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.”