i was so used to people leaving
that it occurred to me like a habit
–a daily routine, a little less off my to do list

it was always bound to happen
like a messy bed after a night's sleep
then I will open my eyes
when the clock ticks at eight

i was used to people leaving
that i leave the front door open
and keep it unlocked as a habit
so ill have little less people to keep

belongingness: what does this word mean?

i would explain to my son that belongingness is something you can't touch but feel.
eden, my daughter, would get a kiss.

for many years i was looking for people i could belong to; i was on a quest. and this quest went along with fears and doubts. this quest was ******* the energy out of my mind and out of my soul...

how did this quest began, though? on a strange day, i was asked a very intimate question by a professor; a professor whose background i'm aware of; she asked me:

"do you have a religious or a political past?"

her question came out of nowhere. she blindsided me.
therefore, i wasn't prepared for an answer that could have satisfied her; regardless what my past really is about.

at this point of my life i wasn't aware about my ancestors; but the professor's questions caused me to become it.

"do you have a religious or a political past?"

i do know about my past now; but the answer i gave this lady was not sufficient for her. by the end of our conversation she said:

"i am sorry. can't shake your hand now. have to go toilet."

that was it. oh my, was i disappointed and frustrated; because this certain lady would have opened many doors for me; doors for which she administrated the keys.

you know, there are days in your life that want to you to be desperate. and yes: i was desperate. about being rejected. and that i wasn't able to have access to dorrs that lead to important conferences, meetings and to important people.

but you know what? it doesn't matter anymore.

because here, on hellopoetry, i have found a place of belogningness.
and what my real past is will remain hid: a secret in a purple-colored casket i have the key to.

hellopoetry is a place of belongingness. not just for me but for many many kind-hearted people. and i am not stating this from an opportunist's view: i can feel you guys here and sometimes i sense kindred spirits.

⠠⠍⠕⠝⠕⠡⠗⠕⠍⠑⠀⠏⠊⠑⠉⠑⠎⠀
⠠⠓⠥⠝⠙⠗⠫⠀⠹⠕⠗⠝⠀⠎⠑⠉⠗⠑⠞⠎⠀
⠠⠊⠎⠇⠯⠀⠷⠀⠮⠀⠎⠏⠑⠑⠡⠨⠎⠀
⠠⠎⠊⠇⠢­⠞⠀⠶⠀⠮⠀⠇⠁⠍⠃⠎⠀
⠠⠊⠠⠴⠍⠀⠇⠳⠙⠻⠀⠹⠁⠝⠀⠮⠀⠏⠗⠂⠡⠻⠀
⠠⠊⠠⠴⠍⠀⠩⠑⠇⠞⠻⠫⠀⠔⠀⠽⠗⠀⠍⠔⠙⠀
⠠⠽⠗⠀⠹­⠐⠳⠎⠂⠀⠠⠊⠠⠴⠍⠀⠔⠀⠑⠁⠡⠀⠎⠇⠪⠀⠗⠑⠛⠗⠑⠞⠀

Though you’re near me now
You seem so far
It’s like you locked your door.

While I understand
I wish you’d stay
Close to me right now.

And I know that soon
Perhaps someday
We could change the way some things are.

But we stand our ground
And disappear
Into the light of this bright full moon.

harsh words spoken
old wounds open
hidden emotion
when love walks out the door

in time, it will come

you try to maintain your mystery despite the history

you cannot hide from me
you can no longer hide what lies deep inside

you cannot ask me of any more.

do me a favor aight
when you go switch off the lights

close the door behind
you

pay attention to the lock it
makes a sound pay attention

do me this favor
you gotta do it cause

shadows everywhere
voices everywhere
enemies everywhere

ain't no fun though as
gang colors in the nineties

tag watts
tag berlin
tag harlem

shadows everywhere
voices everywhere
enemies everywhere

for twentyseven years
do me a favor aight?

i've been looking for a brother
i've  been looking for a mother

nobody knows about it
they don't know and they
don't have to

when they interrogate you
about last night
when they ask tell em:

i was asleep at night
as civilians do

no talk about turf
no talk about extortion
no talk about capital crimes

private matters
wat matter is you
lock the door baby