Sometimes, it must be said.
A Friendly Reminder
Category: Friendship
Missed Miss
A Bisexual Woman’s Lament: I Don’t Need Valentine’s Day
An audio lamentation
Another day of love for lovers is here,
and I am unbothered by the frenzy and
unfulfilled purposed people struggling
to find the best gifts for others they
half love Monday through Thursday, and
find themselves wanting to be rid of by
Friday.
I smile. I smirk. I know where it all ends,
and sadly, where it will begin again, and
I say, “I don’t need Valentine’s Day to
express my love for another — to let them
know I truly care. If I love you, you know.
I tell you. I show you.”
And I get stares that seem to skitter
about from the eyes and roll off to
skim through my thoughts.
I said what I said.
And I meant it.
My mother is the only person who
can call me and say, “Happy Valentine’s Day,”
and I don’t flinch or cringe — she has done
it for decades now. Ain’t no stopping her.
The pressure that comes with this day
is abhorrent.
I have seen people take their last
$50.00 to semi-splurge on
things their loved one didn’t need.
And here we are, living during a time
when four gallons of gas will probably
cause you to get evicted.
Do what you want with your money, I know
what I will be doing with mine.
This day reappears yearly, and it’s the same
charade setting itself up on
bended knees to knock every participant
down and out before they can utter
half-hearted “I love yous.”
Commercialism at its finest.
And you’ll succumb. You’ll buy the roses.
You’ll book the restaurant reservation.
You’ll get the diamonds and pearls and
toe the line of bankruptcy to
fulfill an empty heart that only really
needs you — that only really needs . . . love.
I’ll try not to put my foot too far in my mouth,
because I am loving a woman who will
one day have me running out to find
the best thing suited for the whole of her — of who
she is — Valentine’s Day, included among all
others.
If it’ll draw that dimpled smile from her
face for eleven seconds, I’d succumb, too.
But for now, I don’t need Valentine’s Day.
It can’t have what I have and won’t give
me what I want — what I need.
I’ll sit back and watch and wonder
how much longer we’ll dive into
the moneymaking day of love that still
manages to leave people depressed
when the day is done.
We are knee-deep in its throes . . .
bound to sink in its making faster
than we ever could in quicksand.
Originally published at Prism & Pen via Medium.
cool
21 Years Later — We Still Support Each Other
I’m blessed to have her. I hope she’s blessed to have me, too.
If you know what it feels like to be walking on what you think is your last leg — limping on worn-out shoes, tortured feet, and trying to carry the weight of your body with the world resting on your shoulders and a special someone is right there for support . . . then, you are blessed. You have been given a gift God handpicked for you, and you should cherish it.
I have someone in my life who has been a force — strength when I have waded through rough waters with little breath to give to anyone else, and she still hangs in here with me.
She has accomplished so much. I am motivated by her ambition. Her managerial skills impress me. Her presence when she enters a room demands the attention of everyone around her, and it is a sight to witness.
I feel nothing but happiness when she is around. We can laugh for hours at the silliest thing or the corniest movie. The older we get, these things do not change.
When you can find peace in the presence of someone else that also lends peace to you to share with someone else, that is the beauty of life that knows no bounds.
Just like any two best friends, we have had our trials. Tribulations came and attempted to conquer. However, we stood firm on their rocky paths. The shakier they seemed to get, the mightier we became. Nothing could shift our spirits and move us away from who we were meant to be.
When you have seen someone at their worst and what you gain from being a witness is strength and revelation, then you hold on to that person. You hold on to their love. You tie yourself to the very thought of their existence and you thank God for thinking about you in your season of need.
A lot of us will never know the beauty of this love — this kind of friendship. Many of us will not allow ourselves the vulnerability we will need to strip down and be our naked true selves to someone else in order to gain this type of understanding — this bond.
I am happy to know I have moved through embracing the hard parts of me and willing them to become soft. Walking through this time of my life opened up doors for me and my best friend. It strengthened our communication skills and made us tap into growth factors, too.
21 years later and we are stronger than we have ever been. Together as one, we have skipped down dusty roads meant to break our bones. And we are continuing on a journey that seems to be a settled place of welcome with an overwhelming dose of calm.
I do not want to know a world without her in it — without her standing by my side and lifting me up when the gloominess of life is pulling chunks out of my heart.
Whenever we see each other, we pull one another into a hug that says, “Hey, girl. Just stay right here for this moment in this embrace for a while longer. Don’t let go — not yet.” And we rock and we sway and we step back and look at each other in awe.
We’re still here — still making each other’s days — still sharing laughs and joy; still being who we are unashamed and with no excuses.
Stronger together, come what may.
©2023 Tremaine L. Loadholt
This piece is in response to the CRY “Stronger Together” writing prompt.
Originally published in CRY Magazine via Medium.
taken
I am taken aback by her — by
who she is, what she does, and
how she moves about in
this world.
she is bold — passionate about
life and her surroundings, and
I stand on faltering feet,
wondering when I’ll be
able to l o o s e this confession
curdling my spirit.
I am eating my words
for dinner, submerging my
heart into overflowing waters,
stunted by fears that
tangle my tongue.
women need to come with
instruction manuals, and an
extra five dollars behind
their ears — I got tolls to
pay every time I lose
myself in one of them.
I get shy around her–nerves
tighten my stomach muscles,
and I play hide-n-seek with
my words.
why am I like this?
does she notice?
will she say something?
and every day we
shoot the shit like I
ain’t dreaming about cuffing
her to the base of my heart
and whipping her hips
under my arms.
“I’m a sinner. I’m a saint.”
and I no longer feel
shame in this skin I’m in,
but this woman . . .
this fine, Black woman,
skips and dashes,
slips and thrashes her
way into my mind more
than I realize, and I
am taken aback by her
again and again and
again.
*Track playing in the background: Sade, Is It a Crime?
A Cornered Gurl 
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