Black ass poems. Black ass stories. Black ass art. Black ass life. Black ass love. Black ass hate. Black ass parenting. Black ass depression. Black ass mania. And other stuff too.
Tuesday, February 25, 2020
West Adams
Sunday Stories (6)
There used to be a big sign in the back of the apartment building at St. Elmo Village that said IF YOU LIVE IN A SHOEBOX BRIGHTEN IT UP. Most of the places where I've lived as an adult have been very small spaces because...L. A., because...budget. But as an adult, I have always been a very good housekeeper.
Home is important to me. I am...a way about my space. I need order. I don't think you heard me. Not just like it. I need it. I cannot live with clutter. Clutter includes a fork in the sink, the toilet paper not on the holder, a sock on the living room floor (I can be annoying. Love me anyway.) I like colors and art. Plants and mirrors and pillows. Rugs and dishes and books. I don't spend a lot of money to decorate. I shop at thrift, dollar and discount stores. I'm also gifted with great items.
I can't control the world outside my doors. Can't control the weather or police or people, traffic or anything really. But I can make a beautiful and comfortable space for myself, my son and those who visit. The place where I live now is no different. It's super small and hella cozy and filled so much love. So much conversation. So much music (and Criminal Minds / Law & Order SVU / Chicago P. D. marathons.)
Creating great space is the one gift I have consistently given myself through the years. Now, I have my days, weeks even, when the depression takes over and the clothes and take out bags pile. Of course seeing it only feeds the depression. But there is nothing I can do but wait until the clouds pass and pray they pass before the suicidal thoughts take over. Because they come. But that's a story for another day. Thank God not today. Mainly, I control what I can control when I can control it. This is how I love myself.
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