we’re born thinking we got a chance. hoping in something we can never be. we’re pushing through all these doors only to one day see that the whole time, we’ve been stuck in a revolving door.
at the bar. (carry your people.)
walkerjo lee
134

I feel this in my soul. That weariness. That sense of having had great expectations that were never based in our reality. A dream, a simple fantasy. The highs and the lows of wanting to be great, having the raw materials to be great but not being allowed to be great in a country that sees my skin as a determining factor.

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