heavy clank rang as thunder ripped though an epiphany.

"i am, no thing."

my favorite fantasy.

rain is hitting my skin. i feel the droplets leaving small streams from my head down my face, neck, exposed chest and abs until the feeling vanishes around my waist.
the sky was clear just a moment ago but dark and ominous clouds quickly blot out the sun.

there is an ungodly fury to be found in my eyes.
teeth clenched.
fist clenched.

the ground begins to shake and small pebbles and mounds of dirt levitate.

the strong urge to scream fills my lungs but i keep my mouth tightly shut.
my short nails pierce my palms and blood streams down my knuckles.

a swirling cloud of dirt encases me.
lightening strikes in my general direction.
nothing is stable.
being within a hundred yards of my person is a taunt to death.

a battle cry rips through the heavens suddenly.
all the dirt finds its place back on the ground from which it once came.
and i am revealed.
i am floating half a foot off the ground and my hair is golden.