While on Necks, They Stand

Everyone I know wants me to die. It seems there is this agreement they have all made to be silent in my times of need. To slowly back away and when I turn to grab a tissue, dart out the door. The general public, upon glancing at me, decides I have no value and projects the idea that I aim to steal the only things they do value: the material. They project this like a nation of immigrants, saying “get those damn immigrants out of here.” Or a group of people known for raping and pilaging, crying, “they’re rapists.”It’s like a game of the head variety. Each level increasing in difficulty.

It is so much easier to care for those other faces, for those who also get their feet wet in the lake of alcohol, those with status, those who are already celebrated. Those, that by their shared agreement to turn equally away from the Light -just enough to enjoy the dark, but not enough that their own conscious deems them a monster- makes them feel better about themselves.

 “I am not okay,” I told the Aquarian, fighting back tears in a call for HELP I rarely make. An opportunity she took to turn away even more. From me, the one who always listens and tries to help. And then, without an ounce of self-awareness, has the audacity to come knocking at my door, weeks later in hopes, like the vampire she wishes she was, that she could steal my energy to lift herself back up again. The one who told her best friend that it is I who is spoiled and selfish.

The Cancer, who I loved so dearly. Who I once dropped anything and everything for, because I loved her so dearly. The one I did my best to empower every chance I got.Who with her familial spotlight of Love always turned her back when the most devastating events stabbed me in the back. The knife in the hands of her uplifters. Even telling her best friend, “Stop supporting him, you make me look bad for not doing it too.” Never imagining those words would make it back to me.

And… the Scorpio, who saw my unconditional Love as a weapon. Who occasionally threw me scraps so that when the weight of the oppression she suffered at the hands of the judgemental and selfish ones she did invest in became to much to bare, she could vacation in my shores, just long enough to lift her spirits again, before heading back home to her empty palace: the bed she made and now must lay in. But, not before traumatizing me again and again for her own entertainment.

“A Family,” they say.Nothing like the ones I grew up seeing on TV. “Get over it!” said the Gemini, who perhaps was so devastated by the Love they so dearly wanted being given to a darker skinned outcast offspring that they made it their mission to buy my entire dark-skinned family and banish me. “Sean, you are temporary.” He said. Revenge. “Why did I save his Life?” I often wonder, “when he so clearly wants me to die of a broken heart.”

Money is all they care about. Just like the white women in the streets or the Asian women in the stores who are so certain I want theirs. Money? No, you fool. Love is what I value. And yours is far too conditional for me. It is poetic that the one everyone thinks is after their money is actually the one who stuffs greeting cards, lined with poetry, with cash to give to the homeless. The one who for the past Three years has been sponsoring a young boy named Igor in South America, determined that this boy not be forgotten, like he has. It has taken me years to understand that at the core, our values are so different that all this time, we were never having the same conversation. They, projecting their greed and judgement on me. I, projecting my unconditional Love on them. 

The Aries warned me about this years ago. “They don’t Love you,” I remember hearing at the age of 11. Tough words coming from an even tougher disciplinarian. I may have heeded his warning, if my spirit hadn’t begun rejecting every word that left his mouth. Because if those words were true, were all of his? “You have no common sense. You’re not normal” etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Did he honestly expect me to Flourish with these seeds being planted in my mind from the age of 6? Did he think watering me with his fist to my chest and his belt to my behind would help me grow toward the Sun? His tone, so piercing, that upon entering university, I changed my name, because the sound of “Sean” ignited such fear in my heart, I thought I would explode. I instead imploded, with the weight of the world’s judgement coming in from all sides. Lacking love to balance it out.

Balance is something I never knew the bipolar, Libra-Virgo to have. How ironic is it, that if you Google her name, a picture appears of her kissing her first born son, with the caption, “My Mommy Loves Me.” Something she seemed to enjoy reminding me was not true for me. I was instead her punching bag. She would lure me in with her sour candy and litter my little body with hit after hit. Both physical and mental. I guess that is what the United States Air Force teaches and so I had to learn. She let me know the moment I met her. I will never forget. To a six year old she said, “Sean, I don’t like people who talk more than I do. You talk more than I do.”

Buuuut, none of these people are to blame. It is I who couldn’t find a way to breathe with their hands covering my mouth. I could never find a way to get the Trauma out of my head. And that is my own problem. I wasn’t comfortable giving in and becoming like them, which would have at least made it easier. But, alas, I could  not. I instead chose to learn about the mind and spirit. To shine by eliminating excess food, alcohol, sex, and the like. But, what I did not understand is how this would alienate me more. From everyone. Now, no one understands me. My Truth sounds like a joke to their pessimistic ears. Like a person saying, “you’re beautiful” only to hear, “stop teasing me” as a response.

So, I roam the Earth, looking for a safe place. A place to call home. You know what they say… when in Rome do as the Romans do; Kill, conquer, destroy. But, I am not interested in being like the Romans. So, I slowly disappear into a cloud of tears that sits in the sky in such plain sight that you don’t even see. All because I could not bring myself to beat them or join them .And after years of trying, I could not change myself enough to, as the Gemini said, “Get over it”It is my own fault, really. Not theirs. Not my “friends”. It is not their responsibility to Love me or lift me up. It is not their duty to go beyond “hearting” a message I send or seeing my many, “Hey, how’s it going?” as me trying to start a convo, the way their, “fine” ends it. They have their own inner worries and circles that I do not fit into. A square, not a-round. So many others have figured it out, why can’t I? Or better yet, how many others never figured it out and slowly faded into non-existence? Like a Pop Star with just not enough hits or the ever sought-after “it” factor.” I guess, I just don’t have “it”.Call me by her name; Tinashe.

So, I guess what I am saying is, I am just not good enough, strong enough, smart enough, white enough to get it together. I just couldn’t settle for mediocrity or hypocrisy. And so my alienated heart has been shattered into a million pieces, wondering why I am not good enough to Love. “Thirty-three is your Jesus year,” they said, as they hammered my hands to the cross. “Jesus, I can’t take this,” I say to myself as my 33rd year nears its end. With my arms fully stretched out to the heavens. Wondering if some greater force will have mercy on my poor, weak, soul. But, relief has yet to come or I am to blind to see it. Either way, from this perspective, it seems they want to isolate, manipulate, and degregate me into submission. Monsters, lacking such self awareness that they scream, “save the puppies” as they eat the chicken. The scream, “Me Too!” as they say, “not you”. And they chant, “Together We Can” while on necks, they stand.

SWEETHEART

Someone deceived you long ago when they told you, 
You were destined to become a man.
A proper bloke. A guy behind which, many would stand.
There is but one, and he kneels before you, taking your hand.
They took away your smile and placed ego in its stead.
They struck your chest and said take it or you're dead.
But, I see you as you really are, because I am your sweetheart.

And I will do what I can to help your pulse restart.
I put my lips to you and breathe.
My beso negro lies underneath.
I wrap you in my arms as you fall asleep.
And slowly, it comes together, what was once apart.
I bask in the beauty of this work of Art.
No, you are not a man, you are my sweetheart.