Sícut cérvus desíderat ad fóntes aquárum: íta desíderat ánima méa ad te, Déus.

Ὅσον ζῇς, φαίνου, μηδὲν ὅλως σὺ λυποῦ· πρὸς ὀλίγον ἐστὶ τὸ ζῆν, τὸ τέλος ὁ xρόνος ἀπαιτεῖ.

Yesterday holds memories in time Yesterday fades away Farewell my world For once you were a true love of mine Down we go

Death’s not a miracle I’m praying to Death’s not an altar I’m sacrificing my life to, my dreams to, my love to You can scream in the void, and you can give it a name If you plan for the stage, you can change the story, skip the pain Are we villains by necessity? Fools by heavenly design? Or are we specks of dust, simply floating free? Can I call my choices mine? Must my death teach something new? Is hope such a fragile thing we must disown it? Cast it to the next life, Pretend we don’t require those patches of unclouded sky? Patience behind the noise, it is lonely silence Yet here we stand with that sea behind us Shall we dance? Are we villains by necessity? Fools by heavenly design? Or are we specks of dust, simply floating free? Can I call my choices mine? Must my death teach something new? Death’s not a miracle I’m praying to

Walking in the sunshine I was playing a fool Bumping into you I forgot my principles No way I could have known that Silver could turn to gold And I would ever find What I thought I’d left behind So when fate comes knockin’ girl, I’ll take him blind Don’t you see me seeing those lonesome blues Hiding deep within those big brown eyes I see your smile hiding Keeping you from sighing From that one you did find That you had to leave behind But when fate comes knockin’ girl, you take him blind Never found an answer in a book I have read Never found a reason for the way our hearts are led But there’s music in the air and I can feel the love we share And now I do find That I’m not what’s left behind So when fate comes knockin’ girl, let’s take him blind

Would you meet me in the woods? I would follow a star To know where you are, where you are In the garden of Eden the flowers are Singing through the gloom today Help me Help me please I don’t know what to do Sings the motherbird as her Children fall to hit the ground

Darlin’ darlin’, I know I’m a poor man I don’t got a penny to my name If you meet me at the church tomorrow mornin’, my love, You’ll be the richest woman this town has ever seen Baby, baby, they think I’m a good girl Mama said that I should tell you so If I run away with you tomorrow, my love, The rumors would just break my daddy’s heart Come with me to the river I could be your only one We can cross the banks to where the willows hang And we’ll be safe from all that talk forevermore Wrote a note, left it in your Bible ‘Fore you come to get it from the pew Baby there’s a time and place, I’ll meet you there my love Don’t let nobody see you in the moonlight Daddy, daddy, I swear I’m not goin’ Rest your worried heart and go to bed You tell mama I’ll see her in the morning But I can’t help but think of what he said Come with me to the river I could be your only one We can cross the banks to where the willows hang And we’ll be safe from all that talk forevermore

Abel, can you hear me? I’ve been hiding from God awhile, and I miss your funny smile My Brother, did you hear me, when I sang your epitaph for the boy who couldn’t laugh At the fish roiling in the waves, and figures cut in stone At the proud and sparking skeletons of mud and blood and bone Oh brother, would you forgive me, if I built a house and caled it by your name? I am swimmin still, my pride is flashin’ like a netted whale Would you fight another round, for the unborn child waiting in the ground? Mother, were you cryin’ with the dragon at your feet, hearin your baby’s new heartbeat O mother, were you worried, your own son would save your soul And resent the rescued world, of a land he never got to touch Of flesh and huddled souls Of a tree he never got to climb and roads to walk alone, O mother, he’ll forgive you, when he feels the darkness strummin’ on his soul I am swimmin still, my pride is flashin’ like a netted whale Would you fight another round, for the unborn child waiting in the ground? I am burnin’ ground, looking for some thorns to make a crown O Abel, would you forgive me, I’m gonna build a house and call it by your name.

Well you know I hate to see that sun going down on me And I can’t stand the way it beckons at me through the trees Each evening I suspect it will extinguish mortally Leaving me for anything to find out if it really can break free I cannot stop thinking about that day My mother says she’s confident I’ll think my life away She’s sure that I have bigger earthly debts to pay I guess she doesn’t see the wave that washes over us but carries me away And ‘round me Don Quixotes fight each other from behind the stones They don’t seem to know that when they break down the Earth moans Leaving nothing but scattered shrapnel impossibly alone They confuse their strength for freedom from the bronze that’s woven in their bones And you know I hate to see that sun going down on me And I’m afraid of the way it beckons at me through the trees Each night it sends once more to try and steal away from me To play its hand at death and find out if it really can break free

I don’t wanna be ‘round you anymore I don’t wanna spend another night on the floor Put wax in your ears if you don’t wanna hear Just shut up and go if it burns you to know That your pain It doesn’t interest me Your pain It doesn’t interest me I didn’t deserve when you kicked me to the curb And told me I should be happy you’re the one that I serve Don’t tell me again to get used to my role Don’t tell me any more about your suffering soul ‘Cause your pain It doesn’t interest me Your pain It doesn’t interest me I gave you too much attention Now I want it back I gave you too much attention Now I want it back I mean, it’s not that I don’t care at all I like to think of myself as a caring person and You deserve to be heard, but I’ve got my own life to worry about I can’t concern myself with yours all the time And you know, it was your mistake You’re the one who messed up, you need to learn to live with it I don’t wanna be ‘round you anymore I don’t wanna spend another night on the floor Put wax in your ears if you don’t wanna hear Just shut up and go if it burns you to know That your pain It doesn’t interest me Your pain It doesn’t interest me

Today is August 1st, and I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the future, of the weight of my hopes and dreams, and of my loneliness. I am angry, and I am afraid of my anger. Scared that it will never go away. I am angry because of my fear. Of my worry that nothing I do will ever be enough. I will never be enough. I remain trapped, bound up by all the things that I’ll never be. And, through forced attempts at metamorphosis, I slowly sacrifice all that I am. So many people want me to be so many other things than myself. I’m not white. I’m African American, but I can’t be “too black” because then I’m “ghetto.” “Don’t talk like that! Use proper English.” “Wipe that lip gloss off, you look like you’ve been eating fried chicken!” Comments aimed like a surgical knife, desperate to cut away the parts of you they find unappealing and reveal “The New and Better You!” underneath. I take my bonnet off and like a photo of Jack Harlow wearing one instead. Okay, no more AAVE. Never mind that everyone else is using it. Never mind that the whole world is co-opting it as their own. White kids using it are “cool”, stars say the n-word all day, and the next thing you know, we have a new celebrity. “A voice for their generation,” All the while using someone else’s words. Fine, whatever, I’ve gotten used to “sharing” all my things. Having them stolen from me and then saying “ours.” “Remember folks, America is ours.” Except, for when it’s not and the color of my skin makes me a not-quite-foreigner in old but still unfriendly territory. I wipe my mouth and apply a smile instead. You know? Cause we women should smile more. And I just turned twenty, so that means I’m a “grown woman” which in turn means that I’ve unlocked several new and interesting rules I must abide by to keep men happy. I have to dress in a way that’s appealing to them, but not too revealing, or else I’m a whore. Stay fit but if I’m too muscular then I look like a man and now I’m unattractive. Be interesting. But if my interests stray too far from what’s deemed acceptable for me, well now I’m weird and wrong. Be confident, but let men tell me I’m beautiful because If I say it then I’m arrogant. Be fun but not loose, and charming but not too charming because, yep you guessed it…I’ll look like a whore…again. Stay young forever, but you can’t get work done because you have to look natural and untouched. Ahhh of course, one must naturally work against nature. Yea, that makes sense. I have to be smart, but if I’m too smart then I’m manipulative. Ambitious but not so much so that I seem power-hungry. Empathy is seen as some womanly weakness. Getting upset about real and serious racial and societal imbalances is reduced to being “just another angry black woman throwing a tantrum.” And if that wasn’t enough, I’m expected to someday (soon) get married (to a man of course) and raise his (cause somehow, they're not my) children, while the world tells me how to be a mom and a spouse (cause I haven’t even begun yet and somehow, I’m already doing it wrong). God forbid I have my own desires. God forbid, I have my own wants and expectations for myself. Things that I’m not willing to sacrifice in order to fit into a mold someone else has carved out for me. My parents are afraid that I’ll be gay. They spend significant portions of their time attempting to scare me onto the path they want. Dehumanizing anyone they see as other. A not-so-subtle warning of what I’m to expect if I disappoint them. “What’s Godly about sodomy?”, They ask. “Two women kissing is just disgusting; it’s so wrong.” “I miss the way tv used to be before it was filled with queers!” Unfortunately for them and their specially curated and lovingly fermented bigotry, I’m pansexual. And no, that doesn’t mean I’m attracted to pans… Rather it means that whoever I end up loving, I’ll love them for who they are, regardless of their gender or sexual orientation. And with so much hate in the world, isn’t that just a little bit wonderful? But I’m lonely all the while because no one can know that, and if I express my wants, then I’m back to being a whore. Only this time, I’m a desperate immoral whore with no self-respect. So now I’m black but I can’t acknowledge my indigenous heritage, straighten my hair, listen to Elvis, or watch K-dramas, because obviously, if I do or like any of those things then I don’t want to be black. I’m not allowed to step outside of the carefully and often violently maintained boundaries of what it means to be an” acceptable black person” because the moment I do, I’m a target. “Get good grades, make something of yourself.” Perhaps you put on a uniform and serve your country, hoping that just maybe camouflage and your sacrifices will be enough for them not to kill you. Surprise! It’s not. Nothing is enough. Not a Ph.D. or military service, not disabilities or prayers. Hell, they won’t hesitate to shoot you even with your family watching. And… I’m a woman, or am I? But no, stop. I forgot I’m not allowed to question my identity any further than what’s already been assigned to me. So yes, I’m a woman and I’m afraid to “own” a body in this world because we have been taught that our bodies are never truly ours. In fact, they belong to everyone but us. You see my body belongs to angry Christians and men who believe that when a little girl is raped, she’s not a victim but an irresponsible woman who should be persecuted. My body belongs to men I’m not allowed to say no to and people in power I’ll never meet. I’m queer and my pansexuality is constantly reduced to licentious, perverted, lecherous depravity and confusion. Because of course, I can’t like people regardless of their gender, I must just be a confused sinner. I’m a black, queer, “woman” and so a condition of my existence is always falling short. I’m falling short of the past (of everyone who was and did), and yet somehow, I’m already not good enough for the future. And damn, I’m only twenty, but I’m sitting here on my knees begging like a terrified child, a sinner in the hands of a wrathful God. My own hands are covered in guilty blood as I cut and tear away at myself. Hoping to make a more digestible version of me for all of you. Praying that when I finish, I’ll somehow be enough. So yea, I’m angry, I’m tired, and I’m scared. Because the world screams “Not Enough” at us for so long that we don’t even realize when our own voices join in the chorus.

Eveline, por que sigues aqui? Eveline, nunca nada esta claro No me dejas solo Eveline, madre te extrana Ella espera junta a la ventana Regresa, regresa Eveline, la luna te espera Las noches mas frias cantan tu number Salvese, salvese, puedes?

Sicut cervus desiderat ad fontes aquarum