poeticdesires

I have never wanted to break the rules so much as I did tonight.

Two times. Two times I met a guy that I wanted to ask for my number, and I would have happily given it. Shit, if either of them had inquired, I would have been DTF right then and there.

The first was a cute white boy. He played his own music (loudly) while I drove. His playlist alone earned him keys to my panties: Jay-Z, Tupac, and some old school R&B. And then, after a quick stop, I smelled the scent of recreation from his bag. Hot, excellent taste in music, and you have a hookup? Shit…

The second was a handsome black man. He sat in the front next to me. We chatted about Young Justice and Avatar: The Last Air Bender. We cursed M. Night Shamalan’s name and vented against his abomination of a movie. We both were looking forward to Deadpool coming out. He was my nerd soulmate.

And yet, neither asked. And I, the good little driver, never offered.

On my way home, I fantasized about threesomes, nerdy happenings, and the things I wanted to do with those boys.

Life, I get it. I will have others. I am heartened to see proof of the kind of man I want out there and in different forms.

Still, can’t a sister get a break?

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Have you ever scratched your cunt, or your asshole, so hard it bled, but you fucking loved every dirty hot moment of it?

Will I ever feel, or believe, I am as smart as everyone else in my life seems to think? Will I ever stop feeling like an imposter?

Do they hear the sadness behind my words? Do they know how much I long for so many things I have never had?

I want to make more money, but is it worth it to sacrifice 10am snuggle time?

Are my whimsical ways going to eventually get me into trouble someday?

How on earth are people that pretty real?

Why must she ruin it ever single fucking time? Is this one of her super powers?

What would my life had been like if apathy (or extreme respectfulness) hadn’t played such a strong role?

Is anyone still reading this?

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Today I went to a funeral. It was for my Aunt, my father’s oldest sister, who I didn’t get to know until late in her life.

Being the product of an affair, and now integrating myself into an entire half of my family I did not grow up with, made today awkward. Or, more to the point, I felt awkward. It also didn’t help that I’ve been fighting a cold/sinus infection.

Like any stereotypical black funeral, there was singing, praising, and a very loud long-winded pastor. Still, it was nice.

I got to see a lot of people, no, family. That’s still weird to say.

I also got a better sense of the woman my Aunt was: intelligent, strong willed, loving. I knew her as the smiling frail woman who was hard of hearing but always happy to see me.

Even though she didn’t have any children, you saw her impact in the nieces and nephews she cared for, in the multitude of lives she touched.

For her last birthday, I bought her a pocket rock with the word LOVE inscribed on it. More than anything else, she gave and was loved.

Goodbye Aunt Nellie.

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Be brave. Be kind. Be confident.

It’s another year for all of us to try and do better for ourselves and those around us.

Randomly reflecting a few weeks ago, I thought back to when I used three words to help steer my year. And that year was a good one. So, again, I’m giving myself a little direction, this time to help with my 2016.

I’m pretty much scared shitless when it comes to most things in my life: school, work, kink, and love. But I make myself do all the things that scare me because I know fear is transient, memories are far more valuable then I ever anticipate, and allowing myself the terror makes the triumph that much sweeter.

As I struggle, giving myself breath and calm makes it easier. Learning that vulnerability is not a defect is something I am constantly exploring with Doc. Talking with him is helping, slowly and steadily.

I am smart. I can do this. And, if I tell myself enough times, I will believe it. Despite the negativity and stereotypes and general shittiness that is the life of a black woman in America, I can and will be the best bitch I can fucking muster.

Okay 2016, here I go.

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I know you’ll never read this, and that’s okay. Still, I needed to write you this letter.

I posted a half-silly tweet earlier today after seeing your movie. I say half-silly because a part of me, and it is not small by any measure, sees something in you that draws me in. I see a spirit I want to be around, a person I want to get to know.

It starts with your eyes. I love looking at your eyes. There is a lightness in them, a bright joyful invitation for happiness to become a part of everyone’s world.

And then there’s your smile, wide and full. When you smile, I can’t help but smile back. I can’t help but feel glee whenever my lips react to your lips, and I become a smiling fool.

But then you speak. 

Yes, you are beautiful. No one can deny that. But your words, your mind, your sexy sexy brain. Your looks make me blush. Your thoughts melt me whole.

I actually remember the moment when I decided to buy Camp. I was listening to the preview snippets and you made reference not only to Rugrats but also to Fresh Air. I was hooked. I knew your music was for me.

Each time I’ve heard you since, as few and far between as they have been, still reinforces all I see in you: intelligence, thoughtfulness, and a way of seeing not only culture from a broad lens but also the nuance of the individual.

You’re kind of amazing, which makes this letter so bittersweet. You’ll never read, never know, there is someone out there who, if given the chance, would just want to sit and talk with you for hours. Pick your brain about society, and cultural identity, and the reshaping of what it is to be in this time while occupying this space.

I’d want to verbally spar with you, and then somehow find a way to connect with you, to be with you. Really be with you with. Because your lips I so want to kiss. And your breath on my neck is a thought almost too much to bare, but I would gladly succumb to it.

Alas, you are you. And I am me. And the likelihood of us ever having that conversation, or any encounter, seems infinitely less likely than you ever reading this, which seems as improbable as, I guess, finding love always is.

I still haven’t found it. I don’t know if I ever will. But at least you occasionally make me smile, and make me think, and give me hope that one day I’ll find another pair of bright eyes, with a wide smile and a sexy brain, to hold close at night.

Until then, thank you for your introspection, reflections, and thoughtful musings, as well as the occasional laugh.

Sincerely,

Poetic

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“I heard things with you and Gray went sideways.”

“Yeah, they did.”

“Well just know he takes full responsibility for it.”

“That’s comforting to hear.”

Gray and I have parted ways. He messed up, badly. He apologized, I believe sincerely. But what happened was too much for us to stay as were. Such is life sometimes.

And, as always, life goes on.

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~randomness~

I feel like shit, lost at the end of rope irregularly knotted, worn and frayed, swinging in a hollowing wind.

Have you ever been so sad you sobbed for the whole ride home in your car?

Have you ever ugly cried, the tears and the snot clinging to your face, your throat so sore because your wailing was so long and so loud?

Have you ever not wanted to talk to anyone, not see anyone, desiring only the solace of a drink and the dull oblivion of dumb television?

Have you ever wondered why? Why do they all appear to be so different yet it all ends up the same? Why, when I thought things were going so right, did they end up so wrong?

I know what I want, yet I never seem to get it.

I thought I was Barney. Or maybe Robin. Or maybe Marshall, kind of. How did I end up becoming Ted? And not flashbacks Ted. About to move to Chicago, needs a new start because fuck why does my life suck as compared to those I love around me, how will I ever find love, Ted. Weepy no fan likes him, Ted.

Tonight, whiskey is my friend.

Tonight, I’ll sleep alone, fap alone, and wonder if I will always be alone.

I see Doc on Tuesday. We have a lot to talk about.

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