This is a rather abraded subject for me, in which I will somewhat obscurely write about it on this very public medium. In considering my life, it has been made unwarrantably and undesirably public, so why not continue in the same fashion?
Thursday’s tears erupted after washing my face and taking off the smeared mascara around my eyes.
I spontaneously shuddered into emotion as I allowed myself to feel this past semester’s needled throes, which have questioned, with voracity, my stature as a woman. Weak, oblivious, duped are just a few of the overtly stated or slyly implied adjectives/verbs/nouns.
With all do respect, ______ ___. I cannot bear, bear, bear to write my anger in those two lazy words. It is too easy. Plus, I would much prefer, to my emotional dismay, create something that actually brings reconciliation contrary to divisive techniques. Damn it, why must I need, ache for this?
I know, in part, precisely why. I hate wondering what they know, what she or he thinks, why they feel entitled to label, or need I try to avoid them, her, him…It is a purely wretched experience to feel split off without decent curiosity of my life or any remote belief in transformation.
The tears are not stopping unfortunately.
I care immensely for the lenses that people see me through. Here, let me clean off the watermarks; here, let me wipe those finger smudges off; here, let me…
And, I care immensely for justice that seeks humility, unity, and care for those that are deservingly or undeservingly alienated. Here, see the illusions thought of over and over again; here, see the historical pain that now has accosted many more injury; here, see…that we are for the same ______ God.
Assumptions and labels are most utterly horribly painful to endure. I have felt this in a manner that will hopefully give me mercy, mercy, mercy to those who may fit my (unresolved and unfinished) paradigms, judgments, and narrative dispositions because I know now–it is not what you always think or believe it is.
My face is taut, but dry. Nose is running. My physical heart is slowing. Yet, the moment I begin to survey the many faces, which either hold dogmatic views or indiscriminate ideas of me as well as others, I feel grazed and then sapped with emotion.
Open the tunnel, the sunroof, the oneway, the deep-seated pain and find me. Not the me that has distantly qualified for the grand prize of danger, but the me that has experienced, tasted, and knows love–strong, deep, sweet, messy love.