January 11: Obsessing, Danez Smith, "it won't be a bullet"

Sometimes, I obsess about the stupidest things.  Books and clothes and cars and bills.  I obsess about this blog.  I don't feel complete until I publish my two posts every day.  I worry that I'll be missed or lose readers.

Tonight, I'm obsessing about a surgical procedure that I'm going to have on Monday.  It's a routine thing.  Nothing life-threatening.  Yet, here I sit, worrying and what-iffing.  It's one of my many character flaws.  I overthink everything.

My friend losing her son in a fire on Monday reminds me of how insignificant most of my worries and obsessions are.  Books don't really matter.  Clothes and cars, ditto.  If I don't publish a blog post today, the world will not end.

Here is what Saint Marty knows tonight:  all the people he loves are safe and happy.

it won't be a bullet

by:  Danez Smith

becoming a little moon--brightwarm in me one night.
thank god.  i can go quietly.  the doctor will explain death
& i'll go practice.

in the catalogue of ways to kill a black boy, find me
buried between the pages stuck together
with red stick.  ironic, predictable.  look at me.

i'm not the kind of black man who dies on the news.
i'm the kind who grows thinner & thinner & thinner
until light outweighs us, & we become it, family
gathered around my barely body telling me to go
toward myself.