A signal flare into the emptiness.

Red breathing light exhaling onto the walls of my soul.

There is a sharpness in my breath that is stabbing my lungs.

I am exhaustion.

Monotony neatly packed in social media feeds.

Unable to breathe as my beliefs are slammed back against the wooden boats.

The New World just never seemed that inviting to me.

I want to remember the Old World, with the old gods, not the new.

I want more colors and flavors in my eyes.

Instead of the bland mashed potatoes of colonialism.

Show me a sidewalk painted with textiles in a minimalist style.

Matched with sky-scrapping buildings draped in kente.

A virtual assistant that understands what I say.

‘Ok, Google.’ Show me how to make my grandma’s pound cake.

Google: “Here’s a recipe, if in doubt ask your grandmama.”

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