Jihan P. McDonald's Page

i will pursue it until i grow old.
until my body has turned to dust and gold,
vegetables being bought and sold,
with the quest for life still orbiting in cells.

though my dna will have unraveled,
its essence will maintain pursuit and travel,
transforming into fields of grain and roads of gravel,
of forms seen only in the sound of bells.

day 1:
light filtering through my eye lids and lashes. blinking. clearing the haze from my eyes and mind. sunrise in the east and moonset in the west. diametrically opposed cycles sharing this one space and time. moontribe. a time of celebration and bacchus-esque enjoyment. frivolity, faeries and anything other than the norm. swoon. in the backseat of my car i have contorted my frame in such a way that any acrobat would be envous. all 5 foot seven inches (and a quarter) of me had spent the night… Continue

i wore nothing but myself that day;
no preconceived notions of who i was or what i was about.
clad in slim limbs and torso, waist small. ungainly.
a cardboard box could have covered me and i would have felt none the worse for it.
sunny blue skies.
waiting.
for trains to arrive and trips to begin.
cigarette.
waiting.
arrival. standing. smiling.
he is here now and i never want him gone again.

silence.

singing in silent vibration with the all mighty stars of my inner-verse.
uniquely.
almost a uni… Continue

for 22 out of of 24 years i have worn my hair naturally. to those of you that aren't black this might seem a given, to wear your hair the way it grows out of your head, but not with black people in the united states. for reasons that i would never stop expounding upon if i started, black hair is an issue open to much debate. it can decide if someone is date worthy, whether or not they get the job they want, how accepted they are by others in their community, with the biggest divide existing betw… Continue

clink clink clink
go the smooth orbs in my mind
jostling for space
in an already overfull cranium
where do they go when there are no more outlets?
no tributaries to take on the overflow
and staunch the flood
of emotions feelings ideas
with no room to expand
their ceaseless dance brings about their own destruction
the friction creating heat that will melt them
at their curves until they drip into one another
no longer able to withstand the pressure of too much and too little, too late.