I tried so hard to tell myself that it was all worth the fears, the anxieties, the broken hearts, or perfections that seamlessly came apart some day. In desperate times I felt as though my mind had gone, I had to learn to fall and catch myself annoyingly frequently. To keep moving in a direction that would remind me to breakaway from the confines of the skin I needed to shed, what it feels like for a queer woman of colour some days, or simply what it takes to remain human.
Somehow I could not forget all the ones I love(d). The touch of the clearest blue ocean cleansing my skin, washing away all the weight holding me from becoming free. The sand exfoliating the feet I relied on to be the foundation of bringing me up to face the world again.
Ready or not, whatever I didn't want to come, came. So much of what was dear, became a smile in the memories of broken glass reflecting haunting images like the Phantom of the Opera singing to himself at night.
Floating pieces in my belly.
I restore my faith each day, I don't get down on my knees to pray. I don't like bowing unless it is for elders I respect. Does that make me unethical, a devil woman with a reason to wreak havoc in this muthaf$cka?
I carry myself each day. I know what it feels like to be me, to carry myself when I am not sure I truly understand anything. Well except honouring my drumming heart, the simple but vital act of breathing or catching breath, trying to be smarter and forgiving myself for my mistakes and my limitations based on what's left to exhaust.
Fumes some days. Fire others.
I still believe in love. I'm saving all my love
just like Whitney.