Some time almost three decades ago the day of my birth made me a Taurus, which means… nothing to me. I know it’s linked to the stars but that’s about it. It’s a star sign and as others know theirs I know mine. Maybe it’s why we all look up to the stars and think of the sky as the limit. I guess it’s even maybe why Icarus flew so close to the sun and his story ended in tears.
Cancer scares me but I’m an occasional smoker, not of cigarettes but that other plant that’s extremely popular in Jamaica. I would like to say it’s a habit that came with the dreads but it was there before them. A regular herbal cleansing of the spirit or so I’ve been told. It’s a necessary escape from these demons that haunt me and although on most days I survive without it they’re still times I’m overwhelmed.
Random strangers call me Rasta but I’m only dreadlocked and not a true Rastafarian. But if you greet me in the name of Jah and his highness the emperor Haile Selassie I’ll nod along and bump fists three times. My religious path is shaky because I sometimes wake up and only believe in the things I see. So some mornings faith is only a word I don’t put into practice and on others Faith is just a common Zimbabwean name.
I write poetry on good days and bad. I binge watch Supernatural and I have an addiction to biltong. My story has different chapters that sound like they don’t link to each other and that’s because of my short attention span. I constantly pick up new interests and drop them. After all life is too short or it’s too long. I guess it depends on which end of the spectrum of happiness and pain you fall.
Happy 1st day of Poetry Month…