There is a rhythm to my writing that only I can see, but I can tell they do appreciate. It’s like Shakespeare’s iambic pentameter. And I can tell when it’s broken. I can tell every time I stopped to check my breathing, blinked to check my sight (omg, that’s a trip), mispelled a word, or reminded myself to take yet another sip of my already cold coffee.
I rip myself apart basically, write about my dreams, then check keyword analysis to find out how similar all days are, and see if I can see what makes days different and analyze my vocabulary and sentence structure for clues as to how I truly feel and why. Then I check my work email.
Recognizing racial equality. Like seeing things for what they are is a talent, an achievement, a superhero skill. Like ignorance isn’t the problem, but rather this divine enlightenment is the goal. A lofty fucking goal, and look at how far we’ve come!
I remember that there was a time not too many years ago that I used to feel this way about my boyfriend. What will I do when I feel this way about the boy, the way that I currently feel about my boyfriend?