on: claiming space

(note: i'm using italics to denote past tense because i wrote this last night.)

7/11 7:51pm

lie on your back. look up at the sky. make out shapes of the skyline of the city. your city. a city you've loved and hated to love and fallen back in love with more than you can count.

listen to one of your favorite artists. remember that being a dancer in femi kuti's band is still a bucket list item of yours. sing and sway to the music. marvel that you've seen femi a dozen times if you've seen him once, and tonight you get to enjoy it for free.

ignore the group of men slowly encroaching on your space. stepping on your beach towel. standing directly behind you while you sit and sway and sing. close enough for you to notice but feeling disrespected because the boundaries of the little bit of space you carved out for yourself are being breached. they won't make eye contact, maybe because they're standing and you're sitting. they won't even offer a beer or say excuse me as they step dangerously close.

you are tired. this show is supposed to temporarily ease the burden on your shoulders and make the bridge across your back a little more tolerable.

you feel yourself getting smaller even as you want to raise your voice and remind the interlopers of your presence. you are not invisible, nor indestructible. but you are tired. tired of feeling less than.

so you look at the sky. briefly close your eyes and meditate on a power that is greater. remind yourself that even in the small space you currently find yourself occupying, you are exactly where you're supposed to be. sit up. stretch. smile. smirk at the group of men when one of them breaks their styrofoam cooler by trying to sit on the lid. sit and sway and sing. let the music literally and figuratively move you. say thank you and amen.