What are Flaws, Really?

  According to someone, somewhere, something I’m doing right now is probably wrong and something about me is incorrect. A woman working. Twenty something and not married. Melanin infected. The nerve of me. My favorite thing about me is how great people hate that I am. It’s you who thinks that I’m great, why get mad at me? Went with the family to ColdStone the other day and got shade from everyone behind the counter. Of all the places in the world, why is everyone at ColdStone mad at me? So I tipped them. They ain’t sing to me, tho. G shit, I guess.

         People want me to have a flaw. I can never understand why people ask me that. What does that accomplish? My only flaw is that I am unapologetically myself. I don’t concern myself with anyone. Why would I? I have no children. There’s no ego involved here, just pure facts: I deserve every blessing I receive.I ask for mercy for any sins I might commit and I give thanks for all the gifts that come my way. I’m good to everyone. I love everyone. That, is my Achille’s heel. 

I pick the wrong people for all the right reasons.  My grandest fax-pas have been the “friends” department. I’d say I read people incorrectly, but the problem is, I read them too well. I cheer for the bad guy loudly and from the front row. I have a soft spot for public enemies, I take in strays and harbor fugitives. At least killers have the heart to follow through. I feel no sympathy for loss, losing or losers. I have such an intense desire to win I engage myself in every battle and every war, if not to completely annihilate the competition, then at least to moisten my sword. I do not fear anything and perhaps that is why you want to know my flaw. You want to find out where it hurts. What if it doesn’t?

   I’ve been there, twice probably. But unlike most,  I probably opted out the second time. I always learn my lesson the moment it hits me. Sometimes I learn lessons from the lessons of the world. I don’t need to know the effects of everything. No matter who you are, meth will fck your teeth up. Right? Guess I wouldn’t know first hand, tho. *shrugs* There are just somethings I have to try. Some things I have to do. Sometimes, I gotta know what it feels like. Sometimes, I don’t consider it wrong. Sometimes, you have to do the wrong things to rectify a situation. Sometimes you have to be that willing. 

  “You sing?” they ask. “I do what I want,” I reply. “Whatever my heart tells me to do,” I add to deflate the hate. I’m not a singer. I’m the writer of songs I like to sing. I’m also a whole person. I’m a woman. I’m a daughter. I’m an entry-level fckin employee. A performer. An entertainer. An artist. A sister. An inspiration. A motivation. An anomaly. But that depends on who you’re asking. I’m a jerk. A btch even. The crazy-ex and the one who got away. I’m the one who took him, the one who donated him. A prude. A princess. A mogul. A freak. And I’m all of these; all day, all night. I am an artist. I do everything with love. I live with love. That’s why it seems like I do nothing wrong –no matter the end product I never let it get me down, it’s like I never lose. I appreciate life for what it is. I take each day for what it is. I never try to squeeze perfection out of anything, I accept everything as being perfect for what it is.

  We can all be everything we want to be.  The only thing you can truly do wrong is someone else. You can try to be someone else (and you’ll never get it right) or you can actually do somebody dirty –and both these things are very wrong. On the flip side, that means the only thing you can do right is to be yourself, and to love others. I know people want to hate me. They look at me and hope they can dislike me. I don’t know why. I don’t know what their afraid of. I’m never sure why everyone thinks I want their man or that their man wants me, but if either of those are true, you’ve got quite a problem on your hands. I’ll never pretend to be better than anyone but you can’t convince me that being me isn’t the greatest thing on Earth. God chose this. If you’re mad at me for that, I’m mad at you for not feeling that same way. 

I’ve always loved myself, even when I didn’t.  “Mírala, Mámi. Se cree una artísta,” my brother used to say behind the blinds of our front windows. Look at her. She thinks she’s a star. I’ve always had a thing for sunglasses and big cars. “Eso es high self-esteem, mijo,” my mother would reassure him. I was an… okay looking tom-boy. Thick if you didn’t focus on the teenage pudge, but too dark for most of the light skinned boys I hunted. On top of that, my hair wasn’t long enough for me to confuse them. I played basketball and went to all the house parties. At 14, I became a weekends-only exhibit hood because, during the week, I was strapped up with books that weighed more than me at a private school two cities over. I hated myself, but I never felt bad. I’ve dated men grown enough to know not to ask me my age. I’ve gotten in the backseats of cars and tested my fate. I’ve cry and  laughed myself to sleep. I’ve made existences unbearable and unbearable without me. I’ve entangled men in seduction I never knew I possessed and I’ve falling hopelessly, desperately in love. I’ve lived. 

I don’t know why I’ve never worried. When it came to books, I was never ensure of going to college or where my life would take me. I’ve always known that I was intelligent enough to get myself a decent job. I knew I would pay bills. What I had no concept of what who I would be –particularly in the eyes of others. You forget that people dont know you. How do they know what is or isn’t  you? How do they know what should or should not be tolerated? How can someone outside of you tell you what’s right for you? I believe we chose our own battles. We chose when to lose. Sometime we chose to enter the war for wrong reasons. Ego is the wrongest reason –and you need that loss in order to bring you back down to earth. Sometimes we do the wrong thing because it’s the right thing for someone else. We sacrifice our morality for others –hopefully it’s for those you care for.  What is “wrong”, really? Wrong is doing anything I don’t want to do. So no. I never do anything wrong. 

Sorry to disappoint,


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