Diary of A Black Man #4

Dear Diary,

Last night I spoke on my traumas. Like my depths of pain, my illness that I’ve harbored deep in my being. My pain was expelled through conversation, my woes and worries worded so that they could be sonically ingested. It was therapeutic, which I am sure I needed and a big part of me wanted. I shared my mistakes and the decisions which have led to my rather mysterious demeanor. The reason why my voice sits idle in casual settings and my mind observes more than I’d care to acknowledge. Shit in true form, my pain was relived it was revisited and registered an impulse in my mind. It was a throbbing a sensor clearly blinking at where my isolation stems. The root of all my evil, the foundation of my mistrust.

I realized my mind and heart aged. My exterior merely a boy but my internal functions light years beyond that of my peers. The halt of my growth was clipped, it was littered. It was sabotaged, to this day I can not fathom as to why those who said they cared would have done such. My only idea is that they possibly put and projected their limitations on me. Yet, deep down in my soul I knew no feat was greater than I. My passion was derailed my silence was written off as Submission and concession to the faux friends, family, and feelings.

Fuck, last night was like surgery it was a disease being verbally emancipated from my being. I had to clearly view those whom had damaged me internally, who severed my heart. I had to relive my pain.

It was as if the medicine I longed for was in the venom which had initially destroyed me…

Last night felt like alchemy…

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