#wyaoapril

[excitingrbl]

#DEMOLISH - Write Your Ass Off April #WYAOApril

There is nothing that has happened in my life that I care to #demolish. There is no one in my life or that is no longer part of it, that requires being demolished.

“They” say that our moments do not define us but if we are the ones who decide how we are defined, who are “they” to tell us not to define the intricacies of life that ARE making us? It is the moments that define our character, therefore it’s similar to the snake biting its own tail. It’s all one in the same.

I see myself as the definition of part of the universe that has existed from November 22, 1979 until this very moment. History is defined by moments so why is it any different for human beings? Is it that our moments shouldn’t define us or that we’re overly cautious of who’s controlling the narrative? If I’m in control of what I see and do, then my history, past/present/future, defines me perfectly. I am everything I say and do as it happens...and that doesn’t change simply because I decide to do and say something different. I am the layers of a purple onion. I’m not just one thing. I’m a culmination of everything I’ve been, everything I am and everything I will become.

It is the moments I remember when a song comes on, a person I haven’t talked to in two decades requests me on Facebook, hearing my daughter tell someone her birthday, I recall the hole in the door the size of one angry Hulk fist, my daughter’s godmothers face pops up in my feed even though they’ve never met nor heard each others voices because art galleries are more important than family, the scar on my ass starts to itch, Orange is the New Black but it’s navy blue for my brother, an ex seems to know me best, I realize I’ve been in Atlanta 15 years and my sister’s been sick every day since I left...and that’s just the tip of the iceberg on moments.

All of these things are attached to people, places, and things that I’ll never forget. All these things are attached to me choosing my own adventures. These moments we’re urged to not let us define who we are, have already laced themselves into our thoughts and feelings. They control whether we go left or right. They indicate whether we choose jealousy and insanity over being stepped on. They whisper out to us to punch that bitch in the face the next time we see her or stay civilized and be “a lady”. They yell out to take the risk of being caught or remain “free”. They determine whether we lose or win. Those moments are everything so how do we act like they’re not worthy of being defined by what we say and do moving forward?

I will never #demolish my moments, the thoughts or feelings attached, nor the meaning time has infused into them. What I will do is learn from them and the definitions I give to them, that are seen as I grow. I use them to define myself as the [in]finite player I was meant to be. As fuel to help me define the future. The gift of seeing things as they are versus how I’d like them to be, keep me from removing moments that even make me less savory of a person. 

I am a natural curator of history, who defines these moments as something meant to be remembered. A true history means leaving nothing out. The memories aren’t always welcoming but they still have as much a place as everything that makes us look pure and innocent. A true history of self means not hiding the nasty bits that could define us as one of the monsters. 

And herein lies a reason so many people will encourage others to not define others by moments. But there are final moments that don’t allow for apologies, do overs, or second chances. The spilling of hurtful truths over 12 bottles of beers, sleeping with your lovers best friend, choosing honesty over kindness, beating someone mercilessly, these are all moments that tell the truth about who we were, who we are, and who we could possibly be in the future.

We can’t always define ourselves as celestial beings reigning supreme. So I won’t #demolish any of my moments for the sake of appearance. I will have integrity to the belief that our defining moments are the best picture we’ll ever achieve of what humanity looks like. 

This post is part of Write Your Ass Off April, a Twenties Unscripted 10-Day Writing Challenge #WYAOApril. If you want to participate, click here. If you want to share but not on a public forum, email your posts to [email protected])

[excitingrbl]

#SPILL  - Write Your Ass Off April #WYAOApril

There was a time that I believed if I cried, I was being weak. I didn’t feel that way about other people crying but I’m processing the need to be as kind to myself as I am to others. In [re]learning that, I’ve accepted that my windows to the world need to #spill more often than not. 

I used to reserve all of my eye waterworks for darkness and my best friend, Tito…or Johnnie. Whichever was under $19.99 for the decent size bottle. Those tears kept my ducts from drying out but they didn’t do much for the human in me. Feeling like too much of a G or having too much pride to express a normal body function, contributed to the belief that I have no feelings.

Did I mention that the darkness and glass bottles knew of my tears? They absorbed my irrational thoughts, my valid but out of pocket feelings. They were there when I didn’t want the judgment of other fallible humans. I could handle it on my own…until I couldn’t. Johnnie and Tito started to be too much for my sensitive liver and stomach. They began to sting more than the tears I fought back from the sight of others. That comfort I got from blacked out rooms? It started becoming depressing and claustrophobic. The darkness was the best at absorbing it all because it NEVER lets go of anything you #spill. 

That darkness grabbed a hold of each tear and lied to me, saying, “trust in me. you don’t need to share your tears with anyone but me. I’m here when the light betrays you. I’m here when THEY aren’t. I’m always here.” It was then I realized I was wasting my humanity on something that could never console me on a level that my soul genuinely needed. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul and I believe that to be true. 

I tired of spilling my soul all over this ugly thing that didn’t appreciate the beauty in releasing bits of me through my tears. So it was then that I became a bit more kinder to myself and shared some tears and fears with light bearing beings. Tito and Johnnie still my boys but I don’t rely on them to make me feel better about something they could never understand. My darkness calls out to me often, begging to be reacquainted with the illness it understands best. It’s difficult at times to say “no, thank you” to that which is familiar but I want to continue growing, not necessarily be comfortable all the time. 

But as I keep spilling over the top of life, I know better. My tears have softened hearts towards me and let people in that I never knew thought twice about who I was. I will no longer return to the belief that I’m a sucka for crying, regardless of it being triggered by anger, sadness, grief, nostalgia, happiness, anxiety or fear. My windows to the world look clear now, not because of the visine dreams but because they #spill with the natural cleanser and clarity that is these tears.

This post is part of Write Your Ass Off April, a Twenties Unscripted 10-Day Writing Challenge #WYAOApril. If you want to participate, click here. If you want to share but not on a public forum, email your posts to [email protected])

[excitingrbl]

#IGNITE - Write Your Ass Off April #WYAOApril

When I first saw you, I could feel the embers inside of me spark to life. You were walking sunshine setting everything on fire with your presence. Something in me immediately craved more. The desire for more excitement, creating this pull to your chaos, wildness...your fire.

Being near you, I could feel your warmth. That energy roared out to me, tempting me to touch something that only burned. Knowing that this was something no one could use reserved fucks to give. Neither of us had any business giving a fuck but I wanted to know what was underneath this undeniable force of ambition, confidence. The danger that wasn’t so hidden but placed in firm view. I wanted to know your electric blue.

I was your willing participant, your audience of one, laying it all on the line for a taste of you.

As I got closer, I could see that you were a trouble starter, a flame igniter, pure happiness waiting to unleash your greatness. And I wanted it all...all of it all over me. So I effortlessly walked into this dangerous lion’s den, just to feel more. I began to question my own curiosity, where did this magnetism stem from. Why was I risking it all for this delicious moment of insanity? How would this affect me after it was all said and done? Who would I become?

None of this mattered as I let it all consume me. It was then that I also begin to feel the force of your possession, your need to control the blazing beauty, even if it meant submitting to something that would surely kill me. The drama, charming flair, swelling pride, larger than life ego, and refusal to settle for anything less than the best. I’d convinced myself I could take this on to get to the intelligence. Undying loyalty, and unconditional love, like no other. 

To experience you in entirety was my goal but the beauty of your light blinded me to your darkness. This element that burned beyond reason on a majestic level, so bright, filled with fierceness and fear. You knocked my cool clean the fuck off unleashing paranoia, anxiety, selfishness and everything I worked so hard to maintain beneath all these surface layers. 

You ignited an unknown passion, one I didn’t even realize was beyond controlling. A love that challenged everything I’d known before and everything I’d grow to believe. We competed with each others heart, knowing there’s no competition in true love but denying the problems we willingly created. And yet, I still had space to yearn for more. This insatiable thirst that became my own personal drug. The more I sought after it, the bigger your flame grew. I wasn’t the only one being ignited. California is what we were. Rolling through the hills of life, we blazed maddeningly, destroying the good parts of each other to lick at the best. 

And then I paused because the idea of being consumed had turned into a reality. It became a struggle between feeling that good, good and knowing the longer I lived in your flame, the more I would cease to exist. We were becoming a bigger you, not a grander Us. The beauty we had created by consuming one another, had gotten out of control. It had become your own vanity and I, solely your igniter. In that quick moment of blinking, I began to see us, you, then me, for what we were. Two entities, tenaciously fighting to be bigger than the other. Beautiful wildfires that needed to be extinguished before the damage became irreparable.

So we chose to burn in different directions because despite this unbridled pleasure that gave us something we never had, it was becoming too painful for either of us to endure. As long as we were single fires, sometimes smoldering and sometimes glowing freely, we could be contained. But together? We have yet to learn how to NOT burn each other in an effort to remain free. We grew to possess each other on insane levels, creating a symbiotic bond that we knew was simpatico.

In that moment of stepping out the heat, the cool reminded me that fires can also be exhausting, dangerous, and die as quickly as they grow. That is when I saw us differently, bent on destroying everything we didn’t like or love, not caring if we took each other out at the same time. But there was still no denying that no one could ignite THIS in us, but Us. I begrudgingly returned to my calm as you continued to blaze on. I unloaded my gasoline safely, careful not to touch the deepest parts of you so as not to start up what we so desperately need to let go the way of ashes.

My heart being set on fire never felt so good but this healing? Nothing about these burns I face everyday, is magical. I’m constantly reminded of our refusal to be practical. Our aversion to acting normal, like we have no sense worth acknowledging. There will always be a part of me that yearns to burn this hot again. And I know that you’ll never get rid of your gasoline because of that need to keep it lit. That crazy you purposely unleashed, still smolders for you....and all I need is your gasoline to #ignite this flame that allowed us to create a love that was meant for another galaxy .

So I let our phoenix rise out of the smoldering ashes from the fires we created together. One day we will #ignite something so refined that it never has to be extinguished...but no time soon.

This post is part of Write Your Ass Off April, a Twenties Unscripted 10-Day Writing Challenge #WYAOApril. If you want to participate, click here. If you want to share but not on a public forum, email your posts to [email protected])

[excitingrbl]

#SURRENDER - Write Your Ass Off April #WYAOApril

Choosing to do this writing challenge was a 20 day process. With a title of “Write Your Ass Off”, I knew I couldn’t tip toe on the fence of vulnerability. Either I was going to dive in deep or I was going to continue reserving my emotions for my DRAFTS folders. You’re reading my decision. 

I chose to #surrender because I’ve grown weary of suppression. I do care, it just isn’t about everything and THIS is okay. The oddity of that isn’t so much me but how people respond to it. I can scream it aloud until my vocal cords are bleeding from frustration. I can draw it in plain sight on a canvas that colorfully yells it for me. I can record it, signal boosting to be heard until the tender skin on my index finger is calloused. These 36 years of life keep showing me that a common human "trait” is for us to hear, see, believe, and think whatever the fuck we want, in spite of any evidence presented to us to KNOW otherwise. What is being heard is that I don’t care about anything because my empathy and compassion hasn’t yet reached what others care about...and I never once said I care about nothing.

So, I visited my past looking for balance. Oh, these archives of thought and buried feelings! As I got closer to no longer having 10 days to get out my thoughts and feelings on roaring, loving, confessing, surrendering, igniting, ascending, healing, complicating, demolishing and spilling, I accepted all that was necessary was sitting down and surrendering. No different than that 20something that effortlessly wrote about her truth, regardless of the notion that she was [too] dramatic, angry, aggressive, or insensitive.

This has been my way of #surrender...through my written words, painting pictures of how I feel. Whether it be the tug and pull with my parents (mostly my father), all the men I’ve loved beyond their penis, the one man I fell in love with, the volatile relationship with my sister, my decision to remain friends with people who don’t mean me well not out of malice but out out of the lack of love, all the way down to life forcefully taking me by the heart strings and brain matter and slamming me into every brick wall that seems to exist. I #surrender...eventually.

And it’s hard for me to wave these white flags because I got pride. I got that pride that makes for a terrible and dangerous ego. That unhealthy shit that projects I could easily be the monster in anyone’s nightmares. That pride that’s saved me time and time again. That pride that I trust will give me each win I so rightfully deserve. That pride that tells me I NEVER have to #surrender because that’s not what fighters and survivors do, right?

And then I keep living to swallow the gargantuan horse pill of pain that says this kind of pride is a weakness. It feeds me the idea that I am strong, all the while leaving me emotionally unprotected. It’s damaging to myself and anyone it brushes up against. Living has shown me that to #surrender isn’t for suckers...it’s for people who release the idea that they have to be in control of everything. It is for people who trust that the unknown isn’t always out to get them but sometimes it’s out to help. #Surrender is not for the faint of heart. It isn’t for someone running from the emotional deluges they’ve created by suppressing daily rain, gritty sandstorms, a few thunderstorms here and there, and some heavy winds. 

I’m tired of the uncontrollable brush fires...the foundation cracking earthquakes...the overbearing tsunamis...the wind that takes the things and people I’ve loved the most so far away that there is no reunion in sight. I’m tired of the drain of telling myself “this is what’s best” when I know it’s a lie. I’m tired of reserving my emotions for dark rooms, glass bottles fucking with my liver and carcinogenic slow death...and DRAFTS folders that serve as a vault of feelings.

I got a warehouse of white flags that lately, I’ve been digging in damn near everyday and waving proudly, whether they’re acknowledged or not. While it might seem a display more for others, it’s for my eyes because once I see it, I cant take it back. I’m committed to change and this is how I kick it into gear. 

I’m just tired of telling myself not to #surrender when I know no one wins every battle.

This post is part of Write Your Ass Off April, a Twenties Unscripted 10-Day Writing Challenge #WYAOApril. If you want to participate, click here. If you want to share but not on a public forum, email your posts to [email protected])

[excitingrbl]

#CONFESS - Writing Your Ass Off April #WYAOApril

I must #confess...we should have never gotten married. As much as I know it to be a truth, I don't regret it. I've gone back and forth in my mind, trying to figure out how those two thoughts can be reasonable at the same time. Shouldn't I regret saying "I do"? Even just a little bit?

But I don't.

I made a decision prompted by prodding and pleas of, "if you love me, you'll do this" and "we've been together so long. it's the natural progression of things." I did feel some guilt for being with someone, having a child with them and STILL not wanting to be married. I never subscribed to the belief that marriage HAD to be one of my life milestones, yet here I was. Looking at it as an option I KNEW I STILL didn't want.

We weren't ready. We weren't mature enough for this huge decision. While I KNEW it, he denied it. The almighty lion who doesn't back down from wanting his wants...he could handle it, right? Or so he projected.

I had created some notion I had to prove to myself. If I do love him, why would I say "No" a fifth time? No one places themselves in a position to be rejected that many times and isn't serious, right? So maybe it IS me who's slowing this train down. All of these thoughts racing through my mind on a daily.

And I still did it because for once, I wanted to jump out on a limb and feel something... different. I wanted to see if I could be a wife, mother, my own woman, AND an entrepreneur...all at the same time. His idea of marriage and mine were two different things. Saying "I do" meant NOW he could impose his will and I had no choice but to do as he commanded. I needed to assimilate to the role of a Stepford Wife, expeditiously. My idea of marriage was working, building, loving, laughing, and growing... with my best friend. I was quickly made aware that there was no room for a best friend and wife...in one person.

I must #confess, we had no business being together romantically. We didn't value the same things. I cause tremendous amounts of change wherever I go. He's averse to anything he hasn't thought of first. I'm honest to a fault. He believes honesty isn't the best policy. For everything we have in common, there's about 4 things we don't. But we were the most natural yin and yang to exist on some supernatural shit. How does that mean nothing? How do you walk away from something that's cosmically astounding? How do you push away such a strong symbiotic relationship that organically developed into something more than love?

You rip this shit apart quickly, like you'd tear off a hospital band-aid. There will be tears, blood, broken hearts, and a wrinkle in time only the two of us will continue to understand.

But it wasn't all for naught. We have a beautiful child that reminds us of who we were... who we are ... and who we will be, at our best. She is everything and means more than any regret that could be hurled at the failed union of us. We have memories. Through all of the misery, suffering and pain, we still have pieces of Us.

We made good decisions about our future and we made some bad ones but I must #confess, I did them with a person I loved wholeheartedly. And that is something I don't regret.

This post is part of Write Your Ass Off April, a Twenties Unscripted 10-Day Writing Challenge #WYAOApril. If you want to participate, click here. If you want to share but not on a public forum, email your posts to [email protected])

[excitingrbl]

#LOVE - Write Your Ass Off April #WYAOApril

I see her from afar and what stands out the most on her face is, her nose. It's big but not in a way that takes over her entire face. It compliments all of her facial features. Lips not small but still not the noticeable pout you see on other Black women's fuller mouths. They were kissable...and very present. I hoped my staring wasn't too intense but my gaze definitely lingered beyond the point of comfort. I couldn't pull myself to look away from those eyes that seemed to change like a mood ring. When there was calmness present, they were a warm brown. When anxiety crept in, they'd shift to a more honey color. For a minute, it seemed like she was dreaming and her eyes became a mystical gray. As I looked closer and saw a brief moment of joyous excitement spread across her face, her eyes seemed to fight with being olive green and brown. I was shocked to see that one eye was darker than the other and couldn't help feeling it might be a reflection of her entire persona. She starts speaking about her father and those same windows to her world begin to mirror his...a green she's not all the way comfortable seeing through. At mention of her mother, those same eyes simmer down to something less intense but something just as beautiful. Back to the warm brown, still showcasing a hint of darkness in one eye. I wonder if she even notices how observant I'm being. Is it borderline nosy or am I just fascinated beyond measure? Is it okay to continue absorbing this surface beauty? Will I have an opportunity to speak directly to her so I can see what's beyond this face? I think so and when I blink, she's looking right back at me. I could feel the heat of embarrassment wash over me because maybe I have looked too long. She smiles and I can't help noticing the 24 teeth that make a radiant, friendly curve. It isn't perfect but it's welcoming. Her mouth says "Hello" and I know it's safe to engage. I accept her invitation and it feels so familiar... like home. We talk and I listen intently, realizing all of the things we have in common. She isn't offended by my intensity, honesty, directness, curiosity, and desire to dig deeper into everything that interests me. She isn't turned off that I'm scanning, reading and analyzing everything my ears, mouth, heart and mind can focus on, including her. She absorbs all the energy around her in a manner that says it's crucial to living but manages to not let it eat her alive. I admire her. In the middle of exchanging what seems to be identical thought, I think to myself, "where has THIS girl/woman been all my life? why am I just now meeting her?" She gently touches my arm and responds, "I've been here all along." That same friendly smile remains in a kind curve but it feels like it's solely for me and I blush a little. It feels like #love and oddly so, I know it to be true. Just as I reach out to mimic the feeling from the deepest parts of my soul, an electrical pulse courses through my body. I wasn't dead, yet I felt more alive than I'd ever been. I see, with a fresh set of eyes, that this dope being I'm in awe of and falling in #love with at first sight, IS me. I had forgotten that THIS is what it feels like to #love and adore EVERY part of yourself. No one else could remind me, but me. This post is part of Write Your Ass Off April, a Twenties Unscripted 10-Day Writing Challenge #WYAOApril. If you want to participate, click here. If you want to share but not on a public forum, email your posts to [email protected])

[iammelanieblews]

The Never Ending War of the Internal Battle.

I am jealous of people that say their journey of self-discovery was between the ages of 0-18. I wonder how it must feel to already have everything figured out; to know your destiny. My friend and I joke about why we couldn’t be child prodigies. To be so good at something, everyone expects you to do just that. Conversations of your future would not be paved with ‘you can do anything that you set your mind to’, although I do think that I would still have the same amount of anxiety if I knew my destiny. I would worry if it was really my destiny, and whether I was actually in the process of achieving it or merely on my way to failure. If you don’t know what your destiny is, at least no one can truly decide if you are a failure or not. That is all up to you.

I thought finding myself would be a fun experience. No, wait. That isn’t the right term, more like a painless experience. It would be filled with traveling, joining random clubs/organizations, trying new hobbies, and meeting interesting people. Well the experience is filled with those things, but it is also filled with pain and hardship. The times that I have truly discovered something about myself have been some of the hardest times of my life, and that didn’t really start until I was 18.

The road to self-discovery is paved with blood, sweat, and tears. On the outside everything looks fine. But on the inside I feel like a wrecking ball is swinging and crashing into me, a skyscraper. With every intense blow to my structure, what I thought I knew crumbles around me. I am standing alone; exposed and surrounded by the dust and debris of my security blanket. There is just me. I am broken down. Who the hell am I?

 I am vulnerable at this point. I am faced with my insecurities and self-doubt. Vulnerability has always scared me. It is the part about sex I dislike the most. I am my most vulnerable at night. That is when I self-reflect or, as I prefer, to reference the act as an internal battle. I have two sides of me at war and there is nothing civil about it. Both sides play very dirty and they both want to be right. I lay in bed hugging my pillows, allowing my tears to flow in hopes that the release of all those built up emotions make me feel better.

I have been here many times and I know that I will return. Each time my stay is a little shorter than the last. This is when the work happens. This is where the growth happens. When I find out that I am strong enough. I find out that I am enough. I realize that I must begin building again, but this time on a different foundation. Do not build again on the sand like the fool, but this time on the rock like the wise man. Use brick like the oldest piggy instead of sticks and straw. One day you will be invincible and your self-worth and self-love, unwavering.

I am participating in Write Your Ass Off April, a Twenties Unscripted writing Challenge. This is for the Prompt DEMOLISH.

[blackmars3-blog]

-:Forgotten Foliage.+ Subject: Complicate (1/4) Amnesia is a blessing, But memory Complicates. It is a flower that blossoms Only to have petals shrivel, Exposed to the decay of time. The brittle remains of a once nourished moment, Reduced to a fragile vestige hungering for the next. Lingering, Reminding the world of its nature... That only fleeting beauty, not truth, can be found in the remnants. #wyaoapril #complicate (at Charlotte, North Carolina)