The room, silent and bland, the sound of a well needed smoke alarm battery change, think Lex, don’t think, breathe, just breathe, Between the surface of reality and an illusion, the fantasy of what I want life to be, to what it really is. The vivid dreams recurring during the day-to-day. “A’Lexus what are you thinking”?
The truth is, everything...
Oftentimes I forget how I got here. Spending my days reading, on a strict diet and schedule. I hate it here. These guards are rude and needy. If I am so crazy, why are you infatuated with my crazy ass?
Remembering 2008, I received this jacket as a random, unsolicited gift. At that time all I wanted was more Bratz dolls, so I was confused about the need for yet another jacket. The jacket was so big that I had to learn– yes learn, how to fit into it. Or rather, how it fit into me. I never understood why I was gifted this jacket and quite frankly, I thought it was very ugly. But I—- I tried not to complain and sound ungrateful for something that was given to me. It also seemed to fit loose and complicated, yet tight and overwhelming. But I .. I had to wear it unfortunately. The jacket had these straps that allowed a sense of security but also a feeling of trapness. Like when ma used to place me- nose to the cold white popcorn wall, in the corner of my room, alone, and in the dark. I didn’t like it, but it was an unintentional norm that seemed HAD to be.
The Guard(s) had a hold on me. Six, ready to turn the world upside down. But yet, the more I grew into my jacket, the more the guards had a hold of me. Silencing me like a mouse. Mocking me, my insecurities, and woefulness as if you are an echo from my empty D.C. apartment. These guards were trusted servants of the law but being trusted by me was so far-fetched. Lusting over my young body as if I was a piece of fucking meat. Whenever I would try to speak up for myself, my throat closed as if I had swallowed a piece of white Sara Lee bread. But yet, I still had hope in the dark like Rebecca Solnit. Visitations seemed like 15 second jail calls and yet, I wished they would stop so that the false hope of going home would stay away. Ending those 15 seconds to head back to my cell, knowing that later that I would become a stress ball for a weak excuse of a man and a verbal punching bag for a sorry ass mother. But yet, I had that jacket to sustain my uncomfortable comfortability. You know, although I didn’t like the jacket- it worked. I had to just let it be. Knowing that it was given to me, it was all that I had and at the early age of six, I was emotionally knowledgeable of the fact that this is what it is. (well, really it was the last seconds of the weekly visitations of Ma stating “STOP ALL THAT CRYING, YOU’RE A BIG GIRL, THINGS WILL CHANGE” that remained in my head)
I learned early on that a young black girl's tears were dramatic and uncalled for so I toughened up and I tightened that white jacket.