(elegies from a black, only child). 

forgive, me for the instances of not knowing how and when, to understand my trauma. 

for this is a song of constant remorse for me - sin and guilt combined. 

learning, how much time I allot, to being lost but never knowing, if being found, is sweet - or if sweet is even what matters at this point. amen. 


again, mistakes and again, a solution.amen. 

needless to say, I am the product of many sins, so my wrongs echo further than my back, neck and eyes can feel or see - yet this guilt is contemporary an has deep affection for me. 

needless, to say,  I am the child of one thousand - two hundred and twenty six wombs, maybe. 

am, I moving through strength of a headless sacrifice, or leaning on the will of a chaotic sinner’s last plea.

chaos, is still of spiritual design, even if chaos can’t exist divinely. 

tisha’s son. all rights reserved. 2018.