Smoke

The ghosts of my former self frolic in the distance.
I see them, I’m the only one that does,
But they don’t see me.
They pass in and out,
shaking me from within.
Not knowing they’re tearing me apart;
they carry on with afterlife.
That part of me has died.
Coffin is closed, please don’t open.
Let the nails hold.

High, Frankie

Well, this week I was going to write on the views that many older generations have toward “millennials”. Though, in lieu of resent events, I’ve decided to write on something else— getting ditched.

I’m not talking about your everyday ditched; dates, hang outs, one night stands– no. I’m talking about your friend, your best friend of years, going ghost. But first, some context.

So, one of my friends that I met at school started getting involved with this dude, her tattoo artist. About ten years older, wife, 4 kids, 2 jobs, and a fuck ton of problems. I knew it was happening since the very beginning, her tweets weren’t sly in the least. And I knew it was going to be a mess from the beginning too. Then, naturally the universe did her business and the wife found out. It was an ENTIRE mess and my other friend and I had to hear all about it in our groupchat.

So she swears off of him after one too many pulls to her heartstrings. But of course, he comes back. Not literally, but his friends kept telling her how he was miserable, etc, etc. She’s pulled back in. He then ends up coming back to the shop (which he only quit because he wife told him to. Why? Because that’s where my friend apprentices/they fuck.)

The second he was back in that shop she was gone. September 12th is the last time she talked to either of us. I texted her the other day, she answered instantly. “Just been busy with work and moving and your schedules were crazy”, “everything’s gravy”. Cool, but here’s the thing: she’s been done moving for weeks. Neither her nor our work schedules were ever hectic enough to NOT EVEN READ our messages. She deleted her Twitter after posting about how she “must be a pretty good girlfriend”. And finally she posted about needing a “mental health day” on Tumblr because “(I just wanna be okay)”.

So, why the lying? Why the distance? Why the deleting of social media sites? I don’t get it. HOW is it possible that a dude got you do hung up so fast? How is someone so inside of your own mind? Of course my friend and I don’t want to believe this is a thing. Who wants to have the thought that your best friend ditched you for some dude? No one. But that isn’t even the best part.

The kicker? They haven’t even had sex yet. This is all over some choking and a couple blowjobs. Me personally, I don’t think ALL of this is worth a crazy ex-wife hating you, tearing a family further apart, and your mental/emotional health. At all. But that’s me.

All I know is that this isn’t healthy, either way. I hate it but I’m powerless. She has to help herself. I just hope it’s not too late when this ends. It’s toxic.

High, Frankie

#LukeCage Live Write

Ok, I’m starting Luke Cage. The writing is fucking great so far. I was afraid that, with an all Black cast, it’d be stereotypical. Like how the most recent season of OITNB was set up. They tackled the issues Black people are facing in 2016 but you could tell it came from the minds of White writers. How? Everything had a but. Meaning the morals of stories would be “Black people are getting killed in jail, our lives matter!!……but so do all lives”. These ideas coming out of the mouths of Black characters on the show. In short, yes, they highlighted the issues and it was gritty BUT you could tell it was written by someone who has personally never experienced it. You can tell when emotion isn’t written into the dialogue; word choice, imagery.

With Luke Cage they tackled those same issue but with no wishy washy stance from the Black characters. No buts. Luke mentions he was framed and beaten in jail. They was no precursor given, as if was his consequence for something else. No, “well, ya shouldn’t be messin’ around with (some bad influence)” backstory. He was framed. He was the target, wholeheartedly.

Also, just the way they talk. The characters candid times aren’t filled with overused Black lingo. It’s not generic. The characters use AAVE (African-American Vernacular English) at intermediate times, like we do in real life). It’s not “oh this is a professional scene, professional talk only”. There’s bits of it everywhere. In your classic Barber shop scene, during meanings with business partners, and 0ne on one scenes. It’s more believeable, real. They also don’t throw “nigga” in a sentence just because it sounds good. They do it because that’s how we (a Black person) would actually say it.

But seriously, overall fucking wonderful. The music choices as well, nice variety. Not JUST rap or soul/funk. The characters? All shades and hair types that can be found in the Black community. All a part of different tax brackets. All with different (good or bad) professions. I love it. And speaking of diversity, every extra isn’t Black or White. So many different faces, colors, hair types, ages, sizes. Honestly, truly beautiful.

I’m hooked.

High, Frankie

Artists

I thought of a fun thing to do while high: write down my thoughts. This first installment is going to be about artists. More specifically, illustrators and painters. Hope you enjoy.

I pretty much figured out the joke was on me the day I realized that people only asked “are you okay?” when seeing my art because artists are insane. Like, the day it hit me that some of the grestest artists are crazy as shit, my brain imploded. So many childhood conversations made sense after that. Not to say I’m “the grestest” artist at all, but it definitely catapulted things into perspective. Artists are just crazy, generally. I guess you have to be insane to pursue a career that is so…impractical. Just as a whole. The closest I could get to fairly stable job doing art all day, with benefits, in PA? Nothing that wouldn’t need more schooling. Or kill me. This in regards to my poetry too, to be honest. Not just fine art. But seriously, once I realized that; Everything clicked.
A-OK. Gotcha. Download 100% complete.

Parasite

It’s coming back; the hole in my stomach.
The cold emptiness
Toxin creeps from my heart,
Dancing across my ribs like mallets on a xylophone.
Laughing at me while my chest is enclosed in ice
I’m fighting a losing battle.
Thoughts bounce off the walls of my brain like ping pong balls.
Please let me go.
I want to be free
I want to live.
But you are me, and I am you.
One dies, so does two.

Tipsy

I’m so warm.
The type of warmth you feel after just enough alcohol.
Sudden, like a spark set off a fire in your stomach.
The flames making a trellis of your ribs before they warm your fragile heart.
And before you know it you’re spinning, dancing, and laughing it a liquor-driven bliss.
The spirits, not made from Earth, but pressed from fresh love, lust, passion.
The blur begins and emotions fly
Don’t be an angry drunk.

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