I am pensive in a bar, figuring these words will be erased. White people are singing songs I don’t know while whiskey takes a seat on my tongues stoop.

I like the buzz, but hate the isolation. There is a poem here wanting to be found. And I’m a poet, searching for a muse in alcohol and borrowed lyrics. Am I ventriloquist; breathing life into hollow shell? Am I the dummy, speaking someone else’s words?

My friends and I three fingers swiping screens. Searching for songs. Searching for solace. Searching for connection in a room full of people. What have we become?

Some white lady I don’t know have grabbed my ponytail. I have no reigns and she, not my jockey of choice. Why do nights out always devolve to this. Personal space interrupted. This is the Black in me. The woman in me. The familiar of violation.

But im happy. Even in the face of violation. I find joy on the other side of spilled drinks on crowded dance floors. I’m not dummy. I’m a vessel. I’m no ventriloquist; I’m a dreamer blurring the lines. Lucid in living.

I hope I remember this tomorrow.

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Pensive
Whiskey takes a seat
My tongue;
Stoop

Like the buzz
Hate the isolation
A poem wanting to be found

Search for a muse in alcohol and borrowed lyrics
Ventriloquist
Breath life into hollow shell
Dummy
Speak someone else’s words

Search for songs
Search for solace
Search for connection
Full of what we become

Have no reigns
No jockey of choice
Nights
Personal space
This is the familiar of violation

Find joy
The other side of spilled drinks on crowded dance floors
A vessel
A dreamer blurring the lines
Lucid in living

Remember this tomorrow.