Archive for ‘how'd this happen’

August 18, 2009

the person you once knew.

I’m coming home to you
As the person you once knew
Things have happened
Changed us
You and me
But I still feel you
There
In the tender spots
That still resemble us
I wonder if you see my fight
The endless struggle
The uphill battle
That has kept me from you
The person you once knew
Almost unrecognizable
But I still feel you
Deep
In the places where you originated
In the places that make my smile pure
And my laughter real
I’m coming home to you
As the me you once knew
This walk home has been the longest
But I imagine you there waiting for me
The person you once knew
As I walk up the stairs
My insides feel tight
I can feel the closeness of you
Just moments of way
From standing before you
The person you once knew
I knock on the door
And hold my head down
Feeling the shame of being gone for so long
I can see the knob turning
And the door open slow…
I pick my head up to see your face…
My face…
The person I once was
Meeting the person you once knew
You take me in your arms
And instantly
The other me evaporates
And all that’s left of me
Is you
The person you once knew.
August 7, 2009

love.

this is going to be a bumpy ride.

an “are we there yet” kind of experience.

my thoughts are here, there and everywhere.

LOVE.

man has found a way to put a label on everything.

has created words to describe the indescribable.

LOVE even has a definition in the dictionary as if it can really be defined.

LOVE…

  1. A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.
  2. A feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person with whom one is disposed to make a pair; the emotion of sex and romance.
    1. Sexual passion.
    2. Sexual intercourse.
    3. A love affair.
  3. An intense emotional attachment, as for a pet or treasured object.
  4. A person who is the object of deep or intense affection or attraction; beloved. Often used as a term of endearment.
  5. An expression of one’s affection: Send him my love.
    1. A strong predilection or enthusiasm: a love of language.
    2. The object of such an enthusiasm: The outdoors is her greatest love.
  6. Love Mythology. Eros or Cupid.
  7. often Love Christianity. Charity.
  8. Sports. A zero score in tennis.

REALLY?

man has even written a book.  called it the bible. and deemed it the right way to live.  the right way to love. the only way to truly know God.  and adherence to the rules within this man-made book is the only way to enter the pearly gates of heaven…as if there are iron workers in heaven.

each time i have loved. my definition of love has evolved.  each time i said I LOVE YOU. i meant it. i meant with all my heart knew of love, at that time.

i remember being five years old or so, and standing before my mother as she knelt down to fiddle with my scarf. she wrapped it in a way only a mother can. air tight. i knew that was love.  i remember asking her… “mommy, why do you let daddy hit you?” i knew that wasnt love.

funny though, i knew that wasnt love, but it was all i knew. and i would know it first hand.

before i knew i was gay.

before i knew what love really was.

before i had any business loving anybody.

when all i wanted was attention.

i loved him.

and he loved me too.

he told me so.

he said, “i love you so much.  I will break both your legs if you ever leave me.”

he said, “i love you so much.  I will kill you if you ever cheat on me.”

crazy, but it felt like love to me.  i thought wow… he REALLY loves me!

i was only twelve years old. and it was the only concept of love i had ever known.

he went to jail shortly after confessing his love to me.

when he came home from prison.  he found out something that i had done (another post).  he called me upstairs. he lived in the apartment above mine.  i ran up.  he greeted me by the door.  i dont recall him saying anything.  he slapped me hard across the face. it stung.  i was paralyzed. in complete disbelief. BAM….again, and again, and again.  i felt the warm stream of fear trickling down my legs.  he was yelling at me. but i cant tell you what he said.  i havent a clue.  when he dismissed me, i ran down the stairs. into my apartment. to my bed. and cried. he called me later that night to say he was sorry. i was happy to hear from him.

fast forward.

summer of 1993. i was fifteen. our one month old daughter was sleeping in the crib. it was about 4am.  we were watching a movie. i was eating   chef boyardee ravioli. he started questioning me about the same incident that happened back in 1991. a knot formed in the pit of my stomach.  and just as i had anticipated.  the ravioli went flying. my eyes became wide as i looked at the intensity in his.  he had this evil look about him when he became enraged.  he asked me questions, and ended each question with a powerful slap to my face. each one harder than the last. or maybe my skin just became more sensitive with each blow.  i backed myself onto the sofa and hugged my knees.  he punched my legs as i buried my head into my arms. he jerked my body out of the ball i had formed myself into.  and wrapped his hands tight around my neck.  crazy how your body reacts to intense fear.  its as if your brain goes into some kind of self preservation mode.  and it can no longer waste any brain cells on things like bladder control. i felt a gush of warmth escape me. it almost felt good. his grip was terrifying.  i felt my face. the horror that was all over it.  the look on his was worse.  blank. angry. emotionless. he took me into the room and held my face over the crib.  said some taunting things about me never seeing our daughter again.  pushed me into the corner of the room. and began punching me all over. twice in the face. my legs. my stomach.  when i keeled over in pain. he punched me on my back.  the sun had come up.  my mother heard the commotion and began knocking on our locked bedroom door. he told me to tell her to go away.  each time she knocked. he slapped me in the face and told me to tell her to go away. this happened several times until she noticed the pattern.  finally she stopped.  he told me to lay down. i did. he plopped himself down next to me. i cried and sniffled as quietly as i could. i told him i had to pee.  he gestured for me to go.  i held my head in my hands as i sat on the toilet.  i flushed and turned on the water. i stared at my reflection. bruised. puffy. red. scared. i left the water on and ran. i ran out of the apartment. and kept running. i was barefoot.  with nothing on but a night shirt. no panties.  i approached a man who was standing in his doorway talking to another man.  now in a panic with tears streaming down my face i begged him to use his phone. he pulled his friend inside and slammed the door. i just kept running.  i noticed someone in their kitchen, and knocked on their door.  i told them it was an emergency, and begged them to use their phone.  the man looked around for a minute and opened the door for me to come in.  he sat me down and his pregnant wife inquired silently about the almost naked hysterical girl in her kitchen.  he handed me the phone and she rubbed my back. it hurt but her touch felt comforting.  i called the police. the husband gave me a pair of shorts to put on. i wanted to stay with them.

i arrived back at the house to find him putting our infant daughter in his car.  he drove off.  i ran after the car with every ounce of strength  i had.  i could hear the sirens not far behind me.

he was arrested.

the day was long after that. painful. i had never in my life been hit before.  oddly enough, my father NEVER struck me.  he slapped me one time when i got a little too crazy playing rough with him.  he whooped me with his belt another time after i had run away for two days.  but it was funny to me. didnt hurt. i could tell he didnt want to.

i didnt press charges. he stood away for a while.  talked about moving to north carolina. but he was back home in less than two weeks.  he made me destroy the photos of my black eyes and bruised body.  i stood nine more years. and suffered many more torturous episodes. only difference was, i think he realized, the less evidence the better. so he stuck with mostly throwing me around, fear tactics and choking.

i remember one time he was angry with me about some shit.  i was in the bathroom using a curling iron.  he snatched the cord from the socket that was above my head.  and the metal part of the plug hit me in the face.  on the soft skin right under my eye.  i flinched and instinctively shut my eyes as it struck me.  when i opened them, there was this single red stream of blood pouring down my face.  as if i was crying blood.  he sucked his teeth and walked away. he felt stupid because he hadnt intended to go that far. but was too much of an asshole to comfort me.

i just stood there staring at myself.

with all i knew. and didnt know.

i knew this wasnt love.

August 4, 2009

a sexless lie.

never in my life have i been in a more functional dysfunctional relationship.  i have stopped trying to define it.  i can only tell you it is both wonderful and wrong.  it is healthy and toxic.  it is comforting and disturbing.  and the comfort-ability of it all makes me feel uncomfortable.  we’re on we’re off.  we’re hot we’re cold.  we’re just all over the place.

my previous significant relationships were so different.  they made me feel like a lady.  would grab my hand to cross the street.  keep me on the inside of the sidewalk.  take heavy bags from me.  tell me i was sexy.  make me feel safe.  i loved it.  in fem/ag relationships there are these kinds of predetermined roles.  i am completely aware that we are both women… so its not as if i would see my boo struggling with 5 bags and not grab some because i am the fem. lol… i am simply stating the small gestures that made me feel good.

in my previous relationships, sex was never an issue.  we had the same sexual appetite.  they learned my body.  my likes. dislikes. i felt free to be myself sexually.  ok so i cant be the only one who has a sexual alter ego. lol.  kind of like how beyonce turns into sasha fierce.  yeah.  during sex i turn into someone else. i think im a porn star. a sex kitten. ok so thats another post all together.  my point is that sex was never an issue, in a negative way.  my partners have always made me feel like i was sexually desirable.  there was no place or time that was off limits when the mood struck us.  and if you are mine, and i am yours.  i dont mind being a nasty whore for you.  some ppl think its tacky. i guess it might be.  but who the fuck cares?  didnt bother me in the least being eaten out on the hood of my car in the parking lot of the hotel we had just finished fucking in.  still one of my fondest memories.

present girl/time.

im not sure what we are anymore. but we are sexless.  1.5yrs sexless.  now we have been somewhat intimate on two occasions during this period.  but both times were because i initiated it.  DOUBLE U – TEE – EFF?  this has done major damage to my ego.  but this lack of, i dont even know what to call it…doesnt stop in the bed.  we’ll be walking… i’ll be talking…i will look to my side…. and she’ll be across the street.  honestly it is moments like that, that make me feel like i am in the twilight zone.

“do you want me to carry that bag?”  my thing is, why do you have to ask????  just take the damn bag.  take some initiative…some control. FUCK!  im not used to this shit.

Now i should say.

she is an amazing person.  truly my best friend.  i love her.  she is loyal without doubt.  trustworthy without question.  selfless. she gets me.  i dont think i have ever laughed harder with another.  i can be 200% myself.

but there are issues. lots of them.

i’ve only had relations with black women.  well except one… but that was just one night of intense sex… and she was half black.  anyway SHEs my first hispanic girlfriend which offers me something that i havent experienced before.  her family gatherings feel like home to me…like my own family…a mutual appreciation and love for all things latin.  it feels nice.  BUT she is also the first woman who isnt “aggressive.”  i mean she shops in the mens department, but that does not a boi make. and this is a big thing for me.  i love aggressive women.  my last ex was a cop…holy shit…thats all im going to say about her.  some times i would like to be the damsel in distress and be able to have my strong woman come to my rescue. i feel like the boi in this relationship…no no no…this is all WRONG.

more.

She likes when I do this thing.  when I graze her skin with my fingertips.  I do it of my own free will.  At times she will request it.  she likes when I stroke her hair while we watch TV.  Again I do this without having to be asked.  Ummm HELLO I have fucking skin.  A bitch wants to be stroked too.  I don’t want to have to ask.  I want her to want to touch me. Why wont she.  Make love to me. Fuck me.  It is beyond frustrating. and painful to admit.  I don’t want to feel untouchable. unfuckable.

*sigh*

i wanted to see Nights in Rodanthe.  she didnt. so WE didnt.  i didnt see LOTS of movies because they werent her “type” of movie.  OK.  i get it. BUT. you are in a relationship with someone who likes ALL kinds of movies (except some SciFi) so cant you compromise a little? its like the Bodies Exhibit…wasnt my thing…but she wanted to go… i entertained it.  it didnt kill me.  we have lots of differences.  but for every negative, there are two positives.

but.

all that being said.  what the fuck are we? best friends who live together?  an asexual couple?

im lost.  i’ve lost myself in this.

i think shes lost herself too.

so we’re both lost and clinging to something that feels somewhat secure?

it’s a sexless lie.