As everything had seemed to exist

The existence was more of a seam

States of reality unconcievable arrived at a suture

This split was beautiful

W.E.B Dubois named this sensation double-consciousness

The systemic byproduct of self-loathing had almost swallowed me whole

Until I read Malcolm X's story and understood I was not the first, but I will be one of the last

This love I found for literature and separation helped the very melanin on my skin blossom

When you pimp a butterfly, even the cocoon the butterfly was in will begin to shine

The love I had found by flocking with other birds doesn't satisfy me anymore

Birds are satisfied with the sky, but in my freedom I'm aiming for the solars