free//fall
I frequently feel constrained by punctuation when I am attempting to roll out the endless carpet of thoughts that whirl about my mind moment to moment.
When writing passionately, I feel my fingers trip over themselves in the same way that my tongue does when I am attempting to explain my person to someone.
...In many ways, the feeling of Blackness matches up with this feeling of breathlessness. In the gasping passion of music and ritual and worship. In the discussions I have with my sister about the world we live in, trading stories of hope and heartache, neither of us giving pause between each other's breaths, too much to say about a world that refuses to hear us
; the tight chest-pinch of pain when I come across the news of some Black death, some land reaped, some community exterminated, exiled, imprisoned, swallowed whole by the beast, my body mastering the grieving process to a few deep breaths."
