i want to be a hiro @iwanttobeahiro - Tumblr Blog

i remember where i was when i wore the vans. in the sand. desert, tryna get to see the band. i remember where i was in my chucks. kid not grown up. make a buck for those new j’s. got em still but they don’t make me feel no way. i remember where i was in my cortez’s. felt distress. no rest. no choice. no second guessin. i remember my bare feet. fall asleep. on the jungle gym surrounded by concrete. don’t remember you. don’t remember sky blue. don’t remember the times i used to slide through. sorry for what i put you through.

#poem #shoes

mahoumanga

mood.

#sza #music

s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s

escapism is my frame of mind

i like music that feels like weird sex.

but it's not bad sex. just different. like if day was night and it was night all the time. it's always raining but like that summer rain. where it's hot and sticky. you leave the window open and the smell fills the room. you're surrounded by neon signs. all in languages you don't understand, you don't care. soon they all start flowing together, making one bright iridescent color. you feel like you’re both becoming one with that light. it burns but it's comforting. then before you know it, it cuts out, leaving you in a daze.

you wake up in the morning. they ask if you're coming back tonight. you say no while quietly putting you're clothes back on.

you go outside and wait for your uber. it'll take 10 minutes to get there and it's kind of cold out, but still you wait outside. the bedroom faces the window so you know they could see you. you turn around and they’re looking at you, but not really. more like over your shoulder, into the distance.

your uber gets there and you get in the car. he's playing the garden state soundtrack. he has a batman mask on. he asks "where to" and you say "it's on the thing". he drives off.

"rough night?" he asks. you say "yeah". a minute goes by in absolute silence. you say, "hey you wanna go get chicken biscuits?". he's like "yea".

so you pull up to the chick-fil-a and order two spicy chicken biscuits and a sweet tea. the girl working the counter says, "i'm sorry sir but we don't sell spicy chicken biscuits anymore."

you just say "oh" while staring off into the distance.

the restaurant goes silent. everything stops. you leave.

#music #writing

poem 1

i saw a dog while i was driving.

it was on a busy road.

i wanted to stop but someone else was in the car.

she doesn't like dogs.

i hope it's okay.

i hope it's found it's way.

i wish i could've done something.

i wish i could've done more.

#writing

frankocean

I read in the paper that my brothers are being thrown from rooftops blindfolded with their hands tied behind their backs for violating sharia law. I heard the crowds stone these fallen men if they move after they hit the ground. I heard it’s in the name of God. I heard my pastor speak for God too, quoting scripture from his book. Words like abomination popped off my skin like hot grease as he went on to describe a lake of fire that God wanted me in. I heard on the news that the aftermath of a hate crime left piles of bodies on a dance floor this month. I heard the gunman feigned dead among all the people he killed. I heard the news say he was one of us. I was six years old when I heard my dad call our transgender waitress a faggot as he dragged me out a neighborhood diner saying we wouldn’t be served because she was dirty. That was the last afternoon I saw my father and the first time I heard that word, I think, although it wouldn’t shock me if it wasn’t. Many hate us and wish we didn’t exist. Many are annoyed by our wanting to be married like everyone else or use the correct restroom like everyone else. Many don’t see anything wrong with passing down the same old values that send thousands of kids into suicidal depression each year. So we say pride and we express love for who and what we are. Because who else will in earnest? I daydream on the idea that maybe all this barbarism and all these transgressions against ourselves is an equal and opposite reaction to something better happening in this world, some great swelling wave of openness and wakefulness out here. Reality by comparison looks grey, as in neither black nor white but also bleak. We are all God’s children, I heard. I left my siblings out of it and spoke with my maker directly and I think he sounds a lot like myself. If I being myself were more awesome at being detached from my own story in a way I being myself never could be. I wanna know what others hear, I’m scared to know but I wanna know what everyone hears when they talk to God. Do the insane hear the voice distorted? Do the indoctrinated hear another voice entirely?