Enlustered


I’ll Be Dat (Once More, And Again…)

I realize I use my “pen” as a sword. My “Get Real” post is rude, but I figure it’s no ruder than a person smiling when he’s unhappy or posting a wedding photo on Facebook for the anniversary of a marriage he would rather not be in. At least I’m not lying. In a way I wonder if I am lying because I’m so angry at others in “Get Real.” Am I really angry at myself for believing in others more than myself, just because others are the majority? It’s what I’ve done all my life. I was angry in first grade and I was a bully. I pulled the hair of the mixed-race girl across the street and the blonde-haired twins at school and teased other kids a lot. Should I have smiled instead when I thought I was ugly because I was  brown-skinned, and dumb because I was black like most of the kids in the low reading group that I KNEW WAS LOW even though no one said so? Being a bully was more honest than swallowing my anger like I started doing early on as a kid. I hid my anger because I was afraid no one liked me because I was a bully. They probably didn’t. Now I say, “So what?” How many people like themselves in this world where we’re expected to hide ourselves and all our so-called “flaws,” like the nappy hair I begged my mom to straighten and flatten as a kid. If that mean and angry girl (and woman I am today) resurfaces from time to time, let her reign and let it rain on me in whatever consequences that come. That little girl was afraid of no one liking her. But not anymore. As far as I can tell, no one likes anyone because almost no one is himself. And, no conflict is as difficult and insane as the one a person can have with himself. Let others dislike me, not me dislike me. Oh, was I angry at myself when I wrote “Get Real”? Maybe. Mad for staying quiet for so long when I felt overwhelmed by all the fakeness accepted as reality all around me, even though IT MADE NO SENSE TO ME. So many times I cried because I felt nothing made sense, there was so much noise I felt I was expected to pay attention to. I thought this “reality” was fake, but almost everyone around me “told” me it was real. If I was mad at myself in “Get Real,” I won’t be mad at myself now for being mad then. I won’t apologize for something that makes perfect sense. Perfect. I am perfect, as is anyone who believes in himself. For if you believe you are broken as the world tells us every second then in that belief–and in that belief only–you are broken. I’m all about containing an infection (i.e. my anger possibly at myself that day), not letting it spread by being angry or feeling guilty about it now. Now that I got that off my chest, I can say…

Peace be with you my brother–

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