ReflecTiff Writing

There is a life I imagine that is not unrealistic though I feel it will never be my reality. I reach for it to only grab this holographic image of it. I gaze at it to only realize it’s a dream. I listen to music that alludes to me coming closer to it, running towards it and never arriving. 


It’s hard to write beautifully about something so vile. That is a gift of my people. We sing and speak hurt with angelic voices and pure souls. That is the gift of my people. We produce somethings out of nothings and we produce it with love and strength and forgiveness and sincerity. We are the carpenters. My people built this nation. We built institutions that counteract the consistency of grief. We built healing because it is my people who heal to live and live to heal.