Letter to an Ex (Finally letting go of that shit.)

I am writing you a letter- one that I may never send you. But that's okay... just know that it is from the heart, and probably is more for me than for you. I hope that's alright.

I have been doing a lot of thinking about myself. What is my problem? Why am I so hung up on you? Why am I so hung up on relationships, or intimacy or whatever. I clearly say one thing and do the other. I say that I would be terrified of commitment, but I crave it- not the act of committing, but people being committed to me. Does that make sense? Some sort of one-sided expectation of how love and devotion is supposed to work out.

At the end of the day, I do think that we are pretty incompatible. I don't think that we want intimacy in the same ways. I feel very nervous about things like kissing in public or holding hands because I feel like those things are for show. Some sort of public ritual to for us to say, "hey! look! someone loves me!" that makes me uncomfortable. Holding someone's hand for too long makesm e feel uncomfortable- my affection is a lot more active than that. If I am going to hold a lover's hand, then I want to examine it, feel the sharpness of their fingernails, trace their fingerprints, read their palm lines. There was an activity once I did in an ensemble building theatre workshop. We had to go around the room and memorize people's hands- the only thing we could say was our names. Halfway through the exercise, the instructor informed us that we would have to identify each other through our hands.. but with our eyes closed. We immediately began to scramble around the room, feeling for callouses and wrinkles, noticing now whose hands were the softest or the most beaten. It was a different, more deeper level of understanding each other. I met someone from that workshop months later and I didn't remember his name, but I remembered his hands.

This is the kind of intimacy that I am looking for. I want to be able to find my lover with my eyes closed, and know them. I think that this might be too much to ask from you, because honestly, you are still too young (who am i kidding? we both are) and you are not that good in bed. Correction- you are not that good to me in bed. I am not going to say that I am a better lover than you, but if we were in the dark, I don't think you would be able to find me. I don't think you know my body map because you were never interested in exploring me. You are content with holding hands in public.

It is hard for me to feel like I love someone more. I am trying to get over that and allow myself to be vulnerable. But I think it has to do with needing to possess someone, and needing them to feel like they possess me. That strange sort of co-dependency is something I should work on. That has nothing to do with you. In fact, I have started to wonder if you aren't some vessel for me to dump my feelings of neediness and love onto and that's not fair. It's not fair to me to be in something that feels so emotionally one-sided and it's not fair for you to be my trash can for my emotional immaturity. We are both being wronged here.

I don't want to take away the legitimacy of my feelings for you. Those feelings are still pulsating and full of color and light. They are innocent and strong. In a lot of ways you were my first- after being in so many non-consensual sexual encounters in my lifetime.. ones that I felt I was forced or coerced into, ones that I was under the influence for.. I feel fortunate to have been in a sexual and romantic relationship that felt good and safe and ready for. I am glad to have experienced that at all and am sad that it couldn't have happened sooner (and lasted longer.) I will always be grateful to you for being my chosen first, and I am happy to say that I no longer feel like I should be traumatized.. that I should be waiting for my body to freeze up and lock, or that I should use my trauma as an excuse to not seek intimacy with other, but instead accept it as a part of my identity, something that may or may not show up now and then.

Right. So I guess I spent the summer wanting to know where we stand. But I think I've known for a long time. And I want to let you go, because I have never seen you look as happy and comfortable in your skin as you have this summer. I want that for you and I don't think you would ever get that from me being in your life any further. I also realize that I am very jealous of your happiness- maybe my clinging to you was my attempt at claiming some that for myself.. maybe if I was in your life while you were happy, it meant that I was a part of the reason for that happiness. I don't think that's true, nor has it been for a while. I don't think we'll meet again in the future... or if we do, it will be brief and very anti-climactic. I need to start letting go of my little girl fantasies.. my life is not- and will never be- some cheesy Romantic Comedy. It is time for me to keep moving forward, and keep myself open for blessings that might be coming my way. I missed one possible blessing this summer because of my own insecurities and emotional hang ups. Thank you for holding some of my emotional shit for the past year or so, but now I think I'm ready to take it back.

tornado watch

outside,
the world is doused in
gold light.
the woman across the street
prunes her roses.
three hipsters
giggle
on the porch next door.
a mangy black cat prowls
the street, mistaking
the twinkle of wind chimes
for a nest of chirping birds.

inside,
bruiser and i are
still. (what does
a tornado look like?
what does it
feel like?

it feels like
waiting.)

"insatiable"

i found a new word
to describe how i feel
abt yr body,
pressed up against mine.
(you make me feel
like i am starving.)

i almost
feel embarassed saying it,
admitting that
i miss yr body,
miss intently staring
into yr eyes, searching for a pattern
of freckles
similar to the ones scattered
across yr back.

i miss yr curled fingers
tugging at my hair,
keeping time with yr
surprised moans and giggles
(a funny dialogue on
the sharpness of my teeth.)

the word "miss" is strange.
it's gone
before you even get the vowel out.
i remember the night i told you
that i missed you,
& you laughed because
you were still curled up
next to me. i hope
you now understand
what i meant

you were gone
before i even got to savor you,
before i had a chance
to get used to the taste
of you
heavy on my tongue.

now that you're gone
i spend my nights
rummaging in the kitchen,
trying to find a texture
that reminds me of
fucking you.

i'm caught-

somewhere
between
coffee ice cream &
stale
dinner rolls.

lonely freewrite

if i were to be honest with myself, i would admit that i'm unhappy. i dont like my life the way it is, i dont like myself the way i am. i feel lonely all the time, even when in a big room of people. sometimes big rooms feel the loneliest. i want to be someone's most important thing. but i want it to be someone who's also my most important thing. i dont think ive ever had that. if i were to be honest with myself i would admit that im lonely. this place is lonely. while walking to work, i heard the trees creaking- the wind was pushing their limbs back and forth, back and forth. i couldn't decide if that was their way of talking to eachother, or if they were about to break and snap in half. i like to be pessimistic- no, wrong word. positive. i like to be positive. when i think im going to have a bad thought, i try to talk myself out of it. if i think i am going to spend the whole day hiding in bed, i try to scold myself out of it. but if i were to be truly honest with myself, my biggest flaw is my lack of discipline. i cant get myself to do shit for shit. so i spend the days dreaming, and in my dreams, i have no body, just a spirit. and that spirit walks down empty streets and hides in city alleys and loves flowing water and taking the subway. my dream spirit has a jar where they keep all the teeth that fall out in their open palms, and sometimes they take that jar out to admire the sharp, white teeth, and smile their toothless grin and say, "how pretty."

r.i.p. childhood friend (2/13/11)

i remember us when we were young.
we two little girls,
not yet three,
sitting on my front steps, you
spitting sunflower seeds at my feet
and me sucking on the salt and
saving the insides for later.
we, inseparable at four,
singing and dancing at your bday party
(only two days before mine),
smothering cake all over our faces,
shoving icing covered fingers into our open mouths.

i remember that you were larger than life.
your head was always trying to
catch up with your body,
that expansive geography of
mountains and valleys and extensive plateaus.
even when we were kids, you
would pass your rolls of fat off for titties
(except for that summer, when
i came back and you moved away.
i was the one with the biggest titties on the block then, and
instead of boys flocking to me like they did you,
girls came running, wanting to see
what was hiding under my shirt.
that was the summer i started my first love affair
with my new neighbor. the one i said had
the ghetto name? we would meet
in my livingroom- she on the couch and me on the floor or
me on the couch and she on top of me and
she would lift up my shirt, struggle with my bra
and cradle my budding breasts like newborns.
i never told you about that, but i wanted to,
and i'm sure that's the summer where you came back to visit
and tried to get me to come out in your sly way.
you told me, "mali,
what's the point of boys? they're all trouble
anyways." and i mmed,
and you waited
and i changed the subject.

remember that time i bragged to you about smoking weed
for the first time? and little Rich from up the block
tried to sell us bud, but we told him
we had our own? so to look cool, we stole
your grandma's weed, and i felt bad about it but
you told me it was okay because she bought it
from my dad anyway. i remember
we rolled a joint the size of your middle finger
and we smoked the whole thing.
i said i didn't feel nothing, but when your grandma asked us
about it, the only answer i could muster was,
"bud?
what's that?"
i dont think she believed me, but she let me off the hook
and i wasn't allowed to come over for a little while.

i remember being seven on summer nights
and playing tag in the bushes that separated our houses or
catching lightning bugs in jars across the street
in front of the church because there adults couldnt hear
our whispers about naughty things like
the cute teen boys who just moved in
down the block and what sex must feel like.

you seemed to have so much freedom. you could
walk around the corner, past the crumbling apartment where
crackheads would stumble out during midday-
all the way to the gas station
to get a huggie and a bag of chips, you said, but
who knew what exciting adventures you might have had,
what interesting people you might have met?
my dad rarely let me go up and down the street.
i remember being so mad about that that. my big brother said
it was because me and him, we were
different. now i realize he meant that we were better.
back then, i didn't want to be
better. i wanted to be like you.
free to make my own choices. when your grandpa candy
asked me if i wanted to go on a ride on his motorcycle,
my little body shook with disappointment, because i knew
i had to say no. i sat on my front steps and
waited forever until you came back, half hoping that
you had toppled off, or one of the other
dangerous things my mom warned me about had come true.
instead,
you came back looking triumphant, your round cheeks
burning with the excitement of your trip, your
half-permed hair a messy halo around your head.
---


i remember us when we were young.

us two little girls, not yet three, sitting on my front steps, you spitting sunflower seeds at me (before i realized i was allergic) and me sucking on the salt and saving the insides for later. us, inseparable at four, singing and dancing at your birthday party (only two days before mine), smothering cake and icing all over our faces, and shoving it into our open mouths.

i remember that you were larger than life. your head was always trying to catch up with your body, that expansive geography of mountains and valleys and expansive plateaus. even when we were kids, you could pass your rolls of fat off for titties.
hmm. except that summer i came back when you had moved away. i was the one with the biggest titties on the block then, and instead of boys flocking to me like they did to you, girls came running, wanting to see under my shirt. that was the summer i started my first affair with my new neighbor. the one i said had the ghetto name? we would meet in my livingroom- she on the couch and me on the floor or me on the couch and she on top of me and she would lift up my shirt, struggle with my bra, and cradle my budding breasts like newborns. i never told you about that but i wanted to, and i'm sure thats the summer where you came back to visit and tried to get me to come out in your sly way. you told me, "mali, what's the point of boys? they're all trouble anyways." and i mmed, and you waited and i changed the subject.

remember that time i bragged to you about smoking weed for the first time, and little Rich from up the block tried to sell us bud, but we told him we had our own? so to look cool, we stole your grandma's weed, and i felt bad about it but you said it was okay because she bought it from my dad anyway. i remember we rolled a joint the size of your middle finger and we smoked the whole thing and i said i didn't feel nothing, but when your grandma asked us about it, the only answer i could muster is "bud? whats that?" i dont think she believed me but she left me off the hook, and i wasnt allowed to come over for a little while.

i remember being seven on summer nights and playing tag in the bushes that separated our houses or catching lightning bugs in jars across the street in front of the church because there the adults couldnt hear us whisper about naughty things like teen boys and what sex is and wearing makeup.

you seemed to have so much freedom. you could walk around the corner, down two blocks past the crumbling apartment where crackheads would stumble out during midday...all the way to the gas station to get a huggie and a bag of chips, you said, but who knew what exciting adventures you had, what new people you would meet? my dad rarely let me go up and down the street. i remember being so mad about that. my big brother said it was because me and him, we were different. now i realize he meant that we were better. i dont know if i agree with that... back then, i didnt want to be better.. i wanted to be like you. free to make my own choices. when your grandpa candy asked me if i wanted to go on a ride on his motorcycle, my little body shook with disappointment because i knew i had to say no. i sat on my front steps and waited forever until you came back, half hoping that you had toppled off, or one of the other dangerous things my mom warned me about had come true. instead, you came back looking triumphant, your round cheeks burning with the excitement of your trip, your half-permed hair like a messy halo around your head.

inspiration

"for i will be called
QUEEN. &
walk/move in
black/queenly/ways
and the world
shaken by
my Blackness
will channnNNGGEE
colors. & be
reborn.
BLACK. Again."

- Sonia Sanchez

last night

in my dream i watched a man in a tank get devoured by a shark. First the water in the tank was pink, then red, then burgundy. It would have been beautiful, if it wasn't for the tragedy.

"To see a shark in your dream, indicates feelings of anger, hostility, and fierceness. You are undergoing a long and difficult emotional period and may be an emotional threat to yourself or to others. Perhaps, you are struggling with your individuality and independence, especially in some aspect of your relationship. Alternatively, a shark represents a person in your life who is greedy and unscrupulous. This person goes after what he or she wants with no regards to the well-being and sensitivity of others. The shark may also be an aspect of your own personality with these qualities."

The shark was hungry, but it was the man's fault for being in the tank in the first place. No one told him to trust a shark. Instead, everyone blamed his partner for not feeding the shark. They called her a bad woman.

"To dream that others are bleeding, signifies an emotional cry for help."

It is easier than you think to turn your head, and walk away.