White Privilage

I remember thinking these thoughts at age 10. Hardly anything has changed. 

I sift through inflaming thoughts, trying to quell my inner subversities- they are mirrored shadows of demons, maybe even NONE of them real. 

I am 31, going on 32. Here I dwell, at my mothers residence, the same way I grew up so harshly in my first half life.  

Here I dwell, stepping through cat litter, dust, fleas, water, cat piss and puke, roaches, and god knows what else. 

Here, I examine as I have done so many night before, the words strewn across the palate of my mind everyday. They are fears and memories, and all kinds of things out of my control.  

Happiness is a luxury I feel often, that I can no longer afford. 

And I don't know if my day will ever come, no longer so strong in hopes or dreams. American Privialge is many things left behind in unconstrued ways. It is the each of our story of delapidation and repression while portending freedom. 

I'd just as soon as die. 

As I have, most everyday. 

Accustomed to scathing dominions over me, like chains, and hunger, I eat my way through this life, for the love unknown as my most cherished request. Love even, of simple compassion. Genuinity.  

Here, though, the gates of Hell. 

And the only form of Heaven I know, 

Is the little left over in me.  

I have grown strong. 

But that does not diminish the path of an Angel's battle in Hell.  

The dominion is the soul, 

And the demons seek ever, to take that still.