Muse on you! Part Deux

I THOUGHT I WOULD GIVE A THROWBACK TO FRESHMAN YEAR
SPRING IN ATLANTA WHEN I LEARNED SO MANY THINGS ABOUT
L.I.F.E FROM SO MANY DEAR PEOPLE. THIS IS A MOMENT

It's Saturday morning. Man, that is so great. I halfway can't believe it. What a miraculous time. I just wanna stretch out my limbs across the green world in that sleepy yawn that goes everywhere and knocks your covers in disarray. You know sometimes when it is a Saturday and the sun is all bright and gosh, you feel like everything will finally and forever be allright and your breathing patterns even change. You are rising inside yourself just like a muffin, just like a muffin in the oven- unintentional rhyme scheme there ok. unintentional.

You know I just want to say sometimes I get angry ok. Sometimes I get angry, particularly when I think about the pasts of black people, ok sometimes I get angry. And If I am angry it is really because I am sad and am trying to make sense of this thing and myself and trying to take an agency in being here and hear my own voice echoing around me instead of a silence that says something completely different. I didn't always used to have anger.. I didn't always used to .. in elementary school I wasn't so much angry, even though I then knew pretty much all the things I know now.

I'm trying to find my anger's purpose. Sometimes it has a very whipping energy like the most curving winter wind and is so cunning. Oooh, my anger is so cunning. It slips up behind me sometimes, gives me a shake, and scares the mess outta me sometimes. Good lord. But I kinda like it. It also gives me a lot of ideas.

But I don't want to hurt anyone. It becomes critical for me, because I'm at the point where I must say what I feel. And I'm at this point where I have to talk about what I feel in this class and this world of today and I can no longer skimp out on saying something about how I feel, which for me means in the company of white people and critically white people my age. I cannot pretend to not know what I know when I know IT, that I do not feel that feeling when I feel it. I hope I do not hurt anyone in the process. That I can do this in a good way.

Maybe the reason I am so angry is that I can no longer be sad. I can no longer be that girl in high school, who while very much powerfully herself in her secreted way, was very much was not in her sunshine. I have read and heard said that anger is sometimes better than sadness and depression. I think this is true in some scenarios.

SOmetimes I like my anger, because oooh it feels so good. It can burn something up, and sometimes thats ok. Do you think there is such a thing as a happy anger?

But I would like to remember a place where even this did not register for me, where when I was little even though I had seen all the segments of the Roots mini-series, I still wanted to play with everyone and had to insist that this girl here and this girl here could and was indeed going to be my friend. When I did not even care. I think this is the first place to remember. This is the first place of remembrance.

I wanna direct some energy to Heroes this great poem.song by Lesley Ann Brown and Woodie ( together Homegrown). It really did something for me this morning, and just helped me out.

-In