From my vantage
you can no longer make a dollar out of 15 cents
Inflations
Still a black man caught up in the mix tho
So
behind these brown eyes
and to my amygdala
I’m stuck on froze mode
or I’m a flight risk
Every trip to a new opport
unity
delayed
Every fight for a better life
lost
Broke in the generational curse senses
Starving to be apprehended
My hungry hungry hippocampus
impaired
but who cares
No one can hear my stomach growl or
for that gray matter – my brain
From my view
I see flashbacks in the
present day wishing payday was everyday so every day would feel like a getaway to a better head space and a better place to slow the pace because for once and cortisol
I want to breathe
My genie in this 40-ounce bottle did not grant my wish to transfer this hypervigilance from my body to my bank account
In the meantime
I’ll take out a personal loan for some temporary peace
