Category: Friendship

Every Day, I Am Growing into Who I Want To Be

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And I love this woman so much

Woman finding comfort. Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash
Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

I buy a few things that give me peace; fuzzy socks, The Light We Carry by Michelle Obama, amber, sandalwood, and lavender-scented candles, and sink into the first days of the new year losing pain and heartache, yet honoring grief.

A mourner does not need to discuss their mourning.

I take down the Christmas decorations before the 1st can whisper “goodbye,” and I feel complete relief. The space I missed is free of red and green colors and thistles from an aging artificial tree.

I have found my way into a friend’s heart who is a crush — who has found herself attached, too. She doesn’t want to be. I can tell. But here the two of us are — wading through unknown waters. And while I’ve been writing about and focused on her for a year and six months, she is succumbing.

I have a penchant for falling silent when I am angered. I do this to review what I should say — think about how I should approach the subject. She is the opposite — what comes to her at that moment is spouted and sprayed in your direction without warning.

A day chanced upon us and a rebuttal of hers had silenced me, which she’d recognized immediately when I did not return a response. My behavior placed her in a space to understand my silence as a warning — to embrace it as the moment of calm before a storm.

Others were witnesses — knowing her slight, she acknowledged my silence and advised them she needed to step away to check on me. Funny thing is, I’d been distracted. I moved to silence to take care of something else, but she now knows what triggers me — what causes me to shell up for just a bit before I make my presence known again.

Her birthday is coming up, and I made simple purchases; some things to brighten up her day. Nothing major. I love gift-giving on a budget. I love seeing the lives in my life circle the sun again.

I await the day I will share these with her.

Reflection has become my go-to maneuver for comfort

At this stage in my life, I reflect more. I find a comfortable space, sit back, read, then connect the stories of the books I have read with moments and events in my life.

It is an odd practice, yes, but it brings me the sustainability I have been seeking.

The dog, who is also aging, jumps into my lap and fetal-positions herself without my consent, and I allow her this peaceful display. I sip my choice of decaffeinated coffee and close my eyes.

“When will I move past the past?” “When will I allow myself permission to feel love again?” “How can I discern love and admiration from lust and temptation?”

I reflect to ensure I can still determine what is best for me. I reflect to ensure I can admit wrong and accept defeat. I reflect to ensure I will conquer my demons before they can stifle me into the pits of total despair.

Tradition no longer stimulates me

As I read through various posts on Instagram and WordPress, I noticed people who I follow sharing the vibes they wanted and the foods they intended to have for New Year’s Day. I tilted my head and whispered to myself, “I no longer crave tradition.”

I detest black-eyed peas, and I already had collard greens for Christmas. Cabbage had not been a craving, so I did not cook it, either. Instead, on the first day of the new year, I made barbecued chicken wings, steamed asparagus, and roasted red potatoes.

I did not invite a man to be the first person to walk through my door. I did not do laundry the day before or take the garbage out, either.

These things I did on the actual holiday, itself. I did them because I can — because they needed to be done — because when I did them; I wanted to.

Unbound to tradition or superstition, I still awakened with God-issued breath in my lungs on Monday, January 02, 2023.

I am growing as a plant-mom, and this warms my heart

I love my plants. I have a peace lily named Dora, a croton named Lyric, and a crossbreed aloe vera succulent named Jupiter.

I have shared a story or two where I mentioned them before, but I document their progress. I construct videos/reels via Instagram, and I share photos as well.

It is a thing of beauty to watch life take place before my eyes.

I am a witness to inescapable barriers of constant growth with these three, and it warms my heart.

I love this woman so much

Every day, I am growing into who I want to be, and the peace that comes along with this is indescribable. I no longer wait for anyone’s approval as it pertains to things I want to do for myself.

I do not seek anyone’s opinion on what I believe is best for me and my life.

I no longer search for love in the hearts of those who have not yet found it for themselves. Sometimes, this can be a hard one. With the crush, she’s here . . . I know she’s here, but deep down, I also know there is the impending possibility we will only be able to be friends. And for me, that is okay, too.

I cater to myself more fondly and with a passion, I could not conjure up for at least three years.

I love myself in the totality of the word “love”, and I imagine great things for my mind, body, and soul for the future ahead.

I am not the same person I used to be, and for this, I am eternally grateful.

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

Your Silence Is HURTING My Ears​

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It’s funny that silence can hurt your ears. But I guess your ears aren’t any different than your heart.

Your Silence Is HURTING My Ears​

Because this just touched me in a way I didn’t think it would. I understand. I relate. Maybe you can or did, too, at some point in your life.

Pay Belladonna a visit. You will not be disappointed.

Peace and blessings.

sustenance

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a tanka

Pictured Poetry. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

On some mornings, I reminisce while I’m cooking; I think about him, think about her, and then I move on.

*For those of you who might be wondering about the non-traditional usage of the form: I went with 5-7-5-7-5 instead of 5-7-5-7-7 syllables for this one. Also, it’s about food & love; not your typical tanka subjects. Sometimes for literary art, you’ve gotta be a bit of a rebel.

Coupling of a Different Kind

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Photo by Mpho Maponyane on Unsplash
Coupling of a Different Kind

I’m the person who makes her feel better.
and it’s light and airy and innocent …
there are days that pummel her
into submission, and I sense them.
I am ready with a “Hey, are you okay?”
and the response is an honest one — 
one that lets me know, she’s holding 
on, too.
“I am trying to be.”

I know that place.
I live in that place more than
I care to admit,
that place is a place where
we find ourselves lost and
wandering aimlessly through
time and actions, and if anyone
is available to save us, we’ll
run straight to them.

she doesn’t need saving, though.
she needs a listener.
I listen. 
I crack jokes.
I talk about the things in life
that make no sense and we agree
as we work and she monitors
my time on calls and I shift
from one aspect of work to another.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” I say. how we can
struggle together and open up
long enough to let the other in?
she agrees. we can chat for
hours about things that crush us.

I know where she’s been. 
I know how I got through it,
how I am getting through it, and
we’re both walking different paths,
but it feels like our destinations
aren’t too far from one another.
I offer her a ride.

“Since we’re headed in the same direction.”

there was a wall there — there was.
I have always had a knack for chipping
away at them and sliding through 
undetected, and before you know it,
one’s bare before me — their past becoming
one with mine.

it is an amazing thing to see someone
walk away from themselves, pull up
a seat next to another ailing heart,
and release like there will be no tomorrow.
she’s so beautiful when she’s fragile.
she’s even more so when she’s strong.

the hard exterior comes through
on days when patients have gotten
their full fill of long hold times and
the glitches of shoddy software can 
eat through the cores of our patience.
I can see her falter — lose her sense of peace.

And I step in — “Are you going to make it?”

a simple question returns a simple answer.
and we move on from that place
that can turn into darkness if
I do not send enough light, but I do.
and she waits for it.

and even when my darkest days
salsa right before me, I can 
remove my stilettos, slip my
gown over my head, sling my 
jewelry across the room, and
invite her to get naked with me.

and there in the most silent
of silences, we stand — free 
of inhibitions, wary no more, 
aware that whatever else may come,
we have the tools to
conquer it.

Originally published in Intimately Intricate via Medium.