I got milk, have some. TW*

[milk]

Acknowledgement.

“Any black woman who has spent extensive time in the U.S. will develop some form of PTSD” she professed, after I shared my story. She is my therapist, a doctor of psychology with practice in war torn communities. “I see your struggle, I see your strength” (me: breaking a smile after a tear)

Aside: this post is best heard through the Amour track by Phelian, the Quadruvium Album

This city is sure ugly but you know what — in the last month I have met some genuine folk, soberly infectious, just enough to awaken something in me. I need good people, I cant do it alone — these folk remind me of that. I may be triggered everyday and a bit hyper-vigilant, rightly so, yet I know myself so much, that I can catch a downward spiral mid-air and flip it to a changed reality that takes me where I want to go. I am on my way spiraling and flipping.

For those of you who may feel lost — this post is for YOU and the reality you imagine.

*milk

[milk]

I hop e you dont mind a firm tell of this city, I promise it ends well:

Word is the cluitter (homeless) in the streets is a penal policy gone wrong. The arrogance is astounding. It takes one moment with someone less fortunate to see lightt. When we left the British ‘fiefdom’ in a rage for freedom we forgot how to take care of one another. Likewise the cushy ‘fiefers’ forgot how to fight for what they believe in and so, they are left to take pleasure in ripping apart that ‘joie de vive’ to feel alive-like. Resources. What if everyone had what they needed (Maslov) to be themselves? The transformation of such a people/place would be an epic affair, worthy of children.

*milk