the bussed

it was about this time that the council began its move to provide transparency, they would let us see everything. we just couldn't digest it. it was only a film about time travel, only a film that showed the string, we were on that string, and remain trapped in that wave, although we didn’t know it. it was another hard day at the Minstrel Cafe. They should have told me black men played trumpet. They should have saved a father for me but they threw them all away and left the conversation to linger. the things they showed us in broad daylight, are the things they left us to fear. tearing me apart. this truth is tearing me apart.

a decade after I graduated high school, they would tell the tale of men running across dimensions to catch one singular pulse of evil. the moral of that story is they will give you just a little theory, a small cut of the map and then shit on that lock so you can’t use your key. riding those busses felt that way. they bussed us to those new schools and then made sure we could not use the books. teachers arguing with our mothers, challenging our value now undervalued. the pressures on our mothers equaling a twice tied together length of leather, stinging my thighs. it is foolish to think one singular pulse resulting in the absence of truth could collapse so many homes, create so many rapists, promote so much violence.