Return of the Mack

You know what’s really $#!^!? Resentment. It creeps up on you quiet like a sudden allergy. Out of nowhere something you once enjoyed is intolerable. Your throat itches, you break out in hives, and just the sight of it turns your stomach. I am sick… with resentment for this part of my life. I LIVE in the unfathomably uncomfortable crevice between a seemingly immovable rock and a Russian-prison-type hard place. I am a grown up, or so they tell me. But I seem to be failing miserably. I have no job, I dread calling my mother because my dreams are nebulous and I can’t even explain them to myself. That does not fly with Jamaican moms, or any moms really. “What are you waiting for!? Do you want a dream job or do you want to make a living!? You didn’t go to college to stay on someone’s couch!” On that we can agree. This isn’t what I worked for, dream about. My dreams aren’t concrete. I can hardly decipher them. I’m growing and changing every day, I hardly have a grasp on myself. I want everything, and in pursuing a handful of stars, I have nothing but air trapped in weak fists. The fight is mostly in my head. With faceless naysayers chasing me in a hamster wheel. Run Roze, run. To nothing, from nothing, to nowhere.

IDK, I guess I’m back or whatever.

Roze Goes

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When Roze first went in 2012,  it was kind of like a journal ... that other people could read. Embarassing. But I'm realizing that my voice, my experiences, my representation and narrative are valuable. There's room enough for me too. My talents and interests. My time is now. Roze

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