I’m Not In My Feelings

I’m not in my feelings. I promise,

because if I was, you would most assuredly

know that you’re presence is

a constant irritant to my soul.

My psyche compares the timbre

of your voice to the sound of faces

dipped, repeatedly

into ice cold


waters, inducing

pain and



for truths that you already know

but could never handle

and desiring absolution

from/between my gasps for air.

But I won’t.

I can’t.

Say that,

because really,

I’m not in my feelings.

If I were in my feelings I would tell you.

I would let you know that your very

presence is an act of armed

robbery, assault

psychological terrorism

and i’m still looking for

that smile you stole when

your lips first parted and the venom

spilled. But I can’t tell you that.

I won’t.

Then you’d just think I was in my feelings

and mistake my articulation of self and reality as some

verification of weakness or your ability to read

or shade

or be relevant

and I can’t have that.

Truth reigns supreme on my tongue like the

fiery after-taste of habanero peppers

marinated in


honesty and delivered in a

bouquet of blaqueerealness

and then boo,


you’d be in your feelings.

My words could kill.

They do.

The light is bright and

I’d hate to see your essence peel

and flake away in the presence of my

cosmic realness.

Believe when I say I’m not in my feelings.

But I do converse with them.

And if you’re no careful,

you might just find yourself in the caldron

of my feelings and honey,

you can’t handle this kitchen.

So fall back. Fix your fuckery and take your

seat at the floor of truth while mercy

is still in supply.

My feelings are here. They give no fucks and they see you and

they are eager to read in a multilingual,

code-switching fashion.

Pray child, that I never








No Fucks
No Fucks

One Comment Add yours

  1. tnsquared says:

    that was live.


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