Black Sugar & Air Signs

Not a sweet little church girl anymore,
though honestly was I ever really?
The Church was a place I felt safe,
at 17, I needed a family that would never hurt me.

But between classes and masses,
out in the world,
I spent my days worshiping nature
and the best nights in bed with him.

Smiles and halos for the crowds,
bitter silence for classmates at 17.
Who was I really?
And what about now?

Strutting down Main Street
on Easter Sunday, 23,
haven’t been to church in years.
The faith and family I found there were lies.

I’m not saying any faith is right or wrong,
only that the faith for me is the one of true love.
The one that empowers me
to embrace the jaded mess of a woman I am.

Bull skull on my t-shirt with my head half-shaved,
resting bitch face on point.
Contemplating the ethics
of vulnerability and speaking up.

Anxiety has been eating me up,
panic attacks like you would not believe.
Torn between the black and the white,
who the hell am I?

Some days I think I know.
Some days I bless uncertainty
and embrace the ambiguity
and worship duality, sweet in-between.

Other days, I’m a mighty Libra queen
and I want justice!
I’m a bitter bitch,
the intentions of others are disappointing as hell.

But maybe they wouldn’t bother me so
if I didn’t also hate myself
for the same insecurities
and the less-than-perfect behaviors.

Seeking validation is a curse
and an addiction that, truthfully,
I want more than anything to kick.
But how do you stop what comes as naturally as breathing?

I love myself.
I say it over and over.
I mean it, I believe it.
It’s the absolute truth.

But I guess my love is messy.
Because as much as I love myself…

I don’t give myself the first chance-
the first chance to validate me.
The first chance to love and accept me.
The first chance to cheer me on.

That’s my right,
but I always seem to give it away…
Never missing it until it’s gone.
And then resenting myself

because it’s not the other person
who failed to react the way I wanted
that is responsible for the slap in the face of my ego.
It’s me, me who gave her power away once again.

Me who wants nothing more than the other half of me to see who I am, to love who I am, to be who I am and let that shine so bright it hurts.

The thoughts swirl and spiral,
resenting old friends and new,
wishing and washing when it comes to family bonds,
longing and detesting all at once.

So I run out again,
desperate to fill the need,
to feel sweet and perfect again.
Another black sugar tea- milk and no ice.