are you in love or just afraid to be alone?

11/9/26

time don’t mean shit to a nigga like me. I write to avoid work. I would love for my brain to wake up and work. Instead, I’m convoluted machinations to jump start that hoe. Dopamine burst, notification search, a nigga BLURSED (that’s a blessed curse).

Costco is a state of mind. Kirkland on my water bottle, on my knapsack, on shirtback. Young nigga, I don’t flirt back. Would have to know you’re flirting for me to do that. And even if I knew, I wouldn’t know what a flirt is. You gone get noncommittal quips from me or overt sexuality. Ain’t no in between. I’m Mr Binary. Get money, fuck ditches. 
Wait, that can’t be right. Get honey, fuck riches. Shit, still not it.

Get sunny, tuck stitches. No. Get bummy, duck britches. Fuck! Get dummy, buck twitches.

Get rummy, fuck fishes.

Okay, clearly I don’t understand the pattern. But I’m thankful for my sobriety, even as I down this coffee, pop this nicotine lozenge, drive extra fast, go home and fap. Fucknigga, I’m above all that. I’m on a drug stoop, getting hung over bags.

Fucknigga, I was born on the darkside. Under shadows of missile paths. Kalashnikov bullets weren’t designed for children’s bodies, and I never been fast, but I learned early to DUCK THAT BRRRAAAAAATTTTT!

The cold part is: I ain’t even come here to write today. I’m only writing to get away from revising that student’s recco letter. Young nigga, I don’t believe in nuance.

Posted bout my ex on FB and now all these niggas begging I get back with her. Nigga, we past that. We already tried that. Shit ain’t work the 2nd, 3rd or 4th time. After a certain point, you both realize you’re not meant for each other. And that’s okay. No need to force the shit. Just keep it Keebler, my elf nigga. Keep it pushing.

One thing I’ll never understand is why people are so committed to committing their life to someone else. Have you even learned to live with yourself yet? And what’s so bad about being single? I mean, yeah, there are certainly tax benefits to getting married and filing jointly. And dual income households are a great way to survive. And it’s nice to have in-home pussy/dick/whatever. Someone to split the chores with. And love, or whatever, I guess. But besides that, what is the purpose of these relationships? Look, I get it. Being in love is a wonderful thing.

I just don’t understand the fear of being alone that a lotta yall mistake for love.

I’ve known people who can never not-be in a relationship. As if their only definition of self is in relation to someone else. As if there isn’t enough life to be lived if it isn’t shared with someone. Starting to think some of yall stay coupled up just to complain about your s/o at the bartop.

So what if I have a hard time maintaining relationships. MF, I have a hard time living with myself, let alone anyone else. I have learned to understand this does not mean I am broken, but rather, a complex individual who craves solitude. This may sound like cope to the uninitiated, but reader, you ain’t never lived in Said body. Please refer to the aforementioned childhood bomb dropping, gun violence, refugee camps burning by the red sea with all our worldly possessions in it.

I learned at a young age that relationships can disappear just as fast as your life. Learned to live with nothing and keep it pushing. Maybe the fact that I came up with nothing, kept losing that nothing every time we had to up sticks, explains why I now crowd my apartment with unopened moving boxes. Never know when the next war might start. Never know when your possessions can be burnt. You must at once travel light and weigh yourself down with unnecessary shit. Some call that baggage. I call it “just tryna survive.” Niggas don’t een know, man.

Anyway, none of that explains why I enjoy being single. It’s all I’ve ever known. Shit, the most stressed out I am is when I’m trying to make a relationship work. Fucknigga, I grew up in chaos. I’m an immigrant son of Somali immigrants. Immigration means we know how to move, not stay. Yet my parents stayed together all their lives, as if leaving was never an option. I used to brag about that, but now, I’m not so sure. All couples argue and resent each other at some point, right? Look, it’s not my place to examine their dynamics. I try to write about myself because I’m interested in understanding Said. It bears worth repeating.

Maybe there’s a happy medium between my way of life and yours. All we know is what we know. And I claim to be an expert on empathy, but I honestly couldn’t put myself in relationship people’s shoes. It just doesn’t compute for Said brain.

I’m not sure where this is going, but imma wrap it up before I lose the energy I came to this coffeeshop for. That student recco letter still needs polishing. Fucking emails need responding. Goddamn emails never stop coming. That’s why I love the weekend so much. Just food, football, coffee, no new emails. That’s peace, man. No arguments about the dishes or what time I went to sleep or the way I chew my food in the living room. I’m mostly single because I don’t want anyone telling me how to live. That’s like the one freedom I have in this world. And I’ll be damned if anyone comes to take it away from me, angry face emoji.

My thoughts are too disjointed to do this subject any justice right now. And I know I won’t return to this subject. Shit, I barely came to it to begin with. Aight, man. I’ll see you round.