Overthinking. Too much of my time thinking. Too much of my day is spent day drinking in my kitchen. Making cereal out of the blood from my veins and tears that my eyes were not missing. Now you caught me reminiscing. Caught me between a rock and a hard place. Through the storm and the hail. You can see I’m not well. So why are you reaching for me still? Like I can breathe, but can never exhale. So tell me… Am I overthinking?

Lbena T-Michael Why are you mad at me for getting mad at you for asking me to grab a coffee with you? You’ve known me for years. You should know I don’t drink coffee. Our first date was at a coffee shop. I ordered a chai. You asked me why. I said, “I don’t drink coffee.” I’ve never liked the taste. I think it’s quite gross. Maybe my taste buds are immature. But I think it’s immature that you’re mad at me for getting mad at you for asking me to grab a coffee with you. You’ve k

My Blood is Green Lbena T-Michael I think it’s sorta poetic to know you’ll never hear these words fall on the drums contained by your ears. And the love I had for you once has faded - months, and months, and months ago. I remember yelling; I was conflicted, ashamed, but my perspective shifted. Free from my anxieties, yet still tied to these thoughts. You see, I’m only human - I suppose. Letting your guard down makes you weak, weakened by the thought of you leaving. Now I’m st