Notes to Self on Love (& Like)

Pre-k and elementary school:

1. It’s ok to have a crush on a boy’s hair
2. Playing Atari and Indiana Jones is cool, but if I like him I need to say it before he falls for a girly girl
3. If he’s annoying, it means grandma was right. She says if a boy is mean it’s a sign that he likes you

Jr High:
1. There’s an element to bad boys that is intriguing. Run. Run for your life, Shonte!
2. Accidentally sitting in cherry pie at lunch makes you the joke of every guy in your math class, especially when you have to get up and go to the chalkboard to solve an equation
3. When * handed me that letter, the one where he wrote the lyrics to LL Cool J’s I Need Love, I should have been real and kind and open instead of cruel

High School:
1. If I like him, I better say it before discovering an x-rated letter in his gym bag from my female nemesis
2. Listening to his problems every afternoon is cool, but I’ve possibly reached a level of ambiguity, the unfortunate one-of-the-guys/non-descript zone
3. If he opens my maxi pads and sticks them everywhere, it means he likes me

College:
1. Tell the guy I love him before I pull up for evening classes and find some other chic in his face
2. It’s ok to fall in love. Maybe. Kind of. It just is.
3. When he discovers that he loves me too, don’t ruin it by slapping him in front of the rest of the football team

Early adulthood:
1. Tell him I like him before he proposes to someone and I find myself folding wedding invitations (literally)
2. It isn’t ok to continuously run from relationships because of fear and pride
3. If they’re open and vulnerable enough to express themselves, be vulnerable in return

Middle age:
1. It’s ok to drop the bravado
2. Marriage wasn’t so bad, and having kids isn’t so scary
3. Love hurts, again and again

P.S.

  • I still have a crush on *’s hair
  • Decades later, I apologized to the guy who wrote the I Need Love letter
  • Sometimes I still want to slap the college guy, but it’s all love. Always
  • I married an intellectual bad boy. I did not run
art background beautiful birthday
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Advertisements

Trust Issues

The last time someone told me the truth it only proved the other truths were lies

So excuse me if I rummage through old baggage in search of something new

Unpacking has taken a while I’ll admit, and most of this stuff needs a garbage

Then I could make room for something better; then I could make space for you

Is that too heavy?

Saying so won’t make me think any less. Saves us both time.

Understand I’m a little broken. Except I’m real about it. See, that’s all I’m looking for–honesty.

 

 

sms aka whatevertheyaint

august 2018

I Can Only Speak for Myself

Initially, there’s this raw space. We may wonder how it got there, or more importantly, why it’s there.  Perhaps we conditioned ourselves early in life to bandage wounds and carry on, so we slap a Band-Aid on it until it festers, not realizing that giving it time to breathe is better than covering it over.

Then, somewhere during the process, a scab forms. There’s this protective layer now, and we go about our daily routines as we did before. That is until we accidentally bump that spot, exposing it again.  Maybe we overestimated ourselves, or maybe we were just trying to…forget. In any event, there it is. And yes, it still hurts.

An undetermined amount of time passes, and we notice the scab is now a smooth scar. We run our fingers over it, remembering that unsightly place.  But we can do it now, we can run our hand across that area. It reminds us that grief cut us open.  Yet, we survived.

SSM-S

aka Whatevertheyaint

Oct 2017

 

 

 

  • I can only speak for my own experiences. Like most people, there have been more than a few negative events in my life, but I learned to just acknowledge them and allow myself to go through the process. This poem came from waiting on a sore to heal on my leg and then, at random (which tends to happen when I’m ready for my brain to SHUT DOWN), thinking how wounds are a lot like the process of grieving, or dealing with any life-changing event. 

 

 

From the Archive: Five Years Ago

Where did you go, you know, the person?  Not the one we see but the you inside.

Where did you go?  You let them strip you of your joy,  your energy, your light.

Lose who you are and you become a collage of everything and everyone else.

 

Feeling some sort of way that I can’t define. Is it depression? Frustration? Inertia? My writer’s brain says “caged” but that’s a bit dramatic. It’s a long story that I suppose my conscience has nudged me about before. Something has been trying to tell me something for years.

So when do you say, enough is enough? When do you just…free fall? Is there anything besides concrete down there when I jump?

The abridged version of this story is that the current circumstances aren’t working, at all. However, being the overly cautious thinker I am, I’m reluctant to just open a window and plummet.  It seems impractical to starve while happy, and yet it’s crazy to make money while sacrificing one’s self, family, and sanity. Tis the world we live in. We learn to become collages.

I eventually retired from retail in 2012 due to health issues and a couple of surgeries, one of which didn’t go well.  Now, because of more life changes, I find myself at yet another crossroad.

True, I’ve enjoyed the freedom of being fully present when it comes to family. And in hindsight, things happened that I don’t know if I could’ve dealt with while working full-time–serious illnesses, the death of my father, marital separation.

It baffles me that I got more writing done while working thirty to forty hours, with two small children, than I do without a binding schedule and with kids old enough to occupy themselves. I’ve enjoyed watching them grow, I’ve also missed the security of steady paychecks.  I’m saying this to say that happiness doesn’t come from circumstance. Happiness is a state of mind, period.  But we have to figure out who we are, what we want, and how we’ll balance our true callings with the titles society places upon us.

Who are you? Where did you go? Lose who you are and you become a collage of everything and everyone else.

 

Your turn:

In definition of “inner calling” how would you define yourself?

In terms of societal titles, name at least three that describe you.

If you’re not being true to yourself, what’s the reason?

Map out a way to get back to the real you 😉

 

F.Y.I

In definition of inner calling, I’d define myself as: a writer, an empath, a peacemaker

In terms of societal titles, I’d describe myself as: a mother,  an estranged spouse, an introvert who knows how to play it off when necessary

I’m not true to myself because: I’m not a fan of failure, abstract ideas, or what-ifs

And yes, I’m mapping out a way of getting back to the real me 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Trust the Hours” (Wait)

Love this poem

Galway Kinnell

Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Wait.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the…

View original post 578 more words

For That I Am Sorry

There’s something she didn’t give you

Affection,

attention?

Whatever it was it wasn’t enough

She wasn’t scarred enough,

Didn’t understand your demons

She didn’t laugh enough, live

But what she provided was stability

Loyalty, all the boring words one looks for

Beyond adventure and fun

 

You sought solace in dark places

Hell and shot glasses

She swept broken pieces

Only to hurt herself in the end

And you’ll never honestly say,

This is why you couldn’t save me

And she’ll never really know

What you needed saving from

 

*

 

sms aka whatevertheyaint

3/2017