All Library locations will be closed Monday, June 19th for the Juneteenth holiday.
PART I: AI is created
I think God made you and me out of binary code You call me an enigma,
But I do not speak your language. You would be the 1’s.
Always at the top
Perfect Aryan halo on your head I would be the 0’s.
This darkness inside my heart
Residing in my pitiless mind
A fuel to a fire of ever-burning odium
That cutting sarcasm of such cruelty
The cold cynical aura that never abates
What is it that filled me with such hate?
I used to rely on compliments
But now I strive off them
I used to keep my chin up
But now I cry non-stop
I used to follow my sister
But now I lead us deeper in the dark
I used to try to be myself
But now it’s no use trying
My brain likes to run amuck.
Some days it gets stuck on the same thought:
You are in love with someone and they do not love you.
You ate too much today and are now chubby, too chubby in fact to be loved by anybody.
I was in the middle of Alabama, silhouette illuminated by the golden hour’s subtle sunlight, engrossed in a conversation with my cousin, just catching up.
He’d asked me if I was any better, and I’d told him that “at least I know my triggers now.”
Imagine yourself in a room full of balloons in a variety of colors, all with little white string.
Each balloon is an event; a lunch with friends, a family reunion, a party, a date.
You try to be attentive and pick up a balloon, only to have it pop in your unsuspecting hands.
Therapy. What an odd word. A word that entails problems that you can’t solve yourself. A word that only applies to people with enough money to get other people to solve their problems for them. Therapy is such a bitch.