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  • Writer's pictureDonnell W.

The Wait

All creatives are familiar with ‘the wait’. It’s a dark and cluttered place. It’s not only occupied by writers. Passionate individuals in every field has felt its wrath. ‘The wait’ feels like that neuron in your brain weighing against the negative space between heavy heart beats and cacophonous breaths. Transmuting thoughts. It’s a big mood. Frustration and calamity. Irritation and idleness. There’s no part of your body that ‘the wait’ will not occupy. It’ll colonize your limbs, and if your too impatient, it may even scuff your timbs. Yet it’s also the place for inspiration. So much is birthed out of ‘the wait’. I’m sure Baldwin and Basquiat transformed words and transfixed canvasses from ‘the wait’. Perhaps Trinidad James and MC Hammer were overwhelmed by ‘the wait’. You see, ‘the wait’ is the place you go to when you’re ready to accept your own. It’s the mantle too great to carry. The burden too heavy to bear. It’s a space one dares not articulate or utter. At the thought of it, one becomes immediately devastated because others have taught us the power of its wrath. Experience showed us its fury. “Write,” it exclaims! I refuse. Somewhere deep in my heart, I believe I can win the battle against ‘the wait’. I lace my Air Force ones and blast Aquemini to ‘the wait’. I bring it gifts and offerings. Hoping ‘the wait’ will ease my suffering. Hoping it will grant me solace. I believe that I have the power to transform its mighty grasp into my playpen. I want to make it my sandbox. A place I can go and build sandcastles far away from the fast eroding shores of society. Where critique and expectations fade. 'The wait' necessitates solitude. It demands quiet. It begets knowledge. It yearns for inspiration. It aches for a muse. It wants to live. Through you and through me. It reaches for the keyboard, the brush, words, lips, bodies. It does not waver. It uplifts...whatever it can get its hands on. Because the wait knows beauty, but it disdains eagerness. It knows clarity, but it dismisses impatience. This is a piece from 'the wait'. I sat in its presence today and allowed it to disrupt my ego. I came with nothing except a bare soul willing to submit to ‘the wait’s’ defying gravitational forces. I waited today. I waited for me. Because I was tired of waiting for tomorrow. I was tired of waiting on others to do that which they were waiting on me to become. The wait!

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