Searching for the Language

I do not believe that the human language has all of the words that I can use to describe this experience.

I have been searching for the language that screams acceptance, that screams I loved this, that screams this scared the fuck out of me.

I have been searching for the words to reflect how in that moment I felt natural, I felt easy, I could breathe.

Taking off my clothes, taking off yours,kissing your neck and your breasts it all felt so natural.

Hearing you breathe and moan, gasping for air as I took you in my mouth it all felt easy.

Giving you pleasure while expecting none… I felt like I could breathe.

I have been searching for the language that emphasized the ease I felt with your body entwined with mine.

I have been searching for language to describe the fear that I felt the next morning when the high had worn off…

When I had to face my already spoken reality- I am queer I say with confidence; but somehow the language does not seem adequate.

I am queer I say but somehow saying it is different that being it, acting it, living it.

I am queer, but I am afraid of how queer….

I am searching for the language, because this experience freed me, forced me to look inwards and embrace a part of me that was dormant.

A part of me that was locked down by society’s expectations to remain within the expected norm.

To be a female that wanted a male

To be a woman that loved a man, wanted a man and could not envision being with a woman.

But once I awoke my dormant side I was searching for the language to find how being with a woman makes me feel whole.

A side that made me feel alive, fulfilled and giving.

I was searching for the language that described who I am, who I was, who I am going to be and where I will be going.

I have yet to find this language… because when your really look at our language?

You see how the design was never made to encompass me; the queer individual who is confused yet clear about her sexuality.

There was never accepting language for the type of relationship I envision my natural self having…

It was not created for us.

I had to realize that in being who I am… I am creating my own language instead of searching for one that did not exist.

Numb

I started seeing someone, and in all the right ways he was right.

He was funny, handsome, had beautiful eyes and even better he had an understanding spirit.

He fell for me really quickly, and instead of beliving him I felt suspicious of his feelings.

I started to question who he really was, what he wanted, why he would want to be to be committed to me so quickly.

I started to interrogate his personality, his choices, his attraction, his care.

He was sweet, caring, patient and all he wanted from me was all I could give him.

Yet in my gut I could not trust him. Even though he was the first man in a long time to pay for my dinner I could not help questioning his motive.

I was numb to the atrraction of this man.

I was numb to the devotion he was showing me

I was numb to the simpleness he was showing me.

I had gotten used to complexity, so I did what I always do and I made things complicated.

I pushed him away, created barries, tests and put up a wall.

Tests that I knew he could not pass, barriers I knew he would never understand because they kept shifting.

Told him that he was not the man for me.

That he could not match my energy, could not match my spunk.

I essentially numbed myself so that the next time I felt anything for anyone?

It would be someone who treated me with less value.

It would be someone I have to chase for attention.

It would be someone who was a “challenge”

it would be someone who would not give me what I want so easily.

It would be someone who would not treat me as nicely.

It would be someone I would have to love more.

I become numb so I could feel less.

Because If I felt less than maybe I would not realize how the things I wanted from him…

Were the things I had from you.

Jar of Duality

I used to place my value in a jar.

A jar called self-confidence, filled with compliments from strangers, construction men on the street, random girls at bars, older men at work, random people online…

The compliments used to be about everything.

Construction workers screaming, hollering physical compliments talking about the curve of my ass, sway of my hips or the best one of them all; what they would do to me.

The random girls would cover the materialistic and holistic things:

Oh my GAAD I love that dress, I love your hair, your smile, your lips; I even once got a compliment about the way I speak.

Now the older men at work would be more subtle; compliments about work convoluted with long physical gestures, lingering handshakes, random touches.

I always thought well they cover intelligence, brilliance and beauty.

Finally the criteria covered by the random people online was versatile, flexible and would always surprise me.

Oh wow your body or oh wow your mind or oh wow the things I would do to you or oh wow you are so interesting…

I would often find my value in this jar self-confidence, a jar filled by strangers who made me feel both empowered and objectified, who made me feel both fear and pride, who made me feel intelligent yet unaccomplished,and who filled the holes in my value jar.

But sooner or later the self confidence jar began to break….as my inner spirit began to question the value of my physicality versus my mind, the value of material versus real.

I began to feel like my jar was made of glass… able to shatter when compliments were not given…

When I was not being objectified… so I turned to myself and asked

Where then do we find value?

I choose this picture because I look very confident, and very sure of myself which is what people often see when they look at me, but it was not until about 2 years ago that I began to learn how to see my value in myself and not in the eyes of strangers.

Picture taken by Margi- instagram account is cloudytrip_

How

How does one ask for help in today’s society?

How does one ask for a friend who has their own life and their own worries and simply state” Hi I need you to make some time for me because I need you”.

I do not know how to say the words I need you.

I do not know how to share the feeling of loneliness or sadness or neediness that I am supposed to share with friends.

I do not know how to do that without feeling like a…. heavy Burden.

A big boulder rock of selfishness asking for attention and crushing you if I am ignored.

I do not know how to ask for help.

When I need to cry out of loneliness or when I need to tell you that our friendship feels one sided and that I feel like I am closer to strangers on the internet than I do to you.

I do not know how to tell you that your actions make me feel unwanted,neglected and unloved.

I do not know how to ask for the love I deserve in this one-sided relationship.

I do not know how to tell you that I would rather cry alone than call you to cry with me.

I used to be able to do these things when our friendship did not feel so heavy.

When it did not feel so one sided.

When I did not feel crazy for calling you in the middle of the night.

I dont think there is room for the how anymore….

or for me to ask how

or for me to talk

or for me to share

or for me to need

Unloved

I have been struggling with the emotions I have felt for the past two months.

I have been struggling with why I don’t ever feel enough for anyone.

Why I always feel like I am not worth the fight or worth the effort or worth anything at all…

and I came to the realization that because I am a black woman, I feel unloved by the world.

We are magic, and greatness and so much but yet we are unseen, unheard and unloved.

Unloved by the men who we call our own

Unloved by the women who we fight and support

Unloved by our communities and the system that’s meant to support us.

And sadly sometimes unloved by our own black women.

I feel so unwanted and never enough as a black woman.

I know this isn’t the time to be writing poems about love; but in all the relationships where I have given my all I always received close to nothing at all.

In all the fights I entered the ring for I realized my counterpart was no one where to be found.

I have never felt worth the fight for anyone.

Black woman, black girl, black child. This world will not love you, it will question you, and make you feel unworthy of love.

It will make you wonder if your voice as strong and as proud as it is should be sweetened into a lemonade easy for everyone to digest.

It will make you wonder if your body as big or small or curvy or flat as it is will ever be enough to just be a healthy body.

It will make you wonder if the men you grew up with, you fight with, you support ;will ever see you as anything other than a second tier default rather than the only one they want to be with.

It will make you wonder if our lives and our deaths are of value, and wonder if our intelligence is only a threat and not something to be admired..

This world will not love you this you must love yourself.

You must attach your worth to you, to your standards to your power.

You must not let anyone make you feel like you are not enough.

Black women we are more than enough. We are worth of love, protection, security, defense and we are worth fighting for.

Black Lives Matter. Black Women Matter. Black Men Matter. Black Trans Lives Matter. Black Dreams Matter. Black Children Matter. Black Voices Matter.

False Nostalgia

I do not understand this feeling of longing I have for you…

I only have it after 3 glasses of red wine.

A deep hole that seems to only be satisfied when my mind gravitates to thoughts of you.

What do I miss?

I do not understand. What is there to miss?

I barely remember your laughter. Least of all your smile.

Your voice when I find it ..sounds weird to my ears.. or at least what I recall as your voice sounds like a lie.

Your hug? I barely remember what it feels like to have been embraced by you.

Your presence? You were never around so what do I miss?

The thought of you? I believed I had gotten past that.

That the imaginary you; I hoped you would be had stopped haunting me…

How can I miss a you that did not exist?

When the real you never deserved me to begin with.

How?

What is there to miss in a person that I have created with my own head?

What do I call this emotion?

False nostalgia?

I get annoyed by this false nostalgia. It reminds me that you are still the focus of my art, my pain, my longing, my missing.

I dislike this false nostalgia.

Somewhere in my mind it creates this false narrative that you…

somehow you..

miss me too.

The picture chosen is me looking at myself like- Girl really? False Nostalgia?

Anyway sometimes getting over someone is more about getting over who they represented in your head.

I wrote this piece more than four months ago. Safe to say the girl in the picture and I are more at ease with ourselves and have let go of this false nostalgia.

Friends for Moments

Whoever came up with the idea that friendship forever? Must have never had a real friendship.

Real friendships are built like intimate relationships but without the complication of sex,physical touch and endless expectations…

That’s a lie. They have endless expectations even if they are not visible or vocal.

As we grow older I realize we have friends for moments.

Friends for those moments in childhood where we needed to learn the value of secrets, or the value of sharing.

Friends for those moments in adolescence where we learnt that feelings can grow beyond friendship, that kisses meant more than just two lips touching or that being just friends could hurt.

Friends for those moments in college, where friendship was fleeting and short lived bound simply by dorm walls or aligned interests in boys/girls/people rarely ever held by deeper bonds.

Friends for those moments in college, where they taught you that the word best friend was actually a lie, and it was meant to echo that you needed to know how to be your own best friend.

You needed to learn that in the end you had you and that being your friend was harder than you thought.

Friends for those moments where you broke down and cried, ate snacks together or did road trips.

Friends for those moments where you needed validation, confidence or just a push in the right direction.

Friends for those moments where you shared a joke in class, or always worked together in the libray.

Friends for those moments outside of college, where you created imaginary competitions about jobs and careers waiting to see which friend got married, had a baby or landed that huge well paying job first.

Friends for those moments where you job hunted, and shared the pain of sending different versions of resumes and different cover letters- where you practiced the art of sharing in the pain of disappointment or comparison.

Friends for those moments. All of them. Friends that have different sets of expectations and needs. Friends for moments that either bring out the best in your or teach you a lesson by bringing out the worst in you.

Friends that teach you what it means to value friendship, and friends that fight with you on how you communicate that value.

Friends for those moments in life, when all you need is yourself and an understanding that they shall be there even after that moment.

Friends for moments of controversy, there when you do not understand yourself or are trying to find yourself.

I used to believe that friendship is forever, and all it took was hanging out and talking… not knowing that friendship is work because with every moment you have in your life, someone else is having their moment.

It can be hard to maneuver,to gauge, to measure a moment.

As I grow older, I want to thank those friends who have stuck through all the moments, who may have checked out of certain moments then returned, who in turn have given me the grace to bow out of their moment then return.

I want to thank my friends in this moment.

Photo taken by me- find more of these pictures on instagram- sunsetsandie17

Basically thanks for the 365 days of life.

Well.. what is there to say about 2019? So far every post I have seen on Instagram has reflected the feeling of ” 2019 really asked you but did you die though?”

Big QUESTION MARK HERE- No I did not die, I lived and continue to live and for that alone I am grateful so thank you 2019. Some days it felt like I may not make it out of bed, or get out of my mental funk or even find the will to believe in people but I made it.

2019 was a challenging year for me professionally, spirutually, relationship wise, self love wise, mental wise man.. it was staright out CHALLENGING AT ALL ANGLES.

It really made me question myself, my beliefs in people, my drive and career goals, my ambition. There were so many times in 2019 when I felt so freaking useless, so behind my invisible competition, so unworthy of love, so unworthy of the deluded validation I thought I deserved.

2019 made me realize that loving someone with potential to be a great addition to your life is not the same as loving someone who is a great addition to your life. I honestly went through some heartbreaks and even just this month came to the realization that people will always tell your story different from how you see it.

It also made me see how much growth I have to do as the self independent proclaimed human being I am. I have so much more work on myself in terms of being my own assurance and positive voice.

But I also gained some beautiful experiences that I would never return. The skydiving I did in July, my experiences at my job, building my workout routine and not punishing myself for not completing it. Starting my photo Instagram, actually paying and maintaining my blog, claiming myself as the writer and creative I am. Coming out as queer and proud.

Overcoming my fears of trying out experiences alone, I ate at restaurants alone, went to the movies alone, went to a paint night alone. I took the time I needed for myself. I cried when I needed to and danced when I was willed to.

Basically 365 days of life.

Thanks 2019, now we move into 2020.

Whatever we had

I have heard that phrase way too often.

She’s afraid of whatever we had.

Ha!

She’s jealous of whatever we had.

Ha! Ha!

She’s not comfortable with our friendship because of whatever we had.

Hmm What did we have?

3 years of anxious conversations?

3 years of tiptoeing around our status ?

3 years of plans to visit that ended up as pipe dreams.

Or the 3 years of short visits that resulted in spending 2-4 days together with other people never alone.

Or are they talking about the trip I took last year to see you where we spent 7 days together then in a month you concluded that you could not do this anymore?

Even though you had never even put in the effort to make it work?

Are they talking about that whatever we had?

The one where I competed with your school, your time, your mind, your* plug in excuse here* ?

Where even with the distance? I felt more distant and alone. The one where I couldnt be honest about my insecurities.

The whatever we had where I always felt like I was the bottom of your list.

The whatever we had where I was always a what if plan for the future. You never talked of me in certainties and even when you did… your actions were lacking.

Haha, if it’s that whatever we had?

Who would be jealous.

Our love was never strong enough for you to make a stance.

In the end I should be jealous of what they have with you.

A present you; that is willing to cut out our years of friendship for them.

I should be jealous you made them a priority in order to do better.

When you could never do better for me.

But you know what?

Good for you.

Glad you will not be giving them whatever we had.

Involuntary Thoughts

Recently, I have been learning how to medidate.

The funniest thing I recall about my first time hearing about meditation is how I laughed at you when you said that it was what you liked to do when you felt overwhelmed.

I even recall you saying it helped you put your thoughts together and to deal with the stress… and my thinking at the time was “wow, that’s a weird notion that you needed to sit, be calm and be present in order for you to deal with your thoughts”.

So I found it ironic when meditation was all that worked to calm the endless sea of thoughts, that liked to cause a storm to my nerves and lead to this effect called anxiety.

I think my involuntary thoughts that were linked to my future, my existence, your existence, the universe and the endless thoughts were easier to calm when I believed that the music was enough.

My involuntary thoughts were easier to manage when the writing was enough, when sharing with a friend was satisfactory… but even then I could never find a location to place my involuntary thoughts.

The thoughts of you, The thoughts of death, The thoughts of tragedy, The thoughts that left me breathless, the thoughts that left me crippled, the thoughts that left me shaking; I had no where to place those.

See, I was afraid…. That those kinds of thoughts were too negative for all the beautiful people in my life I shared my fears with. Those thoughts were too dark for all the light those people brought into my life.

And suddenly, meditation was the answer.

My involuntary thoughts were told by meditation that they are allowed to exist, that they could swim in my head, sit like cars in traffic and I could sit on the side and watch them drive by without stopping each car and asking for a direction, destination or purpose.

I found it so ironic that the thing I had laughed at you for, became my crutch for my anxiety.

I hated it. That it was once again linked to you.

I had tried to so hard for my involuntary thoughts to not focus on you in any way.. but somehow we always ended up there.

But meditation created a home, even for the most unwanted thoughts and most importantly the feelings attached to those thoughts.

It created a home that writing was not able to create, that friends had no space to shape and that I had no control over…which in the end was what I had to learn.

I could not control my involuntary thoughts..though now it seems obvious enough with the title of this piece; but I had yet to learn how much knowing you can not control something and learning to let go were not always synonymous.