Dear April by Frank Ocean
Hey y’all,
I hope everyone is doing alright and doing as good as they can in times like these. I’ve been trying to wake up with an aim to do something. Even if it’s walking my dog around the block or painting or getting dolled up to take pictures in my room, I’ve been just trying to do something. It’s been difficult and I’m sure everyone feels the same or at least can relate. There’s only so many times I can watch the Family Guy series in a week 🙄😩
One good thing that has come from this downtime is I’m trying to find a good way to stretch and take mindful moments in the morning. When I would head off to work it would be dark still so I wouldn’t see much of the sun until I was in the office. But I’m trying to take my mornings easy and actually wake up with my body and appreciate those first moments and breaths in the morning sun. It’s harder to do when it rains. For some reason, I feel like you’re supposed to feel grateful for rain because it’s not snow. But a rainy day still doesn’t make you feel as good as a sunny day does. So on those days it seems to hit harder that we have to be home and inside but when it’s sunny we try to breathe more outside just to get fresh air. So I’m just trying to be more mindful of my emotions and how the start of the day affects me.
I haven’t been writing too much and that’s okay. So this is a rough draft of one of the more promising pieces I’ve written so far. I’ve genuinely had this song on repeat. There’s something about Frank’s harmonies that make me want to be vulnerable, dreamy, and weepy. I always wanna cry to Frank Ocean and admit all of my dreams. And I think it’s warranted because his art makes me feel safe. It makes me fall in love. Frank’s music makes me think. I’m just grateful for his art and his existence and him releasing one of the many songs I KNOW he got on tap, during this time. So we really get to sit with this record and digest in whatever way it makes you feel. Thank you for sun Frank 🥺💕
On Sundays, speak to me.
When the light drips into the kitchen/And through the honey glaze of my toast. You are my morning mind.
Speak to me in spring tones. Color your voice gentle and kiss the nape of my neck /Let me sag n sigh against your smile /as you whistle a tune I know you for /You make me love that song /You make me love that record /Maybe I don’t hear it right until you sing it /So sing songs over our morning tea, and whistle in the garden when the basil tickles my nose.
Remind me that love sings in baritone. Remind me that we don’t live, in silence. We blatantly exist/ In the face of these growing things on the sides of our house/ Hands stretch around gardens and bodies like moss /Like you know where we grow best /In times like these.
Sundays we show our leaves/ Sundays we rest under each other, unashamed/ Sundays we wake up and make worship of sun and skin: A sloping shoulder in the window/ Palms flatten and tug at each other /Piercing eyes tilting over teacups /Jam on the side of lips /Syrup sucked off padded thumbs /Sundays are for letting records spin themselves into silence/ We don’t look for new tradition anymore
thanks y’all. Keep your heads up 🙏🏾 We’ll get through this.
