I’m so glad I went to church today. Hell, I’m so glad I went anywhere at all today. Because yesterday I didn’t even leave the house. I intended to. Put on clothes, did my hair and everything. I even put on a swimsuit and opened the front door to go out there, then I changed my mind. As badly as I wanted to feel both the sun and the water on my skin at the same time, I wasn’t ready to be in the world. It’s a process for me. And some days, I just need to sit and deal with my feelings. And I feel like I did that yesterday.
It was after 1 o’clock when I finally mustered up the strength to get out of bed and shower. I turned on the water and looked at myself in the mirror, butt-ass naked and asked myself, “Are you gonna cry today?” I continued with a full out-loud conversation with myself, “Yes,” I replied, with an attitude and matter-of-fact in my voice. “Okay, but you only get like, 2 more days of tears, so use them wisely,” I finished. No lie. This is the actual conversation that took place in my bathroom. I started thinking about that… “2 more days of tears”. I knew I’d need some of those tears for Sunday, but I also wanted to reserve some for a random day that may come within the next week or so.
My plan this morning was to get to church in time for the altar call. I woke up with straight intent today on getting to that altar, even if it killed me. After the last couple days, I felt like I needed to throw myself on the altar and give it all to God…or whoever would listen. I’d tried praying the night before, but I felt so far away from God that I just got back in bed and continued to torture myself with the thoughts in my head.
While I don’t feel that one Sunday service has healed my broken heart, I do feel like whatever it is that I’ve been in search of, I’m not gonna find it in the bottom of this beautiful champagne flute, or any other form of self-medication that I’ve prescribed to.
I had the idea this morning that I should become celibate. Like, 4real. Like, intentionally. You know, it’s one thing when you’re going through a dry spell and not getting it on a regular, but it’s quite another when you make the conscious decision to commit to your own self-deprivation in hopes of self-actualization and fulfillment. I’ve always felt like, for me, sex complicates things. And the connection that I want with someone should be waaaay past physical.
I’ve always struggled with that one area in my life, anyway.
Releasing apologies in moments of ecstasy
You asked me why
Screaming, “Oh my God”
I was obliged
Because I was cheating on you both
Calling His name while I was making love to you
Giving you the part of me that should’ve been saved for only one person
I think I should make a vow
No, I need to do it now
Commit to myself
When I don’t even know how
And I’m not really sure who I am anymore
This hurts so bad. Like, I can’t even put into words what I feel. It surpasses pain. I feel betrayed. And maybe I shouldn’t but I do.
I searched my bed for clues. For some indication that we existed.
But I couldn’t find anything.
I’m starting to think it wasn’t a coincidence
That I never found the key that you thought you lost.
But maybe, I just wasn’t supposed to find the key to open that door.
It would be easier if I could make you be an asshole.
But in my mind, you’re just a guy who loves his mama. And music. And beautiful women.
And I was just a girl who loved Love. And you.