It Smells Like Teen Spirit

Like yesterday. As I hear Kurt Cobain loudly sigh as if he owns the world.

Life is stupid. And contagious.

It sure is.

I was ushered into being an American on the heels of a blue blooded American with achy blond hair and a voice that pushed me to understand the lyrical enchantment of devotion.

The video, the man, the band, my arrival.

Into the country of my birth that held the ushering of what has now unfolded.

The leader of the band is dead.

He died a million years ago. I lived a million years ago and was reborn to bear witness to the inklings of the dire present.

I have aged past my years and wear my scars with the burden of whether

I am black or white

I can’t decide.

In the meantime — I seek refuge in the recordings of my youth.

Though fleeting, it remains intact and in gestation for the future me.