poem #1

i feel nauseous
                i will write, anyway
i will finish nothing
i will collect $26 in revenue
i will avoid my inbox
i will make a to-do list
i will take a long walk
& listen to J. Cole 

i won't cry
                actually
        can't ?

my tear ducts are faulty
sinus pressure filling the spaces in my face
calavera calavera

     at least 3 townhomes are boarded up in our low income housing complex
     i cannot make a decision because there are too many choices
           also i make too many decisions
broke/=/broken but it's very very close

the masculine desire to 
give up & go get a real job
the masculine desire to 

i want to give up my
material possessions
& sail the Mississippi

& sink into the Gulf

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This is not becoming a poetry Substack, but sometimes I get the urge to write a poem. I actually started writing poetry when I was a child. I published a poetry chapbook in my twenties. Don’t look it up. I hate it.

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thélèmak (formerly thotscholar) is a writer working across narrative, history, and haunting.

She writes Legba’s Tongue, where criticism gives way to construction.

If this work stays with you, you can support it here:
thélèmak's Ko-Fi Page