innocuous.

You write when it suits you, thinking it's innocuous. It isn't to me.

I can't even explain why I allow such access. I know the feelings have faded. At least that is the case for me. But there's a tether, a something. It's quite ambiguous. Something I can't quite explain.

I've cut you off before.

My bigger question is- why? What is it you're seeking? You know I won't come back. You know I only think of you when you reach out.  That's all it is- think, and let it go. So why reach out?

Questions I won't have answered, and I don't care to pursue. I'm curious, it's true. Not curious enough to pursue it.

You wish me the best, tell me you think of me often. What is it you're hoping to convey? I could tell you to stay away from me, give me peace. So why don't I? I can't answer that today either.

Shhh. My brain is busy.

I am currently hiding in my bedroom.

Why you might ask? Because I'm peopled out. It happens.

I may or may not have lied to my friends today, because I couldn't even fathom socializing.

So I lied, took myself to dinner, caught up with one of my favorite bartenders at one of my favorite restaurants, (she always remembers my order, which I know isn't really a thing. But I feel so damn special anyway), then sang off-key to Hoobastank and the Subways whilst driving around town... because I didn't want to be around anyone.

Afterwards I came home, and made a bee-line for my bedroom.

I can't always get away from the cacophony of sound between my ears. Then the thought of being around anyone while I'm...well...overthinking- sounds awful. So I run. Listen to not so great music. Well, I think the music is fantastic, but whatever.

Someone I know recently referred to themselves as high strung, because they said the wheels are always turning in their head. I actually woke up next to said person the other morning, pondering things like... well, so much fucking randomness. Things that were so far from pertinent.

So you know, I'm coping by uh... proper amounts of healthy avoidance.

Anyone else feel like they want, or need to run away? But since joining the circus isn't a thing anymore, you can't really run. You just find ways to avoid your life, within your life.

Like hiding in my bedroom. Blogging to no one in particular. Most likely sounding like a psycho hose beast... BECAUSE I'M CURRENTLY TALKING TO MYSELF WHILE TYPING THIS. OUT LOUD.

I don't have a pretty ending to this, except I'm going to finish this episode of Dollface, Then burrow under my covers, and hope my brain resets tomorrow. All the mers.

a constant craving.

I crave your touch.

A newer sensation, as I would never had said I was one for wanting to be touched. Occasionally, maybe fleetingly before. They say never say never.

Is it because it's your primary language? Your words are rarer morsels, but your touch given more often. I'm not sure. I don't want to chase the thought either. Maybe one day I'll know.

My aversion has always been there. Touch was something taken from me at times when I didn't want to give it. I haven't felt that with you. If anything, I notice it more when you don't touch me. Odd thing, that.

When I submit to you, it's my choice. I'm not callously throwing myself at someone who won't appreciate what they're being given- a part of me. You're not taking more than you ought.

I look into your eyes in the more intimate moments, and get lost. My aversion to eye contact having fallen away, which hasn't been the case before. I've told you a bit about that. I haven't told you I always kept them closed in moments like those. Always.

The boops on the nose, the nuzzling. The kisses that deepen, and the kisses that don't. All of it.

a constant craving.

safety.

You nuzzled into my braids, and I was undone. Its one of my favorite kinds of touch- encircled in your arms, you holding me close. My muscles relaxed, the remaining tension from a long travel day lost, seeping out of my body. My curvature meeting yours. 

I closed my eyes, and let out a long sigh... I knew I was safe there. 

Do you know? Do you know you're safe here- with me?

You say these things. Little things. About your inabilities. To emote, to let someone in. Maybe to feel to a fuller capacity. Alarm bells ring in my ears- listen to what they are telling you. The absence of "feeling" is the presence of pain. 

I still don't want to fix you. Truly. 

I do want to hold space for you. Maybe even give you an inkling of what you've given me- 

hope. 

I'm beginning to dismiss time- its arbitrary to me now. I do feel like I'm getting to know you. Our shared experiences allowing for more insights into you. That being said, a line from Cinderella plays in the back of my head, "Am I making believe I see in you a (man) too perfect to be really true?" Perfect is a false construct, but I know why this phrase plays over and over in my brain. My mistake before has been to fall for potential. It's a reminder to ask myself- is that what's happening here?

I don't believe so. It goes back to the little things. The thoughtful gestures, touch. You're growing vocabulary with me. I feel, as well as see your efforts towards me. They aren't grand, obnoxious or overblown.  but I wouldn't want them to be. Things are being earned here. Trust- in both yourself, and me. 

I'm growing braver in my expression- not to force your hand, or create undue influence. I hope you know that. I trust you. It was there from the beginning. There was something innate here. I don't expect you to be the same. I'm constantly reminded I'm built just off of center. 

Maybe if I'm luckily, you are too. 

proper courting

Maybe it's maturity. Maybe it's the cataloging of my experiences. What does it say about me- How much I'm surprised by feeling this way?

I have to give myself permission for the mistakes of my past. Allowing for one suitor, and then another, and another to not live up to what I wanted, very possibly needed. Letting the people I loved, or thought I loved to treat me as less than- ever. To fetishize me, pigeonhole me. Not support me in my dreams, the way I supported them in theirs. Giving myself away, for a chance at someone I was afraid I might never have. Instead breaking my own heart over and over again.

How is it someone I haven't known long makes me feel safe? Safe to feel, safe to express myself. To sit in my sadness, and not try to fix me. Because I'm not broken. Neither are they. Their quiet support, their nonjudgemental demeanor- part of me is sad I'm so surprised. Surprised they exist.

This isn't me putting them on a pedestal. Far from it, actually. I think it's seeing clearly- both them and me. Standing in my truth, and not feeling afraid. It's simple- saying what they mean. Meaning what they say. Not pouring honey in my ear, to no ones benefit. Listening to me. Taking in stride my curiosity, an inquisitiveness born from wanting to know them better. Showing me their flaws, and commiserating with me over mine. Asking me questions- no one asks me questions. Partly my fault, but still. They don't let me avoid them.

I'm thankful for each tryst, each quiet moment laying on the couch, or cuddling up next to them. Waking up to them making fun of my sleep noises, because I know it isn't born from malice. Them looking at me through one eye, because they aren't awake yet either.

I didn't know. I didn't know what proper courting was. I didn't know I could feel so free, to just sit in this skin. Built as I'm built. To feel wanted this way. I hope they know, it's mutual.

It's a lung qi kind of feeling.

I cried as I went over my notes.

Tears running down my face, as I repeatedly wrote out page after page in short hand, to help myself memorize it all. I don't remember things the way I used to. Beethoven playing in the background, drowning out unwanted sounds.

I was asked today why I felt such a strong need to go back to school again. I had my cookie cutter answers ready. The ones people expect to hear. Just adding more tools to my practice, life long student, making sure I have job security. Of course I'm loving it. These answers only contain a grain of truth.

The deeper truth is twofold- I know I need to be able to stand on my own two feet. I can never, nor should I expect anyone to take care of me. If anything has been reinforced over and over for me is- no one will come in riding on their snow white steed to sweep me off my feet, and take care of me. Not emotionally, not financially. So I build myself up again and again, finding more and more ways to shore up an almost unwanted independence. In truth, it's not even that I want to be saved. Maybe knowing there's someone who just wants to. Who wants to "save"me, but will never really need to.

Secondly, I don't think there will be a day I trust my own intelligence. I will never be smart enough. Enough, enough. So I strive for more and more information to force into my brain. Maybe, just maybe I can know enough to feel like I'm not lagging behind in some way.

So I cry while I study. I hit my pillow exhausted at night, oftentimes not to sleep well. Fitfully turning over and over in my sleep. I've been told I twist and turn, making small noises with every movement.

It's not for lack of interest in the information. Of course I'm picking things I find fascinating. Things hopefully stimulating enough that I can lie to myself a bit- you're doing this just because you're passionate. That of course is such a small percentage of what drives me.

I imagine this won't be the last time I cry through my studies. Here's hoping for different reasons.

The longest goodbye.

Part of me wants badly to hate you.

I realize now, you chose. Of all your opportunity, you chose not to act. Once I understood, once I opened up to you...

No matter now. As much as I mourn what was lost, I'm thankful. As much as what's happened since scares me, it's because of you. You opened the door.

Possibilities. Things I couldn't have imagined for myself...Things and people I thought were beyond my reach.

I thought I wanted so badly for it to be you, to build and love around you. I wasn't honoring myself. Respecting myself. Hearing my needs play out.

The truth is- a suitable partner wouldn't have let me- they wouldn't have let me give all of myself away. They wouldn't have waited, for all the time you did. You know I don't believe in bad timing, but you did.

Sometimes I wonder where you are, how you are. But this missing is in the periphery- I'd allowed you to break my heart too often. That's my fault.

I am not an idea. I was always clear about what I wanted. You knew. You knew.

You were more than an idea for me. I wonder if you know that? Not just a safety net. Not a just in case.

It's a true goodbye now. The kind you can't take back. The kind grand gestures can't erase, and good memories can't wash away. That's all you are now- a memory. Years worth of what ifs, culminating into a never could be.

Goodbye. Good luck. I hope for your sake, I was worth the losing. It took me far too long to realize-you were losing far more than I was.

Securely insecure

"Your demeanor changed..."

In recent years I've worked to go back to how I was when I was little, allowing for my thoughts and feelings to be writ plainly on my face. I coached my features in the between years to do the opposite, which in turn forced thoughts and feelings inward. "Conceal it, don't feel it." Who knew a goddamn Disney song could call me out exactly as I needed to be. That all being said, it's difficult now when someone sees or senses I'm off kilter. As if my body betrayed me, doing something I taught it to do.

When they said those words to me I was struggling not to be reactionary, hiding behind the mechanical movements of my hands. Not looking them in the eye- they caught that too. I was afraid I'd betray myself further. My body language had already turned protective.

When they pulled me close afterward, I struggled to stay present. To be there with them in the moment, not chasing the rabbit elsewhere. The let go happened gradually, me leaning into and concentrating on them more so than anything else. It's something I've been greatly comforted by, the connection we have there.

 I'd inadvertently tapped into a fissure I naively hoped had been worked past. I led them into a narrative they didn't help co-write, but unwillingly played the role opposite of mine. One where all my deepest fears and leftover emotional scars boiled over into feeling. Not feeling wanted, or good enough. Deep set thoughts, attached to everything from rejection because of my skin color by someone I thought I'd loved, my own doubts in whether I'm deserving of any kind of love, and finally to a belated realization I don't think I've ever had someone truly fight for me to be theirs. Someone I've wanted in equal measure.

They haven't once communicated any of these things to me. I rationally knew that. We all know of course, rational thought doesn't always conquer the insecurities we've stock piled over time.

I woke up the next morning frustrated with myself, working hard to hide my face so they couldn't see the processing happening there. When they kissed me, I felt an earnestness- a want to communicate with them, without my words. I was okay, better than the night before.

Through sodden eyes I drove away from them, allowing the space growing between our bodies to process why things came to a head for me the night before.

 I don't want to hurry things. Really, I don't. It's a mistake I've made in the past. One they told me they have too. We're both still healing from our past, and trying to put ourselves first.

I'm equally glad I didn't shoot from the hip and tell them all my thoughts as they came to me so clearly unfiltered, and frustrated because for the first time I've known them I wasn't honest. I know I don't have to tell them everything. But I want to.

I don't want to make another mistake I often have- set expectations and assumptions, instead of openly communicating with the other person. I'm struggling seeking reassurance, in a place filled with gray. They have economized theirs words, it's true. But I don't want to fill the spaces of their silence with the kinds of thoughts that will without a doubt end the story here. Never giving it a chance to seek its potential- whatever that may be.

They don't give me the nervous feeling in my stomach others have. Their flaws are as attractive as their attributes, someone just as comfortable in their skin as they aren't. Last night was the first time I'd projected onto them, otherwise I haven't tried to fill in the blanks. Just spent time, asked questions, and listened.

They are captivating and fascinating to me. For the first time I can remember- I don't want to fix them. Another mistake I've often made, pouring myself into someone else until they're filled up and whole, and I have nothing left. I might be wrong, but I think I've surprised them as much as they've surprised me.

I don't want to borrow trouble, as much as I don't want to leap forward. How do I do it? How can I find comfort here, without all the classical bullshit we've been taught to expect? They don't want to make promises they can't keep, and I don't want them to. I don't want to either. Something I'm sure will continue to occupy my musings, for now at least. Being securely insecure.

You can take your dating, and shove it.

Dear dating-

Fuck. You.

Yeah, I said it. This is a whole bunch of bullshit. I'm calling bullshit on the whole thing.

I don't wanna do it. I hate the audition of it. Asking the umpteenth person where they're from. What they like to do. Oh- and fall into the female archetypes expected on a date.

Listen, if we're going to eat, then I'm gonna actually eat. And by eat, I mean order more than I should, and never finish it. I'll still want dessert too. No, I don't expect you to pay for all of it either. So calm your roll there, buster.

I also like to have a drink or two. Wine, beer, gin and tonics. Okay, okay- margaritas too. That's beside the point. I'm not dainty, I'm not classy. I'm not gonna giggle at your jokes if I don't find them funny. I will absolutely laugh at mine- because I know I'm hilarious.

I know what I want, and I don't want to do this dance. This may be coming across as bitter, and I'm gonna be all kinds of honest- I don't really care.

I'm a catch, who wants a family someday and someone who isn't gonna get bent when I want to eat in bed. Or constantly be in bed. Or not wear pants. It's a thing. What else can I tell you? I'm queer, identify as she, I'm black, I'm smart, done a lot of randomness, travelled... uhhhh. I'm sure there's more. Just ask. P.s.-  I don't necessarily want all of these things with you, or tomorrow. I want to take my time, and sort it out.

Let's just get the awkwardness out of the way, see if we like and want the same things. Then let's hang out and see if we can tolerate the way the other person squeezes the toothpaste. Or chews their food. Or if we are compatible big and little spoons. Priorities people, priorities. My top love languages are acts of service, quality time, and communication. I seem to fall for people who's top language is touch, which I'm not mad at. I'm a damn good cuddler.

Also! If we have sex early on, no judgement. I want to know if I want to drive the car. Buy the car? Whatever the turn of phrase is. You know what the hell I mean. I have a healthy sex drive... as I damn well should. You should too. Or you know, shuffle off with someone who doesn't.

What's the point of my rambling today? There isn't. I don't even think this is my first blog about this. I just didn't feel like deep diving into my old writings to see if I was repeating myself. Who cares anyway?

Ah well, we will see what happens. And by we, I mean me and whoever decides this silly rant is worth a read.

Cheers to whoever the person is I end up with, who reads this back to me one day and says, "So that's why you jumped me the first night, and looked at my toothpaste?"

Damn fucking right.

Hope vs. Envy

I used to often be so envious of others.

When I was younger it was the color of their skin, or their hair. A bit older it was of their significant others, or their children. We've all heard the phrase, "The grass is always greener"...

Then something fell into place for me, especially in more recent times. When I realized all I was searching for, I already had. Of course I still have dreams. My dreams are no longer based on what others may have that I do not. They aren't based on them at all- it's all with me.

I don't even want to say I'm lucky. I don't necessarily think it's luck. I think the life I have thus far is the life I was supposed to have. Filled with love and loss, with friends who are like family. Even family who are strangers to me. My friends and cousins children calling me their aunt, asking advice. Giving me a taste of parenthood.

I've learned I can choose. Choose who I associate with. Choose who to love. Choose how to live. There's so much freedom in that. No longer fretting over things I can't and will never control. If having a family is in the cards, it will happen. If having a forever with someone, that too. To honor How much I've seen, achieved, failed, learned- all of that is of equal importance. So I'll concentrate my attention there,

To not stand here and enjoy the feeling of the sun on my face is doing a disservice to all the opportunity I am afforded. Of course that doesn't mean I won't have moments. Be sad, or withdrawn. I am human.

But no more envy. No more longing. Just hope.

the idea of you.

I miss the idea of you.

The cleaned up, whimsical version. The one where we wanted the same things, or at least told one another that. I miss the dream, the fantasy, the hope. The one with its soundtrack of only good notes, and brilliant color. Isn't it funny how in looking back, we can easily strip our memories down to this?

I miss how closely we thought we fit. How my feelings for you saw past the cracks in both our armors. The tell tale signs of an eventual parting. I thought maybe there was a void to be filled, rather than someone enhancing what I already had.

The idea was and is not the reality. No one fits perfectly, I know that. I've always known, but didn't want to believe. It's a fantastical construct plenty of us would like to trust in. The truth is, I think I loved all of you to my fullest capacity at the times we met. Whether stunted, or whole hearted, it was all I had with you.

I know I miss the good, because I am afraid. Afraid though we weren't suited, I won't find someone who is. So of course it's far easier to look back and rewrite my history. Question what brought me here, and wonder what it would be like if I gave things another chance.

That can't be. I can't go back. I'm more whole now than I ever was. More myself, in this moment. With the possibility of a forever with someone who doesn't want to change me. Who wants to grow with me, learn with me, fight with and for me.

Of course there can be a sense of loss, but that doesn't mean I have to entertain a lack of hope. I know I am a part of someone else's dream, as they are a part of mine. And I've made myself a promise- not to fall for an idea. I am more than that, so are they.

palate cleanse

"I love you". Words one should look forward to hearing, and saying.

In the last year when I heard them, they were said in a way I couldn't trust. It felt manipulative, and insincere. The situations those three words were used were very different, but the result was the same. A lack of reciprocity on my end.

I don't want to move ahead afraid of hearing those words again. Or of saying them myself. I don't want to carry a lack of trust. I want to be open to love, not afraid of how it comes to me. I also don't want to be afraid of loving someone back. It's funny- I never thought I'd ponder a thought process like this.

It's about the choosing. Choosing to go back into the world with an open heart and mind. Slipping my rose colored glasses back on, and staying open to the possibilities. I'm started to become excited again, for whomever is out there. Cheers to what and who comes next.

own it.

I'm quick to take on all the blame. Instead of only owning my faults, I own the faults of the others as well.

The truth is- I am more than my mistakes. So are you. The difference being, you want to lay them at my doorstep as well. That's not something I'll allow for you to do any longer.

Your words were so easy, but your actions less so.

Imagine what it could have been like- if you had any follow through? If you hadn't let your fear dictate your choices?

I am constantly afraid, but moving forward. What about you?

I am flawed, but aware. Unashamed, not unyielding. My pride is intact, but I'm not above admitting if I've done wrong.

You on the other hand...

singular.

"But you are different."

I'm honestly starting to wonder when I'll believe it. I never wanted to believe I was special. I took all the negative connotations wrapped within that, because of course I can't give myself an inch. Especially in this day and age, when people are clamoring to have a singular voice. Here I am, writing in a public blog... that can be taken all the ways one wants to take it.

Most days I enjoy standing in this skin. Most days I'm happy with who and what is in my life, and how I navigate it. Then there are the other days, I wish I was far more boring. I'd married so and so, taken that job, all of the "normal" routes that supposedly lead to happiness. Or at least what I fathom happiness is. But that very well might not be in the cards for me. Because of me doing things my way. Funnily enough, I don't even do these things on purpose, not always premeditated. I just... do them.

It's that fucking drumbeat I dance to, the rose colored glasses I wear. My belief in people, in dreams. I might very possibly be the most naive woman standing on the surface of this planet. Makes me wonder if some of the things I dream about will ever come to fruition.

I also want to believe if and when I find a person to be on the journey with me, they will understand I'm the hardest on myself. I am afraid of myself. I'm only just realizing how much I get in my own way. There are all kinds of special. This is one of them.

I'm wondering if I'll ever lean into my difference. If someone will fully appreciate it. And if I'll be comfortable more often than not in me. 

she was wearing a hawaiian shirt...

That first kiss was something else. 

We were both standing there, awkwardly on my front porch. We'd extended the night as long as we could. From dinner, to walking all about downtown, to failing to find a place for a drink three times before we finally found somewhere we could actually hear one another. I remember being so nervous the entire night, I could barely look you in the eye. I kept doing that nervous giggle... so embarrassing. You made me feel better by telling an embarrassing story about something you'd done that day. You let me know how nervous you'd been to meet me too. 

I'd wanted to kiss you the whole night. The compulsion seemed to come from no where, but there it was. I took the lead, and I don't regret it. I still wonder if you would have kissed me if I hadn't said anything. If I hadn't referenced a scientific study, then had to explain the damn thing because who the hell does that to let someone know they want to be kissed?

 I felt that kiss down to my toes. I liked the way you felt, tasted. 

The rest of the story, well- we did our best to flub it, didn't we? I'll get to keep the kiss though. The euphoria surrounding that moment.

You'd think we'd learn how to get out of our own ways. To forgive, to trust, to try. The good thing is though, in moments like that kiss, none of that matters. 

clear the air.

I haven't wanted to write at length for awhile.

Firstly- I was taken aback by peoples reactions to my posts. Turns out, a lot more people than I thought read the ish I write. All of the sudden I felt pressure to produce, which meant what I was writing wasn't genuine. Nothing like doubting your ability to do something that comes very naturally to you.

Secondly- everything I was writing was shit. I was projecting outward, away from myself. Thoughts and feelings about people and things happening around me. I was frustrated with circumstance, and with things beyond my control. I wasn't controlling the controllables. A good vent has a time and a place, but not the things I wanted to write about presently. They were inflammatory, accusatory, and often coming from a place of hurt. I can't tell you how many drafts I've erased in the last month alone.

Lastly- because what I post here can be left up to interpretation. Sometimes I like that. Sometimes I don't. When I write, a great deal of emotion is lost. Strong feelings of course can be conveyed through type, but so much can be lost too. I felt like I was doing a lot of explaining. I have to be alright with inviting that, especially with an open platform like this.

This blog is a snapshot into how I think and feel. The quotes, the pictures- they hold space for me. Sometimes a vulnerable one, sometimes a prideful one. It really runs the full gamut of emotions. I'm flawed, always learning, and so far from perfect. But I don't want to be perfect. I don't ever intend to hurt with my actions and words, but that happens sometimes too.

This is personal, so I take how people react to what I write personally. 

For everyone still along for the ride, thank you. For those who end up being part of my narrative- well, I didn't ever say I was easy to love, did I?

A personal dislike.

This isn't a new story. The themes, the reasons... The only new bit is for me to write it out, for really anyone to read. I'm not writing what comes next for any amount of sympathy either. If after reading, you think it's a good idea to just "check in to see how I'm doing" you can kindly fuck off.

That being said- I'm about to write some fucked up shit about myself.

I often don't like myself. It's a thing. I can't tell you when it started either. The older I get, the less frequent. Still, it happens enough. "But Niki, you seem so happy all of the time? Content and what not". That's just as true. This is where things not being as easy as black and white comes into play. Layers, things being dynamic... and well, an ability honed early to fake the shit out of the bad days.

Anyway, I at least know I was young. Not too too young. My earliest days are ones I imagine in technicolor, and can hear the theme songs of my youth playing in the background- DJ'd by my amazing parents, of course. Maybe it's when I hit puberty, that absolute minefield most of us barely got out of alive. Well, whenever the hell it began, it's when I started to notice things. Don't get me wrong, during the technicolor years I wasn't necessarily naive. I knew I fit into the "other" category before all the big changes happened.

Then things came into focus. Those of you who wear glasses know what I mean. Between looking at the world without them, and then slipping your glasses up the bridge of your nose. That snap moment when your eyes adjust, and whoa. I realized all I was, and that knocked me for a six. I was a little colored queer girl, who people wouldn't like for all of the above.

I didn't grow up in the dark ages. Gay wasn't as taboo, but still. Being black wasn't like the age of Jim Crow, but come on. Women's lib had kicked into gear so long before, but fack. Different parts and people in the world were telling me I had things wrong with me. Things that made me a sinner, things that made me a second class citizen- even things that at one point were considered a mental illness. I internalized it. I chewed and swallowed the the lies, and vitriol.

I got it, and I still do- not everyone is going to like you. You can't control what people think and feel about you, you shouldn't care. Good on you to the people who can do that. I'm telling you, it chips away at you. One micro aggression after another. People who fit into any of the categories I listed above will get it- you never get to turn it off. So I started to genuinely dislike myself. Becoming resentful. My hair, my looks, who I fell for. I could hide aspects, absolutely. I could "technically pass" if I took certain measures, all the while compiling more and more reasons to dislike me.

This early dislike, this tearing myself up inside I think is 100% why I focus so much on my love life, and why it has been the sweeping ridiculous journey it's been.

All I've ever wanted was for someone to love me unconditionally.

I can say with absolute certainty I have never had that from a significant other.

I often can't see what other people do- an accomplished woman, beautiful, capable, strong, opinionated, nurturing, respectful, and loving. Turn it all on it's head- that's what I see. Failing, ugly, spineless, worthless, hateful, undeserving. It's that punch to the gut kind of a feeling again and again. The exotic bird who can't see the beauty in her feathers, just her difference.

Yea, yea I know the lines that come next, "No one can truly love you, until you love yourself" and every other similar and cliche line. Listen folks, I didn't say I disliked myself all the damn time. I am a woman who seems to have nothing but serious relationships- my pendulum is gonna swing when I'm with someone for years.

In finding people one after the other who needed fixing, needed me, deep down I hoped I would fix the bits within myself I didn't like. We all know how that ends. Badly. Over and over. I didn't have to concentrate on me- my flaws, my shortcomings. The moments when my confidence was shattered, and all I wanted was to be rescued- these people were ill equipped to reciprocate. To give as I gave. They never expected to have to lift me the way I lifted them. I'd fooled them, just as much as I fooled myself on the faking it days. If I didn't think I was deserving, it wasn't going to work.

I'm told to concentrate on the rest- how much I've achieved, where I've been, what I've seen. How people see me, what kind of impact I've had. That's all well, and good. I know what I want. To be loved as me- all of me. Especially during the bad spells. Especially when I don't even begin to like myself.

The rest won't matter whenever I die. How hard I worked, how much shit I bought. I've never been known for being particularly materialistic. Love is the thing, you know. I want love.

Back to this not being a new theme- who doesn't want love? It's why I've settled though. For less. Why I haven't met them yet. Why on the nights when I'm alone, the demons I've described try to knock on my door. They don't always make it through, but often enough. To love as I have in my dreams, to not be left to envy those who don't appreciate what it is they have when they've found someone to share their life with.

I often times don't like myself. I've got a bit more time to chew on that.

Not a pinch of sense.

I don't know what's come over me. Honestly, I don't. I keep trying to make sense of it.

One thing I've always been able to make sense of were my wandering emotions- up until now. I'm trying to, oh so much. Trying to sort through why thoughts and feelings I'm having are even evident. I thought they were gone. Maybe they were just suppressed? I worked so hard to let go.

The bigger issue here is this- they have no real provocation. No root. No where to go. There's no reason for them to exist, because they are unrequited. Just doors that were never properly closed.

They began in my dreams. Stirring there in the absence of thought, just feeling. I'd wake up and find myself sad. Sad because they weren't my reality. With other goings on in my life... I wanted to escape back to within that place. Into the technicolor false reality of what ifs and never coulds.

I can't imagine why I feel this way. I shouldn't. It's not that I don't have the right. It's that they have no place here. Nothing can grow. The soil isn't fertile, what was there couldn't bloom again. Could it?

The ponderings of a heart and mind unsure. Of one with unfinished business, and lack of emotional direction. I just don't know. I'm someone who has always known, even when I knew things were meant to end.

I've tried letting logic play a role. Now I'm even more at a loss than I was before. As much as I can't control the weather, I can't control this. I swear I want to, but that isn't even true.

Whether an aberration, or not. I'm left waiting, and wanting. Dreaming, even hoping. For all, or nothing. Right or wrong have gone by the wayside.

None of it makes a pinch of sense. Then again, have I ever?

Running out of breath, to remind myself to breathe.

My ribs still hurt. So do my hands from clenching them. I hold my breath, to compensate for the fact my breathing and heart rate speed up. Makes no sense, since I feel like I can't breathe. It starts with a buzzing, static- like on an old tv when you were trying to tune it. I know why they use the word panic to start, because you are. Panicking.

I knew that day one was coming. They also seem to manifest in front of people I don't want to see them. Stupid fucking body. Should have stayed home that day.

It's like an emotional let down, or really overload? I'm carrying too much. I'm tired. Wrung out. My body is telling me I'm really not in control of a damn thing, and here's the proof. Maybe if I asked for help...

So of course, I chase that. Lack of control. How no matter what I plan, learn, love, work- I can only control the controllable. The things within my scope, my edge. 

I swear these moments- my overloaded system, my lack of forcing things to be the way I want, it's a bigger reminder. Niki, you don't know shit. Really, that's okay. Things will happen as they should, there are so many more factors than the way I want things to go. 

And it's all turned out the way it was supposed to. I run out of breath, to remind myself to breathe. I dream, to push the limits of my imagination. I learn to understand more. I love to push the capacities of my heart. 

Maybe it is weakness, the panic attacks. Maybe not. Maybe they manifest in moments I wish they didn't, to humble the shit out of me. 

I'll keep running out of breath, to remind myself to breathe.

the wrong kind of selfish.

I know things don't occur in a vacuum. I know this, and yet... Seriously Niki- it's not all about you. So why do I take it all on me?

When I haven't got the job, or lose friendships. When relationships don't work out, or whatever. My first instinct is the mentally eviscerate myself. What could I have done better? What can I fix? What do I need to do so this doesn't happen again?

Yea dude, that isn't how it works. Sometimes shit doesn't work out. And though I can learn from each instance, I need to stop making it all about me. There's nothing wrong with taking a self inventory, but I take it to a whole other level. Maybe I didn't fit the parameters of the job. Maybe those friends needed or wanted something I couldn't offer, the same with relationships. It's not for me to say. So why can't I stay in my lane? Why do I take on full responsibility for others? They aren't doing the same for me. They aren't.

The things I've tried and failed at can't all be put at my feet. I'm not even sure when I started operating this way. It's especially bad in my relationships. If I give them my best, they'll have to do the same right? Wrong. I didn't fail them. I didn't fail myself. They chose, and I can't control what they've done with what I had to offer.

I write this, full well knowing I will have to give myself this speech over and over again. Maybe that's why I'm writing it in the first place. It's not my fault. I am not unlovable. I'm smarter than I think. I am fully capable. I am more than worthy. When one of these situations I've highlighted or others don't seemingly go my way- it is not my fault. This isn't even about fault.

I know if I'm prepared, I know if I'm open. I know if I put my best foot forward. That's all I can do. It's all I can offer. It's more than enough. So I need to check my ego at the door, shake it off, and try again.

Past twitterpatted.

“You like because, and you love despite. You like someone because of all of their qualities, and you love someone despite some of their qualities..."- The Set Up

Twitterpatted. Maybe you don't know what that is. It's when you're head over heels, in the honeymoon phase, googly-eyed over someone. You don't see anything but the good, you start to exhibit aberrant behaviors... you're in.

Then the dust settles a bit. You were "normal" people before meeting one another. You had other priorities before they came onto the scene. So the pendulum swings again.

Now you start to get into the meat of the person. What are their dreams? How do they see things? Will they enhance your happiness, or drain from it?

I have to be a little more aware. I know this about myself. I will always see the potential in people. Let me say that again- I will ALWAYS see the potential in people. I don't just see the good, I see who they can be. Not just my dream version. I have to remember it's okay to encourage, but not to do for them. I can aid them in things, but not problem solve. Funnily enough, I don't ever expect them to reciprocate these things.

Falling is easy. Staying is hard. We've all heard relationships are work, but do we really get it? Even the best of them- the ones when you see your equal and your likeness in them, those are hard work.

All you can do is hope. Hope they choose you everyday the way you choose them. They create space for you, make you a priority. Don't categorize you as a stressful something, rather as someone they want around even on the bad days.

Someone who doesn't just tell you you are special, but understands it. Doesn't abuse what you have to offer. And all of this vice versa. You have to get it too.

Maybe you fall in love. Maybe not. Maybe you build a future. Maybe you don't. It's the remembering not to settle. Not to settle for less than you deserve.

Once you're past twitterpatted, and they still work to meet your love languages. They aren't confused about you, they know. They're open to the possibility... of something. They won't take you for granted.

There's so much magic, heartbreak, and love beyond twitterpatted. When you're ready to let go.

insecurity.

in·se·cu·ri·ty

/ˌinsəˈkyo͝orədē/

noun

1. 1.

   uncertainty or anxiety about oneself; lack of confidence.

"But you seem so confident?" I hear it often, actually.

The voice in my head laughs. There are dual sides to everything, isn't there?

I have never felt smart enough. It's why I always study, always read. I'm voracious for information, because if I don't constantly seek knowledge, then the truth will come out. I don't know anything. I am not smart. Everyone will know.

I vacillate between feeling beautiful. The older I get, the more comfortable I am proclaiming it. But it took so long. So long. Once I embraced my skin, the texture of my hair, how much I didn't look like everyone else... Even so, I never feel more beautiful than when my person tells me so. Funny, that.

I don't feel deserving. Of a happy ending. Of my dreams. If was all up to hard work, I would have had several perfect storylines. That is not the case. If it came down to gumption, well goddamn. I wouldn't be writing this. With every twist of the tale, with every unexpected drop in my stomach, I wonder if I will get it.

Then my duality kicks in again. Sometimes the switch flips several times a day. Sometimes swathes of time go by.

So am I insecure? Of course I am. Less often than before, to be sure. That being said, how much sweeter the days I don't feel it at all.

fresh lens.

Look at it through a fresh lens.

You repeat this to yourself over and over. They are different than the rest. Not perfect. Different.

But they inadvertently use the same words, the same phrases. You mentally knee jerk in response.

They aren't the same. This isn't the same.

Remind yourself of the differences. For starters- you are different. You aren't the sixteen year old girl. The twenty-six year old. The thirty-year old. You aren't the in between.

This is the most current and authentic version of you. You've attracted something different. You've chosen differently.

Just because they... that was them. Leave it there.

Look at it through a fresh lens.

beautiful creatures.

Someone asked me recently why I put people before all the rest. Why people are so important to me.

I know I can go it alone. I have. I know I can do, and think, and feel, and experience without companionship.

It's when you invest in them, in people. When you see them for their potential, when you choose to trust in the beautiful creatures they are... jobs come and go. Really everything does. People are here for such a finite amount of time. I just can't imagine the waste of time and effort to put anything but people first.

I get it. I know what I must sound like. So naive. Maybe so.

I have a friend who said to me, "To see it all through your eyes. The way you see the world- through your rose colored glasses. It's a gift. Even more so, you haven't let anyone take that from you."

So I trust. I open up. To a select few. I allow these people to become important to me. More often than not, the choice bears fruit. I chose wisely.

Funnily enough, it's the times I choose poorly that almost ruins it for the rest. I forget about the beauty, the potential. I forget how brilliant and lucky I am to meet people so different or even similar to me.

I lost the trust. I was hurt. I feel hoodwinked and foolish. I come down the hardest on myself for allowing them in. If only I guarded better...

The pendulum always swings and rights itself. I can't operate in those extremes. I don't know how to stop myself from caring, from being a giver. I don't know how to not live within my usual state. To not be me.

I'll keep choosing, then trusting. The ones who came before can't ruin it for the rest.

space.

It's so fascinating to me, how quickly we create space. Space between bodies. Between minds.

Someone who maybe was so important to you, is all of the sudden no longer part of your normalcy. Years, months, days worth of learned habits abandoned. Cataloged into memory, rather than staying present.

I'm always left wondering- what if we'd known? What if we'd known that was the end, would we act any differently? Would you hold one another a bit longer, kiss them differently?

It strikes me even more how quickly we forget. The tenor of their voice, the feel of their touch. We might smell or see something that reminds us of them but otherwise... then the fade out.

People become past chapters, the let go becomes our reality. Maybe you see them again, maybe not. What then? Pride often steps in to remind you of why you got there, not allowing you to bridge the space between you.

So you keep it. The space. You rewrite the narrative in a way your brain can process. You move forward.

Then there is truly nothing but space. At least, that's one way it could play out.

Maybe the space is closed again. You'd hope for that, wouldn't you?

kwir (queer)

queer

/kwir/

adjective

1. 1.

   strange; odd.

You don't have to get it. This isn't for you. I don't have to explain why I love who I love. Sleep with, or who I don't sleep with.Their genders don't matter to me.

Coming out is difficult enough. Acknowledging an "otherness" that is just as much a part of me as my curly hair, my freckles, and the tenor of my voice. A part of my soul, my chemical make up.

"Why come out at all?" I didn't come out for you. I came out for me. Before it was like the feeling you get when you've been holding your breath for too long. The pain in your chest, the ache. Knowing I'm being honest now. Authentic. I can breathe again.

It makes sense though, my being queer. I always felt out of step. Always felt different. the older I got, the more it made sense. I felt more complete when I understood I could love people for who they really were. 

I tried confining myself for a time- 'choose one or the other, girl. You should know.' It's only now I realize I was the only one putting braces on my brains. 

I'll love you for all the things I'm not, and the things we'll have in common. I'll love you for making me feel like I'm the only one you see, because that's how I'd see you. I'll love you however you identify, however you present yourself to me. I'll love your otherness, or lack thereof. 

My love sees no color, no gender, no borders- and thrives beyond fear.

her part 2.

Looking at you hurt.

You didn't look the same. There was something different about your eyes, your demeanor. The curve of your shoulders, the way you sat in front of me. Even when we hugged goodbye, there was a hollowness there.

Knowing the choices that brought us here, both mine and yours. let's be honest- mostly yours. Especially in the end.

Hearing the things I wanted you to say back then, knowing you might actually grasp what was lost here.

Me. I was lost.

Being able to tell you how I felt. Knowing I was justified further in those feelings. You knew what you did was wrong. Heinous. Forgivable, but not forgettable.

In the days after, I wondered about what could have been. A path I hadn't allowed before. It was far too painful. The sense of loss too great.

This one was far different than the rest. You knew that. You knew.

I dreamed with you. I built with, for, and around you. Sacrificed. I left it all out there. I nearly broke after you.

I'm thankful now for being able to remember more of the good than the bad. I told you I missed the fun. I meant it. I can remember the bad too, but I'm choosing. It's all still there, the emotional scars you don't see. I don't need to reopen them.

I wish I could trust you again, but know I can't. I couldn't be open with you either. Too much happened. I've changed. I don't know that you have. I don't know who you are.

And I'm afraid. Afraid of ever letting you back in. An unwelcome visitor. So I won't.

Instead I'll tuck you away, with my memories of the rest. The what ifs. The almosts. The never agains.

The "Crying in my car" routine

"Maybe I'm lookin' for something I can't have?" the lyric is repeated over and over, and now I'm crying while I'm driving. Shit. This is starting to become a thing.

I used to keep most of my crying to the shower, or put on a movie that would evoke enough emotion to get me to cry. Well, I'm getting older, and it's sure as hell getting harder to hide. It's not just crying for any reason either- the frustrating part is now I've got to try and figure it out. Not today though. I knew exactly why I was crying like a prize idiot- because I feel like one.

I've never liked timelines. I haven't done a damn thing in my life on an expected timeline. Now there is this one thing looming... yep that's the best word for it. Looming. I can't help but get really bent about it. Now my sad crying has turned to frustrated crying. This is when I shake my fist like you see them do in the movies, and declare how life isn't fair! Duh buddy, it isn't fair.

I don't look or act my age. I turn 35 in less than 2 months. 3-5. Da Fuq. Though my Peter Pan complex is still alive and well in all other aspects... man, I want to be a mum. 'BUT I WANNA DO ALL THE OTHER THINGS TOO!' I yell back at myself. Then the crying really kicks in, because stupid Justin Timberlake songs come on, and I wonder if kids are in the cards.

I'm not even sure I've come close to having them. Ever. I become half of these relationships where they say they want the same things... then it turns out 2, 3, 4 years down the line they don't want any of the things I want, and now I've compromised myself into another corner. Great job, Niki. Way to knock it out of the park. By knock it out of the park, I mean hit it right to the damn pitcher, and get out at first base over and over and over again. You're killin' me, smalls.

Am I someone who will do this on her own? Or will I really find someone who suits me, will compromise along with me, who knows you don't have to lose yourself to support a loved ones dreams? Sure- merging timelines of what we want means things wont happen the way we originally planned. Goddamn it, just for once can I have this? This timeline? Can the stars align, I meet "them" we get to know one another, fall in love, and I'm not gonna be sitting at 40, look back and think I blew it again? Am I just too romantic for my own good?

So I'll keep toolin' along. Making plans as if kids aren't in the plans. Obviously the crying in my car isn't going away anytime soon, so maybe I should add some happier songs to my playlists. Ones my brain can't misconstrue to mean anything. Ima go with "Rainbow Connection" by the Muppets. That should work.

never your token white girl.

rac·ism

Dictionary result for racism

/ˈrāˌsizəm/

noun

1. prejudice, discrimination, or antagonism directed against someone of a different race based on the belief that one's own race is superior.
2. 
   

Microaggression a term used for brief and commonplace daily verbal, behavioural, or environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative prejudicial slights and insults toward any group.

"What's this little nigger doin' in this store?" Jarring isn't it? I was only ten years old when an adult man said that to me. That moment redefined my life forever.

I was visiting family in Missouri with my mother and brother, in the summer of 1994. My cousin Rebecca had just braided my hair into box braids. I remember feeling pretty, which wasn't something I felt often. My cousins and I had gone to the store, and I couldn't have been away from them for more than a minute of two, when it happened. I was alone in an aisle, looking at the different products on the shelves, when I noticed a man staring at me. Then he walked up to me, and said it. As if that was completely normal for a middle aged white man to say that to a little girl.

 I turned around, and walked away. I remember being in shock. I knew the word, and understood the meaning. My parents had done their best to prepare my brother and I- people were not going to like us for reasons beyond our control. One of the reasons was the color of our skin. Still- no one can truly prepare, until those moments happen. 

It was that moment my "otherness" was established for me. I finally understood what my parents had tried to explain. I would never know what it felt like to be white. No one would mistake me for a white girl with a tan. Half black, half white- sure. That being said, I wouldn't be treated that way. 

I had a myriad of reactions to this epiphany, both large and small. I wouldn't have my hair in box braids for years, associating them with that moment. I would flit from one social group to another, going through different styles and personas to try to find the best fit... well, the fit that didn't have to do with my skin color. 

It didn't matter what I did. I wasn't the author of this part of that narrative. Social understandings, traditions, and stigmas had written part of the story for me. One of the aspects that upset me the most, was how people reacted to my parents. I wasn't light enough for my mother, or dark enough for my father. My mum would take my brother and I out on errands, and people would ask her things like how we got so tan, and were we adopted? There's is nothing wrong with adoption of course, but the assumption. I'm thirty-four years old, and people still stare, or make remarks. Their ignorance is tiring, and used to grind me down.

They had no idea how much it upset me. I built up an emotional suit of armor. They didn't know how upset I became when I went to look in the mirror, searching for things to connect me to either of my parents. I clung to traits like my freckles, because my mother had freckles. 

Assumptions. Microaggressions. People judged me before they knew me. The things they would say were astounding, " You speak so well for being black", "Nicole isn't a black name." or if they weren't entirely sure of my background, "What are you?" People have followed me around in stores, crossed the street away from me, even wiped their hands after shaking mine. Before you say I must have misunderstood and overreacted... stop. These things weren't happening to you. Anyone who has experienced things like these need no further explanation. They understand the feeling. 

Finally, I leaned into it. I couldn't change other people's perception of me. I could change how I saw myself. I developed different coping mechanisms, that in turn became parts of my personality. I made the black jokes first, owning my difference, and not allowing them to define it for me. My hair, my clothing, piercings and tattoos became ways to speak without words. I followed my mothers lead, and became politically and socially active- volunteering and advocating for the minorities I was part of. Because being a person of color, a woman, and a member of the LGBTQ community was as big a part of me as anything else. 

In doing this, I alienated some. "But you don't acknowledge your whiteness." Funnily enough, it was only white people who felt the need to bring this up. As if I was giving up entry into an exclusive club- one they didn't realize I would never be in. I had accepted I would never feel white- someone who enjoyed, and most likely didn't even understand the privileges that went along with my whiteness. 

For me, it was acknowledging how the world saw me, and realizing it was okay. They saw the black girl, not the white girl. It didn't matter how often I shouted out my amazing mother, or brilliant father. It just didn't matter. What mattered was how I chose to live within, and outside of how people saw me. I understood the power of being comfortable in the skin I was born in. 

I'm no longer the frightened little girl from the grocery store, just as much as I will never be the token white girl either.