I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,

or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

Pablo Neruda, Sonnet XVII

I’ve always wondered what it feels like

To be loved out loud

By those who claim to love you

You, your best thing, Sethe. You are.

Toni Morrison, Beloved

I’ve always felt that the “c” acronym in c-suite for chief was a misnomer and the proper nomenclature was cock. “Cock Executive Officer,” “Cock Operations Officer,” “Cock Technology Officer,” “Cock ‘I’ll Make Up a Title’ Officer,” etc. etc. The cock-suite is filled with men where the only thing larger than the size of their balls, are their inflated egos. The cock-suite spend most of their time fighting amongst each other on important company matters such as comparing whose dick is bigger. The size of each dick is measured by their range of control.

The cock-suite told me I need to work on my personal branding…

Said they want to “invest in me” and craft a better “public image”

Aka be more like them

Less like me

But I don’t want to be buried in a suit

Every time I go to work I feel like I’ve got on this ugly ass ill-fitted suit

But I make it work even if I’m uncomfortable because I understand this is the uniform to do the job

In between the smiles, the handshakes, the seconds to breathe between meetings – my mind fasts forwards through the day –

and I can’t wait

I just can’t wait to get home

I fantasize about taking off this damn suit

Shaking my hair loose

Letting my breasts breathe

Branding is corporate speak for assimilation

So what they tellin me is that now I can never take off my suit

It’s crazy how the same suit that gets you in the door

Nails you to the floor

The cock-suite said I can’t say “fuck”

Even though they say “fuck”

And everyone else says “fuck”

No more branding budget for me

Fuck…

No more job for me

What the fuck!

What the?

The fuck?!

Fuck!

You…

FUCK YOU!

I got a whole lotta fucks to give

But none left for you

Wasted too much tryna grow balls too

Rule Number 1:

Always be worth more alive than dead.

Rule Number 2:

Never get too comfortable and forget rule number 1.

When I was younger I’d throw my phone whenever I got really mad

Smashed my nokia against concrete

Cracked my razr on brick

Skipped my sidekick across cobblestone

No phone or surface was safe from my wrath

Something about the smack of contact

Was oddly soothing to me

As I got older I got more materialistic

A phone actually meant somethin now

So I moved on to tossing people

Unlike phones,

When people hit the ground

They don’t bounce back

Editing is exhausting – it’s the rewriting, the rethinking, blah, blah. Sometimes I just want to write how I feel, in real time. And not give a fuck about the reach of the reader or even if there’s an audience. So, I’m doing just that. There’s so much freedom in expressing yourself in real time – the first time without all the added fluff and bullshit.

Today, I took out my nipple piercings and my belly button piercings. To most, it’ll seem like a non-event. But for whatever reason, it made me quite emotional. I realized I sort of did it for attention – to be viewed as edgy, or a modern woman, to claim my body first and its display. I wanted to feel desired, unique, in control. It’s weird how symbolic I made a material item and pinch of the skin that took seconds.

My belly button piercing I got when I was 16. I was in and out of my Mamaiay’s custody at the time and trying to figure out the emancipated minor system. Long story short, it’s fucked. I never had a say in where I went or stayed. My belly button piercing was the only way I knew how to take back control of my body and feel a bit rebellious. I did it myself.

My nipple piercings I got in March before my 29th birthday, exactly one year after I was sexually assaulted. It took me weeks of physical therapy to retrain my pelvic floor before I could use the bathroom comfortably again. I was an emotional mess this month, my counselor said it’s because our bodies keep score. She said our bodies sense anniversaries of traumatic events and relives them. Ornating my body helped me feel like it was more mine. From the inside out I was working out daily with my trainer to become stronger. From the outside in I felt sexy and powerful when my nipple rings would poke through my shirts when I didn’t wear a bra. Something about a nipple ring makes men pause. I required thought.

I’m reading this book right now called “The Untethered Soul” and there’s a chapter that talks about thorns and how we as humans deal with pain. Instead of taking out the thorn, which is our source of pain, we just implement guard rails that reduce the risk of aggitating the thorn and reactiving the pain. We build better and better protective tools, we trick ourselves into thinking the pain is no longer there. I think that’s what I did, I tried to brush the pain aside with pretty little gems sewn into my flesh. Cheap temporary jewerly, for a cheap temporary solution.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt like my body was mine – I always felt friction and suspectible to unwanted dialogue, critique, or touch from society, family, lovers, church, friends. A constant tug and pull of do I want to be invisible or do I reclaim my body by intentionally being seen?

My body

My body

Mine.

If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern.

William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell

Baby you got to wipe your lenses
I ain’t talkin’ bout just them glasses neither
Got all this soot talkin’ bout you can’t see clear
Can’t see it for what it is, just what you think
Walkin’ round like folks out here tryna get you
Like they aint got they own battles they losin’
See the thing about the world baby
It’s crueler than you could ever conceive
And kinder than you could ever imagine
Make sure you wipe ‘em lenses real good baby
Rub the glass down to its bone
You gonn’ see your reflection
Realize what you see ain’t the world
No that ain’t the world baby
That’s just
You

The people of this world are like the three butterflies in front of a candle’s flame. The first one went closer and said: I know about love. The second one touched the flame lightly with his wings and said: I know how love’s fire can burn. The third one threw himself into the heart of the flame and was consumed.  He alone knows what true love is.

Rumi

We bask at the potency of our words

How we make language and lovers bend

That we could sharpen knives with our tongues

We draw blood

To compare whose blade eats the most flesh

I do not want a love

Masked as manipulation

I do not want a love

Constructed as a game

The ember in your snarl

The bark in my belly

You say you’re still healing

I too am damaged

I too mistake spouts for clippers

I am cloaked with crater-wedged scars

Of all the fires, love is the only inexhaustible one.

Pablo Neruda

Some kindle the fire

Others attempt to extinguish the flame

Then there are those that wait all their lives

To sweep the ash

When I’m good, I’m very good, but when I’m bad, I’m better.

Mae West

One fuck

Two fucks

Three fucks

Four

How many fucks til they call you a whore?

Five fucks

Six fucks

Seven fucks

Eight

Pedestal pussy, use it as bait!

Nine fucks

Ten

Deny all the men.

i want you to know

this waz an experiment

to see how selifsh i cd be

if i wd really carry on to snare a possible lover

if i waz capable of debasin my self for the love of another

if i cd stand not being wanted

when i wanted to be wanted

& i cannot

so

with no further assistance & no guidance from you

i am endin this affair

this note is attached to a plant

i’ve been waterin since the day i met you

you may water it

yr damn self

Ntozake Shange

My Dearest Lawrence,

I Love You…

In this life, and however many more exist thereafter.

I don’t understand you…us, nor do I seek to.

I’ve been limited by intellect and fallacies of who we are and what the future holds.

Perhaps, life is best experienced centering emotion and the moment

– The pulse of our beings –

I want to feel. Everything.

Let’s be fools / that love / that live

Meet me in Paris.