I Don’t Know WTF To Write.

But, damn, do I miss it. I miss mind dumping and writing essays and asking questions and cracking jokes. I miss dissecting bullshit arguments and linking to the people I find rather brilliant.

I miss blogging.

And I’m slowly coming back to it.

A Mind Dump: Hetero Men, Ending My Gaycation, and What If He Wants to Watch?

(I know I pretty much never write here any longer. Consider this my return.)

I have a lot of moments of sheer brilliance while in the bathroom. Don’t we all? In the shower yesterday, washing my baby fro, I thought about what happens when a heterosexual man tells me “lesbians are cool,” or something similar. As if being a lesbian (cisgender specifically, as trans* identified lesbians are often not on the straight dude’s radar) is somehow a pair of sneakers or a hoodie or some fucked up slogan tee shirt. Like someone’s identity can be or is trendy. Not a good look, straight dude(s).

Of course, these conversations have been had plenty times: male gaze, blah blah blah, I’m a person and not a fantasy, etc. But it’s pulling at me specifically because I am a queer identified (pansexuals, stand up!) woman who’s been seriously considering ending a self-imposed gaycation. That is, I stopped dating hetero men for a while — because I often found myself being stressed out by the dynamics of navigating these dealings outside of a fuck buddy relationship. I often found myself chirping up to defend and explain queer folks, queer culture, etc. It became exhausting. I chose to take a step back. Maybe I was too sensitive. Maybe it felt like too much work. “You can’t make everybody get it,” I’d tell myself. It was/ is true. Everyone isn’t gonna recognize their privileged thinking and or behavior. Everyone isn’t gonna stand down long enough to understand that intent doesn’t make oppressive behavior any less oppressive.

So, here I am, thinking maybe I can take another swing at dating straight men. And then the alarm bells go off in my head: BUT THEY’RE GONNA FETISHIZE YOOOOOU! Because some folks don’t get the complexities of queer identities. Because some folks (straight and gay alike!) still think bisexualiy is the place you go before you’re “just all the way” gay or something. I’ve basically given myself an unreasonable amount of around feeling safe when entering the dating world.

I decided that, instead of building my angst, I should identify what’s bothering me, and see if I can’t navigate it on my own. Here are my concerns, in no order of importance:

  • I am queer, and automatically perceived as a threat to any/ every heterosexual man’s sexuality.
  • I have to explain myself, and maybe even justify my existence to somebody.
  • If he asks to watch me have sex w/ another woman, what do I say?
  • I can’t bring these motherfuckers around my queer friends, I’ll feel like a traitor/ asshole/ saboteur if I do. I can’t prove that someone’s an ally, or that they are “okay” or cool.

I had to stop myself. Where was all this coming from? The short answer: kyriarchy.  The long answer: what I’ve lived through, what I’ve seen happen with other folks, what folks have told me about their lives. Because many USians are socialized to regard the experiences/ viewpoints of white hetero able bodied men as the norm, any single person who does not fall in line is considered “other,” right? So I’m black, fat, queer, and not interested in centering a worldview that counts me as less important. There’s friction. And I’m not afraid of friction. I just don’t know if I want to be The One Who Teaches You Better.

That is, I have made it a point to build a community of loving, affirmative folks around myself. Folks to whom I don’t need to explain my queerness, or answer questions like, “Why would you date a woman who dresses like a man, instead of an actual man?” or “What do you mean ‘self-defined woman’?” I’m tired of that. That’s the world I live in any damn way. I feel like I deserve sanctuary in my interpersonal relationships.

So I guess it could be argued that I ain’t for everybody. And I know I’m not. It would seem, though, that the thing that most sticks in my craw: what I do in bed w/ another consenting adult — regardless of gender identity — isn’t for anyone but the two of us. It’s not for anyone else’s enjoyment, not for anyone else’s pleasure, unless we make it that way. Further, the idea that anyone should watch two cis women fucking suggests specifically that the relationship between these two cisgender women is sexual only. That there is no romance. That emotional intimacy can only take place in a relationship in a cis hetero relationship. Not true. I mean, I know that. But why do I HAVE TO TELL PEOPLE THIS?

Ugh. More later. I’ve been at this an hour already and have somewhere to be.

couldn’t have said it better myself!

my big sister omi just laid it allllllll the way out in this blog post.  (i’ve italicized it for clarity between it and my own words.)

12.12.2009
an exercise in restraint
i’ve done a bit of meeting and greeting lately. feels good. i am grateful for the confidence and clarity it’s brought. plus, i haven’t done deep visualization in a long time, so it’s been catalyzing.

it’s also reminded me how impatient i can be in the “will he/won’t he call” stage.

typically, i don’t mind doing a little legwork if i think the guy’s worth it. if you want something, go get it, right?

since i’m nearly always operating from my intuitive, heart-self and not my head, i often see and am attracted to said potential. therefore, my natural inclination is to give them what they need without deep regard as to whether or not they are able to return the favor. i always get the basic, “decent guy” packaging, so they are at least willing to try to reciprocate.

unfortunately, where i can get ocean-deep, they often flounder. and that’s when things fall apart. so i’ve decided it’s probably better to step back and let them show themselves first.

now more than ever, i am totally focused on cultivating intentionality in my relationships–even in the beginning stages.

love can come and will be reciprocated as applicable. i’m open to that. and i’m still gonna get mine when i want it. however, there will be no commitment without real, tangible outcomes, and i have no problem stating that very clearly.

you want me? that’s sweet. prove it.

over the last thirteen years, i’ve learned three big lessons: first, there’s a thin line between mysterious, creative depths and the masking of unearthed and unacknowledged pain. second, if i need a crowbar and forceps to approach your psyche, it’s not gonna work. third–and probably most important–a well-rehearsed melange of coping and defense mechanisms is not a personality.

lots of really “nice guys” have all that going. in spades.

so, yeah. i’m ready to hop back on the merry-go-round.

…just understand that i am heavily armed.

this goes, for friends, too. shit.

after much contemplation, i’ve realized:

i’m everything i could ever want in a mate. & i’m not mad at that. not one bit.

i’ll be marrying myselves sometime between my 30th birthday & the day i die. invitations pending, i suppose.

i contain multitudes. (affirmations/ mantras)

i believe in the infinity of myself.
i am never alone.
i am love and i am loved.
my steps are ordered.
i belong to no one but myself.
i am light; i attract light.
peace of mind is my birthright.
my gifts are mine & mine alone; no one can take them from me.
my timing is the right timing for me and my affairs.

dulled my senses & blurried my sight.

& i used to love HIM . . . meaning god. as a man. because i was raised christian, and therefore any idea of a woman in the bible (from what i was taught in 2 years of christian day school) was never really positive. the first woman mentioned in the bible is eve. and eve instituted the downfall of mankind by eating the apple, etc. i was never taught, in my schooling (or my home discussions, or in church) about positive women in the bible, aside from the virgin mary — who was really just a vehicle for the christ. she was insignificant. she did not matter. and, it was implicit that she did not matter. i’m sure that in some situations, it was plainly stated that since she didn’t ‘save anyone’ that she wasn’t of any import. and mary magdalene was a whore — she couldn’t have possibly been an actual apostle or jesus’ wife. and so on, and so on.

so, being the me i was at 14-18, i had to think twice about all of that. every time i went to church and was told that i should feel the presence of god the father, i would feel numb. i would feel like i wasn’t getting everything i should have from that spirit. if it makes any sense at all to anyone besides me: i felt like i was getting an abridged version of god. like there was more to the whole experience, something people weren’t talking about or even thinking of in their own ruminations on the creator.

so, i strayed from that path i’d been told to follow. i went to a quaker school, participated in a guided meditation group (complete w/ chakra cleansing!) led by a former nun who worked as a teacher at my school, and read about religions that were not anything like christianity. i wasn’t particularly moved, but definitely intrigued. and i noted that i only felt connected to any higher power when singing or surrounded by music — secular or religious. i was concerned. because of the teachings i’d had as a little kid, i thought something was wrong with me. that something was broken. that god could not reach me because i was not right or pure.

per anyone i’d ask, or any research i’d done (by reviewing sermons) the alternative to feeling the way i did was throwing myself fully into a faith practice that never felt 100% right. that didn’t make sense to me, either. so, i drifted.

and then i read it: i found god in myself/ & i loved her/ i loved her fiercely

it meant everything all of a sudden. it meant freedom. it meant i needed to learn about oshun, i needed to research ishtar, and that maybe lilith wasn’t just the name of some music fair.

& then i learned that god isn’t male or female, necessarily. something a christian minister once told me was that the god of your own understanding is the god you serve. purely. truthfully. honestly.

& through orisha worship, through ancestor reverence, through living my life in a way that makes me feel full and right?

i saw the divine. she, the divine feminine. he, the father. the holy spirit. i touched it. it filled me up. i saw the balance, i saw both sides.

(this is likely going to be fleshed out later, to tie back into the title. but gimme some time, my laptop ain’t shit and i’m moving!)

the hierarchy of food.

i used to be a vegetarian. or, i should say, a pescetarian. i didn’t eat birds, cows, lambs, sheep, deer, or pigs. i ate lots of vegetables, lots of meat substitutes, etc. i drank lots of water. i thought i was healthier than meat eaters to some extent, but i was largely a veggie because i was disgusted by the idea of consuming flesh. it wasn’t that big of a deal to me. i went back to meat, cuz i love chick-fil-a.
i never really thought much about it, until sometime in 2006 when i became a vegetarian more or less by default. i couldn’t afford meat. and i didn’t like to cook it, then eat it. so, i very rarely prepared meat at home — i’d have pre-cooked, or somewhat processed (lots of stuff from trader joe’s, maybe a cheesesteak from a local spot) meat items. but one day, i started getting really sick. i was diagnosed with IBS and though there’s no real treatment for it, i did what i could to lessen its symptoms and impact. less stress, etc. but it got worse, especially when i finally returned to ‘regular’ food.

about 6 months after my first visits to the GI doctor, it really started to click: i ate a handful of pretzels. i was sick for two days and had hives on my arms. the pretzels contained wheat and soy. i assumed it was wheat, though i’d long ago suspected that soy was giving me lots of womb issues. so, bit by bit i had to eliminate things in my house. no more faux-meats (except for quorn products, which are often gluten free and soy free but not always vegan), no more bread, pasta, etc. i had to stop eating a lot of different prepared foods, as they almost always contained soy. soy lecithin, soybean oil, vegetable oil . . . the list goes on and on. i had to change how i ate. when i was broke, the cheapest things to eat were always pasta and baked tofu & veggies with some discounted tomatoes made into a sauce. i had to change that. i had to eat rice noodles. i had to use mushrooms, squash & zucchini when i prepared my ‘broke bitch’ food. i was cool with that. less food prep was involved, etc.  but the more i thought about it, the more frazzled i became.  why? because the things i could eat were very limited.  if i were hungry and on the go, i had to pray that i’d find something that didn’t involve eggs, soy, wheat, or dairy. because, of course, when you eat one fucked up thing there’s always another two or three or ten lurking behind. i am allergic to fish. i don’t eat eggs, because they make my stomach hurt (but i’ll eat something with egg as an ingredient, i.e. a gluten- and soy-free cake that has egg in it).  and so on.  i had to describe myself at one point as a vegan meat eater — that is, when i felt comfortable with my food restrictions enough to eat what i could, instead of what was available.  sometimes, the foods that i am most allergic to are the least expensive (see: ramen noodles — not that i ever ate them regularly — and lunchmeat & bread), depending on where i am (i live within walking distance of two supermarkets where i’m able to get what i need).  i wondered how this impacts folks who don’t have the same resources i do.  what if i come to a place in life where i no longer have those resources? and what’s caused these reactions? am i “lesser” for not choosing to be a locavore, vegetarian or vegan?

i don’t argue w/ the veggies/ vegans anymore on the animal cruelty tip. my reasoning is very simple. being who you are, in this country, in this place, in those clothes, etc. means you are dominating someone else on this planet. whether it’s a fellow citizen or a sweatshop worker, a child laborer, a kidnapped female sex worker, or war prisoner, you dominate with everything you do. if you desire to advocate for the lives of farm animals instead of human beings, i can’t stop you. but understand that it’s all connected. industrial farms are no different than puppy mills, no different than the factories that employ the people who make the nikes, et cetera. yes. i know this. but if you’ve never been allergic to fish, soy, eggs, milk, and wheat (possibly all gluten, including oatmeal), i don’t think you have room to talk shit about how someone chooses to get their protein. my sister, for instance, is allergic to mushrooms, tomatoes, soy, fish, eggs, dairy and onions, but can eat wheat.  tell her she needs to be a veggie, and she’ll laugh in your face. it’s her choice (as well as it is mine, and my mom’s, and anyone else’s) to get her protein from lean meats from locally raised animals, if from local farms at all. shit.   usually, people take care of themselves, the best way they know how and are able to.  we have to be equipped to do these things, right? 

** sort-of sidebar: animal cruelty is reflective of larger and deeply-rooted societal issues, in my opinion. how many ‘famous’ murderers first practiced on animals? how many people who are ill equipped to adequately deal with their own emotional shit pick on defenseless, smaller, or supposedly subordinate beings?  isn’t destructiveness of what can be broken down usually the result of a feeling of disenfranchisement elsewhere in one’s existence? wouldn’t that help to explain why dog fighting is so popular in working class communites and communities of color? **

so i’m saying, it’s taken me close to 12 hours to write this blog post.  and i don’t feel any closer to a conclusion.  i feel like choosing to be a vegetarian or vegan or locavore as a means of protesting big business farms/ food distro is a great idea. it is impactful when part of a bigger organizing.  i feel that by itself,  it falls short in some ways. no method is perfect. i also feel that it is classist, or at the very least excludes persons whose resources are severely limited. it is no secret that, in this country, the ‘healthier’ food options available to us are often more costly than the ‘regular’ food options. what do you do when you make “too much” for food stamps? what do you do when that $8 worth of antibiotic-free, free range, hormone-free, vegetarian-fed chicken is not enough for you alone to eat for more than two meals? i don’t know. i suppose it’s the same thing as understanding and implementing environmental justice instead of simply ‘going green’ in the hood.  you kinda have to see the bigger picture in order to even come close to knowing what your work is going to do.

and on another note, you can’t tell people how to live the best life for themselves without knowing intimately what their situation is. i’ll never forget the sideways look i got from someone for talking about how good bacon is. at one time, i didn’t eat pork or red meat because i was so thirsty for an identity i thought that super bohemian afro queen of the universe might suit me — and what better place to begin than with my food choices?  it failed. because i wasn’t coming from a place of my own understanding, but instead doing something that i thought would ally me with other folks.  i’m older, wiser, more traveled, and a lot more mellow.  i come back to the same thing i’ve said repeatedly to folks about my life: what’s right for you is not always — and sometimes never — right for another person.  we do not have the space to judge. we have the space to be ourselves, and live our best lives. and if we are truly concerned with that, picking on someone for eating meat (or not eating meat, or being homosexual, or being trans, or being a person with a disability, or WHATEVER) isn’t going to fucking matter.

self love. self preservation.

there is no way on earth i’ll ever go back to letting someone else tell me how to love myself.

there are examples that we give one another. how to love strong. how to love from within first, so that the outside parts match the inside. so that i may tell new people in my life precisely how i receive and give love. it’s important. it’s valuable. it’s not a trifle. i think that it’s apparent to most of us, what happens when we aren’t protecting/ preserving/ healing/ caring for ourselves. it’s ridiculous to me, at this point in my life, to act like i don’t. when i neglect myself, i become reckless. that is not healthy. recklessness can mean anything for anyone, but i presume it’s usually characterized by destructive behaviors & an unwillingness to slow the fuck down. but i can only speculate on what it’s like for anyone but myself.
but like i said, other folks can’t tell me how.
cuz this is my shit.
& in that space of loving oneself, there is that awakening of the fiercest instinct to protect oneself. to be honest with yourself because there’s no space or time for lies & bullshit, no willingness to allow farces to be the order of the day. we remove the mask. we, little by little, get back to our inner children & allow them to kind of run the show. not the inner child who couldn’t drive or cook a meal. but the inner child who used to snap out if mommy passed us to the wrong person. that person is the one who, through lots of anti self-love programming (that’s what i call it), learned to hide. polite & respectful are not the same. politeness smacks of fakeness. respectfulness implies an allegiance to one’s whole & full self. (for example: no apologies. respectfully disagreeing & agreeing to do so without name calling, taunting, or other shenanigans.)
preserving your core. looking out for your star motherfucking player, like katt williams said. making sure you have yourself to get around with, like the lady in green. acts of self love are likely to keep you from needing to be rescued.
it’s a thought. you don’t have to believe it yourself. but i know i do. nothing feels quite like me, to me.

indulgence.

lately, i feel like giving into my inner child as much as possible.  she wants to dress up, she wants to play with new kids, she wants to dance and sing and eat whatever she wants to. she wants cake at 3 in the morning. she wants fun, and music, and a trail of butterflies to follow her everywhere she goes.

and dammit, i am determined to make it happen for her. she deserves it. i owe it to her.  she deserves to live without fear, she deserves to live without being bullied, without feeling like she isn’t free to be herself.  

i don’t think anybody ever told me that it’s okay to acknowledge my inner child.  i don’t think anyone ever said to me, “sparkle, the inner child is the purest version of you,” so that i’d embrace her. my inner little girl is attention-starved, a bit expression-deprived, and still trying to make sense of the chaos that one day swallowed her up.  i suppose that reaching that far into my personal herstory is the one thing missing from my process. i know what damaged me three years ago, six months ago, two days ago. but the first break is foreign to me.  

the little girl wants to delve. she wants to hold this grown woman’s hand and take that walk down that slope, through that valley, around that bend and follow that creek to the source. the pool of water where i swam before entering this realm will hold everything. the reflections, the things i cast off in an attempt to forget me.

i must indulge her, i must indulge me. for the sake of my own journey.

eight random facts about me: the birthday edition

i was tagged by miss dark daughta. & dammit, i like these survey thingies so why not?

the rules, though i kinda love to bend or break rules:

Post the rules before you give the facts. Post eight random facts about yourself. At the end of your blog post, you need to tag eight people and list their names. Leave the people you tagged a comment on their blog, letting them know that they’ve been tagged.

these are things i have grown up about in the past 26.999999998 years. they’re not birthday-specific necessarily, but still the kind of thing you want to throw confetti at yourself about, non? definitely little (and big) reasons to be glad to be myself.

one: my love of language is a great source of my pride.
i was the only child in a house of pretty much grown ppl for the first 2 years of my life, & i most certainly took full advantage of that. i groomed myself to know what people were talking about, how to express myself, & never be at a loss for words. i was a rather articulate 3 year old, & one day i declared to my mother that i was gonna start reading. she didn’t believe me until i got stuck on a word & asked her how to pronounce it. as an adult, i am kind of a language whore. words are sooooo important to me! i like being able to express one idea in several ways. spanish is pretty much under my belt, so next come portuguese, yoruba, & probably akan or maybe dutch. i love words.

two: i used to hate my name.
i thought my life would be simpler, were i to have a ‘regular’ name like simone or allison. hell, i had a best friend named adina & i was jealous of her because at least she wasn’t [my name]. now i know better. who else would i be, except [my name]? i mean, really. as i got older, i was okay w/ my first name, since i felt that [diminutive nickname] wasn’t an acceptable nickname name. but a big point of contention was my middle name. i was named after my father in that respect, & having grown up essentially without him contributing positively or consistently to my life made me bitter. we’re not gonna get into the last name. i don’t hate it anymore. i’ve made my peace with it, it’s . . . mine just as much as it is my father’s or anyone else’s who has it. i’m okay w/ being myself on paper . . . & the racial ambiguity gets me some laughable reactions. definitely. lol.

three: i don’t genuinely know what it is to sense guilt about or be ashamed of myself.
that is, i’ve felt uneasy or embarrassed, but actual shame is something i’ve never felt. actual guilt? like, i shouldn’t have done that & didn’t enjoy it & don’t ever want to partake in it again because i never should have bothered guilt? you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. to coerce me into something has always been to frighten me into it, or to rationalize me into it. i’ve been apologetic if my actions have caused a result i didn’t intend, or if i’ve been completely misunderstood . . . but guilt & shame i don’t do. i’m thankful, really. that shit can be crippling.

four: i will give until it hurts.
i used to be mad about that & considered myself weak for it. but i’ve managed to discover something very important about being a giving person: giving until it hurts is only something to lament when you know you oughtn’t to begin with. that is, i know who deserves the best i have to offer — & those folks often give me the same. i am glad to say that i give when it’s okay to give. i’ve been blessed, fortunately, with reciprocity in that area of my life.

five: i was a virgin until age 19.
i knew about sex from reading informational books (not romance novels or anything), so my knowledge of STDs & other foolishness was pretty good for someone who thought you were supposed to make noises while fucking . . . even if your partner’s stroke was weak. even if you were too busy thinking about finding a job somewhere. lol! i was mature enough to realize that pleasure was supposed to be a bonus to the biological function of sex; as i’ve grown older / more mature, i use that as my guide. there are some things that simply won’t fly w/ me. waiting until i’d been on this planet almost two decades was good. had i really given myself the space to, i would have waited longer, most likely. but it’s okay. it’s all good. now look at me. i’m quite the pleasure-driven individual overall & it’s been really good for my sex life. yay me! i wish more folks would adopt a similar idea about sex. if it isn’t gonna be fully enjoyable, i don’t do it.

six: i love being single.
as much as i might say i want a man and/ or some babies, single womanhood (not living with anyone who came out of my womb or regularly copulates with me, any of that sort of breeding/ coupled up/ cohabitation stuff) has been exceptionally good to me. i think my creativity has been bolstered by not having to worry about anyone but myself. my deep desire for space & time to do my thing the way i do it has been really helpful. i feel like living with people (roommates especially, sometimes kids or an SO) puts me on stage. i have to rock the strongblackwoman veneer, be super proactive, etc. i hate that shit, & until i’m fully comfortable being my full self at least 20 of 24 hours per day i don’t really think i need a man or babies. hell, i don’t even want a pet. one of my houseplants is barely making it right now, cuz sometimes the high maintenance nurturing shit just isn’t fly to me all the time. lol.

seven: my love of clothing & footwear might put me in debt one day.
but that’s OKAY. cuz i’m a fan of the bargain shopping. or, the initially inexpensive items i find don’t get a 2nd thought. lol. i like pretty colors, nice fabrics (i can’t wear wool or any of the sweater stuff. *pout*), & find that seasonally i change my mind about what i want to look like. that’s neat. reinvention is key. renewal is natural. so, why not do it on all fronts? besides, i kinda love the compliments i get when i throw some fly shit together.

eight: the family i’ve chosen for myself is every bit as important as the one i was born into.
anyone who knows me is aware of my continual growth as a person with the help/ love/ support of the people who’re fortunate enough to be saved to the SIM card in my cell phone. my family, especially over the past year or so, has been a pillar when i really thought i was gonna lose my mind. i love my mom & sisters, my grandfather, my uncles & cousins (there are a LOT of cousins) . . . but none of them will ever make me feel like i’m unloved/ lost without their presence. i used to feel kind of weird about loving my non-family ppl as much as i do my blood relations, but i’ve gotten over it. actually, in a lot of instances the family i’ve chosen has done more for me (in an emotional support/ mental stimulation sense) than my mama & them. i have some of the best, most wonderful, kind, giving, fantastic, just plain fly ass people as friends. i am so fortunate. i love them all so much. i love knowing that i can unflinchingly call a few women my sisters, & that the feeling is never gonna be one-sided. i’m blessed. i could sit here & name their names, but . . . honestly, the most high knows who they are. men & women alike who have really, truly, for real been good to me. thank god for every last one of them.

i tag tia, aj, atlanta, melissa, riley (does he even read this blog?), & um… kenya. i would also tag omi & dark daughta, but they’ve already done it. lol. i guess i’ll have to carry it over to myspace or facebook to grab more victims?

whatever. if you don’t do this, you’re just depriving me the opportunity to get deeper into your business. ;)

oh, jill.

jill, jill, jill. i feel this song fully.

i’ve been there. with more than one paramour, quite honestly. it seems like they all end up the same way, too.
we split up for whatever reason(s), you get somebody new, i get somebody new . . . we both live our lives, & may even still be really good friends. but i know deep down inside that i feel like i’m not finished, that you’re not finished. not so much a regret that we split — when something isn’t working, it’s just plain not working — but something like a deep want to try again. i’ll ignore it, because you’ve got someone else you’re kicking it with (you’re not wasting any kind of time, since you don’t want the chance to miss me) & i’m doing whatever i’m doing . . . i won’t let myself regret you. i won’t convince myself that i should apologize profusely & call you up trying to see if there might be a way back in. this is primarily because i can’t handle the idea of being rebuffed when i want to be desired & refuse to try too hard at anything i’m prone to suck at. i’m prideful that way. i’m trouble that way. & she isn’t. that’s why you like her so much — she doesn’t challenge you to be a better person, quite honestly. she’d never encourage you to reach for everything you’ve ever wanted — because you’re all she’s ever wanted. a daddy, financier & lover all in one. you have the bankroll for her to hit target without flinching — note, i said her, because she’s never considerate of your money situation. it only matters when she has to pay. you don’t think i know she sees you as an open wallet/ bank account/ whatever, even though you essentially make the same amount of money she does? you don’t think i’ve noticed all these things when you talk about her to me the way you would one of your homeboys?
but you’ll allow it, because it’s easier than being alone. because it’s easier than trying to get back to what you know was harder to keep, but more worth your time.
& maybe that’s why i let go, too. because i’m too comfortable running shit & it’s not even about control issues — the only issue i have is that i wanna be in control. period. when i’m not at the helm, it’s only because i let you be. i think that you enjoyed that as much as i am accustomed to it.
so now here i am, after the fact, wondering why the fuck i even care.
because i love you. & in the back of my head, i imagine where we’d be had we stuck it out or reloaded the whole thing. if we’d said “let’s try one more time,” & said yes to a do-over. i wonder if you would have taken my hand, had i extended it.
i don’t live w/ regrets or guilt, but the what-ifs surely can be a beast.