Is Perfect Possible?

  It’s tough to say no. Makes you the one to spoil the fun. You’re called “uptight” and “reserved” every time a man asks you to “stand up, lemme see what you got,” and you politely say you’d rather not instead of spitting in his face. But when I meet people who question me, I wonder: What kind of women will you marry? Or, what kind of woman are you? Not that I’m perfect, but fuck , can’t I try? That’s not allowed? If it’s perfect for me, isn’t that enough? Isn’t that what it’s supposed to be? What some people don’t like about me, others love. What some people don’t like about me is that I make them question themselves. I say no to a lot of the things most people say yes to. But I’m also willing to make a lot of moves most people haven’t even thought of. I guess the secret is to try to.

For most of my existence, I was just living.  When I was 6, I wanted to be a veterinarian and a singer. At 15, I wanted to be a poet. My first year of undergrad claimed I wanted to be a psychiatrist, but my degree claims I’m a Advertising professional. My gift with words garners me the title of “writer” but I’m in desperate need of a copy editor. When I put my scripture to music, people are startled and it trips me up. Not until I’ve gotten really involved with this JWWWD Magazine thing did I realize that all I wanted to be was happy with myself.  For the most part, you do what you’re supposed to do until you start to reconsider exactly what it is you’re supposed to do. Everything changes with every single step on the path of life except yourself –especially if you want it to. The only thing you know is yourself. For this reason, I’ve decided to write an open letter to me. I’m the only one I can truly trust to betray me. I feel so alone that I’m incapable of depending on anyone. The strength people see in me someone hinders their conversations with me, they’re afraid to offend me or lie to me, so most times, people say nothing at all. I understand. Frankly, I fear me, too & am trying to cope with it, myself.

Life gets tougher once you’ve entered the race. I fight myself everyday, even though I don’t have to. I push myself to be a better person because there simply is no other option. I’m always better than myself because I expect me to be the best. It’s harder to be a good person than you’d think. People are proud of me, and I’m always confused as to why. I know what sparks them to say so, but what I do isn’t incredible, it’s just real. What disappoints me is how odd I seem to the rest of the world when I keep it real.  I haven’t changed much; I supposed that’s why I’m proud of myself. Only thing that’s changed about me are my dishonest actions. I’ve never been a liar, but I’ve lied. My grandest flaw was in not giving a fuck about people’s feelings. I knew a long time ago that no one knew me. I also knew that “love” is specific, but each individual defines it distinctly. Some people only love you if and when and for as long as you’re around. 

   I have a problem with being too honest.  The honest truth is that I don’t care about anything enough to lie. Not to mention, I’m in a good place in life where anything that might go wrong, won’t really affect me. I don’t commit any real crimes. I twist a jay as often as I can, but there are plenty Americans voting for the legalization of Mary and Maria on our soil. As people become more comfortable speaking their minds, they realize their thoughts aren’t too far from mine, and if they are, they’re comforted by the fact that I really don’t give a damn. 

  I love everyone like family.  This leaves me open to getting the purest love in return as well as leaves me victim to any wrongs those people might commit –and commit against me. It’s the reason I can’t hang out with people anymore. The truth is, I take full responsibility of whoever I’m around and love them completely. My biggest issue occurs when I come across ideas of what they do behind closed doors and/or in men’s text messages. If a man talks about your private dealings publicly, he doesn’t respect you. If you deal with men who do things like this, you don’t respect yourself. If you hang out with girls who don’t respect themselves, it’s tough to respect you… so I stay in the house.  “You have such a good spirit,” I’m told often and, on this day, by the Q8 bus driver who goes by “T”. I catch him on the 9:27a leaving Spring Creek and he always waits for me as I run across the street, late as usual. We spoke about the ability of people to do both right and wrong… as well as their ability to choose to do one over the other. 

      “There’s that ‘Turn the other cheek’ thing,” I proposed. 

      “But people misunderstand that, I think. You know, the way it’s written in the bible,” he said mid-hello to the next person getting on the bus. He’d asked me if I appreciated him because he stopped the bus for me, or because of his humanity. I told them I shouldn’t have to say I appreciate his humanity, but I did. Our conversation moved beautifully from there. 

       “So what do you think it means?”

       “It means that no matter what someone does to you, you’re gonna hold your ground. You’re gonna stick to your beliefs,” he explained. 

Sometimes I wish I didn’t have my beliefs. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t speak to anyone without talking about God. I can’t hold back my opinion and being a female makes those opinions come off as “emotions.” Being a female has been the greatest thing to happen to me, though. People listen because they expect me to be shallow or unintelligent and are completely shocked when I say something that makes sense. I navigate worlds not meant for me because people think I have a pretty face. I can get invited onto the tour bus or into VIP at the rooftop party but I always have to cut my visits short because some men get frustrated when they get closer to the fact they’re never gonna hit it and it’ll take more than an iced-out wrist to persuade me.

Sometimes I think my standards are too high. I expected to be treated like a lady no matter where I go. I like my doors held open and my drinks brought to me. I evaluate people as full beings and try my hardest to stay away from judgment while shedding light on the truth. I wrote my last post on Jay-Z’s “Open Letter” and while I believe in everything I wrote, I’m still nervous that I wrote it. I know because I couldn’t have it read in front of me last night. I still care about people and their spirituality. I care about souls. I think that people should be better people and if we could learn to care for and respect each other, the world would be a better place. I don’t know if this is possible in my lifetime, but it’s possible in theory –just like Communism. Even the people we love the most have flaws. That’s why I believe that the people who love you most are the ones who know exactly what’s wrong with you. I wonder if “love” means loving someone aside from their flaws or helping that person see those flaws and decide if they are actually flaws at all.

I don’t like anything that’s not real.  Fake people stress me out and make my back hurt. Fake hair, nails, lashes and all that make me uncomfortable. It’s not that I haven’t worn them, or that I won’t I just need to know that I love me the way God made me, best. Anything I add onto my body is an accessory. Just like any accessory I’d use, I’d need to switch it up. Love the bangs!” Everyone loved the bangs, but it was a temporary look. I’d gone to a Fetish Party (lol, yesss and it was awkward and dope. I’m a latex and leather kinda girl. Got myself a whip and everything ❤ ) and decided to give them the Mia Wallace look. I wore this same wig when I bought my car. It’s really just something for me to throw on when I’m either in a rush or bored… not for a look. I don’t want to change me… that’s what I’m afraid of. Some people talk “all natural” for food but nothing else. I just like to be me. 

The toughest part about loving myself is understanding what that means. I don’t love myself because I think I’m better than anyone… or that I’m doing a better job than anyone. I love myself because I admire the effort I’m putting into my life. I never thought I could be a good person. I actually thought I’d end up like most other girls I know: a kid, two jobs and no car. Nothing against them, I just applaud myself because my reality is the fairytale I prayed for. I get scared when people love me because I feel like they don’t know anything about me. I’m the girl who’s always by herself and no one asks why –even though I know they wonder. It’s difficult to tell people you don’t trust human beings without offending them. It’s more difficult to pretend to be other than you are. 

“I’m sorry,” is the phrase I use often. I apologize to people for being myself all the time. In a second’s notice, my conversations get personal and heavy while I’m telling people how much I love them and how the world needs improvement. I’m just unsure of how people deal with me. I admire my friends because I’m not easy to put up with –you never know what I’m going to say, but it’s going to be some real shit and you don’t know how that might end up either. People respond to me semi-well. Females have a hard time with me: I make them question their righteousness. They compare themselves to me and try to put me down instead of understanding that I’m just doing the best I can and if I happen to be doing better than them, I’m happy to leave footprints. Men have a difficult time because I’m nice to all of them so they secretly attempt to woo me. When they find out I’m not interested or too focused on my own life, they get upset and turn away.”You can’t do that,” I was told once. “You’re going to scare guys away.”

          “If he’s gonna run, he better run fast,” I told him.

    I feel like I’m going to be alone for a while and it frightens me that I’m not scared. Apparently, everything works wonderfully through God, so I’ve begun to pray so much I feel I’m high off righteousness. I read the bible at lunch. I promise you, I was never this good of a person. I use to mack them to distract them and then left them like nothing happened. I started going to clubs at 15 and, in college,  partied everyday of the week except Sundays and Tuesdays. But I’ve always been bright. I always had limits. I was never really pretty, at least I never thought so.  I don’t know where this all came from –the men who stop and stare and do anything I want them to. The females who want to be my friend, complimenting me like they care. In my head I’m still short, chubby, black and ugly as ever, however… I drive German now and that really makes a difference.

I feel so comfortable being me. I don’t even care what it means. I simply… don’t think. I just move with my heart.  No matter how awkward… because I never feel normal anyway. But at least I’m sure that whatever I did is what came from me, from the purest part of me. No motives. No schemes. The most uncomfortable feeling in the world has to be figuring out how to be yourself.  There are things I still haven’t said about myself. That might be tough to believe with how much I write, but I live and learn everyday. I’ve got to give the world small pieces of me, because they obviously can’t handle much. I’m not interested in slowing down… I just can’t wait for the day I can be open and honest about everything without feeling the least bit of fear. That, is really, what I’m aiming for.

What I’m here for is to show you that you might not be the only one struggle.   People will want you to change, but you can’t, so you should work on making you as good as possible. They’ve got to accept you as you are. People probably want these posts to be shorter, but they won’t be. You’ve got to take it as I give it to you. Getting to the top of the mountain is difficult and lonely… but not so much as you think. Not if you have the right equipment. Not if you have peace of mind. Not if you’ve gotten rid of your fear. If you’re a good woman, it’s like you can’t have fun anymore. It means you’re boring. You can’t do anything. You sit at home and cook and clean… but perhaps our definitions of “fun” should be reevaluated… just maybe. Or maybe this is just me and, if it is, I’m okay with that, too. What is a woman, really? That’s the next post.

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Thank you for reading ❤


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