like peanut butter sticking to the roof of my mouth

i’m so tired of this computer moving so slow. I have so much to say. The “o” key has been sticky for two days now, but I’ve been beating it so hard, it is coming into submission.

i got a lot on my mind and it’s not flowing in any sequence. isn’t anything important to anyone anymore? what in the world was i thinking that people would share my passion for the written word. everybody’s trying to make a dollar here and dollar there. i’m caught between world elements–but only temporarily. i’m getting out of this jam. taking me a talking break, a talking fast as Adilah puts it.

regardless if its at open mic in a room full of spoken word artists or it’s open mic at Kafe Kuumba, the reaction is pretty much the same. Okay, okay calm down. not everyone understands you anyway, and you don’t know how to express yourself unless you are writing, so calm down.

but to suggest to me that i should just be happy with my poems if they make me happy is like saying i should like peanut butter because it sticks to the roof of my mouth. I’m writing for myself, true, but I write for others to identify with the world around them, life around them.

i truly believe I have lost my mind.

did i mention i am working on a manuscript that is due on July 31st. I do not have it formatted yet, and i will work on it for another hour tonight. but i really needed to vent with my blog for a few minutes.

I still don’t have it all off my chest, because i’m furious with my best friend who has abandoned me. i began to fall deeply in love with words and writing and she made it seem i was cheating on her, so she shot down the very thing that keeps me alive–writing poetry. She never asks if i’m still writing, never comes to any open mic events where i perform, never asks me to share any of my writing with her, never misses an opportunity to make it so hard for me to write that i almost give up (but don’t worry dear reader, I’m not giving up yet!)

i feel like the little boy who made his father promise to get to his little league game all week, only to find that on the day of the big game, the little boy scans the stands, looking for his father, and sadly discovers that dad didn’t make it. And as if that’s not hard enough,  later on dad has an excuse like, “son, I’m sorry–I had to work,” or “son, something came up at the last minute at work.”  We all know shit like that!

Here are my haiku submissions for today:

36
if i ignore it
pretend it does not exist
will it go away?

37
i heard the djembe
felt my heart speed to its rhythm
saw drum spirits rise

I ache to play my drum with other drummers, especially female. Wonder if there’s a MeetUp for that?

Peace,

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