THE AFFIRMATION

It was easier to sit back and allow the world to label me as they so choose; easier to play the victim, to wait for life to happen, for the universe or cosmos to favour me and for someone to save me. It was easier to allow my value to be determined by men and women who know nothing of my struggles, who know nothing of the places I’ve been, the things I’ve witnessed and the dreams I have.

It was easier to remain palatable, to be a comfortable shade of black or a pleasant personality where I remained an asexual, racially and culturally ambiguous, omnipresent observer to the thrills of another’s success, another’s life.

It was easier to not make a noise and not be seen, when all I wanted was to be seen.

Turns out I was never designed for easy.

I was never meant to sit back and allow others to dictate the trajectory of my life, to speak on the value of my existence or contributions for their benefit.

I was never meant to remain complacent, to not experience life, to not reach for the stars, to not be loud and obnoxious and present.

I was meant to make a splash, to be seen and heard and revered and desired and put first, all while I celebrated the blackness that so clearly defines a very large part of me.

I cannot wait, I will not wait; I am more than enough, more than capable, more than incredible and more than any one person can handle.

I have fielded worse rejections and will celebrate greater acceptances than you will ever know.

I am dramatic, eccentric, mysterious, a gladiator; not just a gladiator, but I own the whole damn arena.

I’m not the entertainment; I’m here to show you how it’s done.

Watch me.

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Brave…

Until I’ve grown tired of writing songs without lyrics

My days will forever be interrupted by hums and hymns

that aimlessly wonder through a world

I’m not yet brave enough to discover

Or share.

I will remain selfish.

And unheard

The Visiting Voice

I found a voice today; a voice to help narrate the worlds I want to create, the lives I want to build and break and a voice I need to move past the island I’ve been stranded on for the past, I don’t know how long.

Not my own, no; I don’t trust my own voice to convey the kinds of emotions these future souls need to inherit. My own voice doesn’t fit; it doesn’t have the range, there’s a vacant lilt to it that does nothing for fertile earth.

This voice sounds like it used to belong to another, much wiser, considerate and cautious creature with a secret. That’s what it is, it sounds like every sentence is poised for attacked, coiled and at the ready for a lethal strike just waiting to happen, and only it knows when.

The moments I have with this new voice will be fleeting, that I know of. It’ll come, it’ll give willingly and take with it whatever it desires and it’ll go. To whom it’ll appear to next, I don’t know, but I will treat it kindly, respect it dutifully and use it for as long as it is willing to be used.

Amen

Sex could be a prayer;

You’re on your knees

The lord’s name a whisper between your lips

Your bedroom a place of worship

Your eyes closed

Your heart aflutter

Your devotion piqued

Your hands sweaty

Your throat raw

The end a rapt declaration

Your faith satisfied

But you’re still looking for more

That’s a bloody good prayer.

I miss you

I miss you

You, who took hold of me within places unseen

Who ensnared me with a look and enslaved my inner being

Who lured me in with a promise

And kept me with a dream

Who gave flesh to hope

Then said ‘all is not as it seems’

I miss you

You, whose voice I still hear and eyes I still see

Whose breath is the wind and whose smell is of the sea

Whose touch was on fire and whose look set me free

Whose words I still comb over

Because you wrote them for me