This is an old journal entry of mine. Although I feel that it reflects a past self, a viewpoint that I had about "things". I feel pretty much that way now. Call it truth or a slow growth, it is a truth committed to paper at that time, and I'd like to share it with you.

How it all Comes Together

He said I was too quick to love. I can't help it that my heart took me there. He said I miscalculated, misquoted, misunderstood.
Another will say I'm too concerned with self. Concerned only with that which concerns me.
They say that I think I'm better than they are, that I want too much and that my standards are too high. Unattainable even.
"...remember who you are, what you are..." Black, a nigger: they will never accept you, value you or love you, not like we can.

How do you think that makes me feel? Truth is some of this is factual, though addressed with ill intention, provoking an ignorance I do not embrace. I love too fast, I'm all too preoccupied with aesthetics. appearance and image. Though I've tried to keep that aspect of my personality hidden from view. And yes, at the back of my mind, Belief  lays dormant, half awake and half asleep. he rises just long enough to remind me that to them I'm just another jungle bunny. The clothes I wear, the intensity and intelligence of my stare nor the type of language I speak won't change what they see when they look at me. The ever present superiority of the white mind will forever be exercised and validated by society. No, he said, they weren't concerned with me. Not interested in my buried history or my peoples long forgotten royalty. For them it remains a myth, an idea, a fantasy like that of a Black Jesus or the poetic genius of the late Tupac Shakur. Nonsense, all of it.
So what does that make me?
Some non-intelligent nobody?

They have had their moment to speak. But the right response to all of this does not come all at once. bits and pieces of a possible reply come to me at random moments. Most of it does not make it past my lips. Instead, knowledge and understanding bobs to the surface, assisted by dreams, various conversations and quiet introspective moments when I am alone and away from the world.
Much like a magic wand, pencil comes to paper, thoughts take form, questions get answered, frustrations and tensions release; topics of interest are addressed.
The headaches subside, the clenching of teeth decreases dramatically, and again I feel that I have taken my first breath of fresh air. In that moment, I am beyond peace and without regret for what was expressed. I will not apologize. My feelings have been hurt too.

Let them say what they want to say. My truth is worth more to me than gold. So what if most of what I mean to say can only be articulated by the use of this unforgiving journal format.
My gospel will release me.
Tomorrow is my heaven.
I lay my head and rest, for what is to be will be.