Life - Helpless Rage

Life - Helpless Rage

I am alone, standing before a heavy bag. Music I don't remember. There is an acrid smell of chalk and sweat, and the lights are half on, cold, and quiet.

Fists up.




Move, step, step, hit.

Side. Step. Step.

Hit.

Back. Step. Hit. Hit. Step. Hit.

Hit. Side.

I can see my own skin. I can see the color of it. I am aware of it.

Hit.

I hate it. I can feel blood in my ears, rushing. Roaring. I am roaring. Breathing. Roaring.

Hit. Step. Back. Side. Hit. Step. Hit.

I hate being confused. I hate being me. I hate the color of my skin. I hate the body I inhabit.

Hit.

Step. Hit. Bounce.

I hate the words out of my lips.

I can feel myself breathing. Step. Hit.

I hate my fixation on what I am.

I hate the world's fixation on who they perceive me to be.

I hate that I can't escape.

Hit.

Step. Side.

Back. Bounce.

Back. Hit. Side.

Kinetic. I talk too much.

I say too little.

My chest is pounding, Step. Step. Bounce. Hit.

Disconnected.

Hit. Step.

Grounded.

I hate the color of my skin.

Hit.

Hit.

Step. Hit.

I hate the color of my skin in the light.

Hit. Side.

In the dark.

Hit.

I'm crying. Or it's sweat. It stings.

I blink. Step. Step. Hit. Step. Back. Bounce.

Hit.

Who am I?

Hit. Step.

I hear your words.

Hit.

I hear them beneath the breath. I hear silence.

Step. Step. Bounce. Hit. Bounce. Hit.

Hit.

I hate the world. I hate words, and life, and me.

Hit.

I hate me.

Hit. Hit. Hit. Hit. Hit.

Stop.

Kinetic.

Stop.

Stillness.

Plip. Plip. Plip.

Blood stains my wrapped right hand. It leaks through rips in the tape. Crimson and wet, in the cool lonely light.

I am never more aware in that moment, that I am not white.

I am always that aware.

I will always be that aware.

Fists up.

Start again.