THE BOXER AT REST (Between the 4th and 2nd century BCE) by Apollonius of Athens

June 27, 2019

If readers don’t get what I’m doing, I’d appreciate the ignorance rather than a reaction. I’m a nice guy who’s often misunderstood. I don’t buy jewelry in the states; unless it’s being sold out of a flea market at foreign prices. And it must be natural, e.g., wood, a tooth, hemp, anything looking apart from industrialized jewelry. But diamonds are forever, so maybe I’m broke.

My dad last smiled at me when I met her. Then he died in room 248A at Providence Hospital. The night before his passing, snow and ice caused me to spin out in my car, and I totaled it. No father, no fancy car. What’s my worth to you now?

That was December of 2016. There’s something about that month each year.

When sparring, the fight’s in my eyes. With an addiction to words, I type, and I’ve come to learn it’s hard. In college, it only paid to do homework to give my life hype. Because when done, we partied. I looked a lot like what I wanted to do. But now I can’t decide who’s who. So, I give readers my ignorance too.

In my heart I have love. So I’d love to write your story too. Mine started from many places. Today, it might start with you. I write to feel the difference. And drive because that’s what humans do.

We forget to be quiet. Learning to do so, you can hear the body’s humming. But is it yours? Or, could that just be the excitement of petty? Your thoughts are likely too loud anyway.

I’m not better than you.

I’m not louder either.

If I held my breath long enough, guess what?

Me too…

The stars will shine forever, just look up.

I look different because it’s what my journey carved of me.

It was best, otherwise, I’d be depressed.

If it weren’t for white people, I wouldn’t be here.

If it wasn’t for black people, I’d still be in tears.

Who’s to blame and for what?

Overreacting to a what the f*ck?

I’m not different because I want to be.

Nor do I believe I was born to be.

But the fighter in me was reminded how black is thee…

Those darker than the darkest under our Sun and tree.

We’re a fighting race, but the black is the surviving stake.

Call me weird; I too have a difference for you.

I’m from Portland.

They tell me we’re weird.

Try that and be black.

Don’t ever give me that crap.

History only reminds us how differences come back.

To no one—I’m saying that.

-Budd