Shake It Fast

In middle school my family and I lived in an apartment complex called London Towne in Henrico County.  It was the first place we lived in when we first moved to Richmond, before my parents bought our beautiful house in Glen Allen.  I remember I loved it so much because I was coming into my own as a chef and it had a gas stove.  Ain't nothing like cooking on a gas stove.

Back then, Lima was about 7 or 8 years old.  I remember that he used to talk to himself incessantly and none of us understood what he was saying but it was incredibly entertaining to him and us.

So one day, while playing outside with him and my other brother Sheikh, I decided to listen to one of his infamous conversations with himself.

Being that he has Autism, his language is severely limited.  On top of that, his pronunciation and annunciation are almost completely absent.  I listened intently for a whole minute and could make nothing of what he was saying.

Then I heard it.  I heard what my baby was saying to himself.

He wasn't actually saying anything.  He was singing.  He was singing the song "Shake It Fast" by Mystikal with incredible accuracy.  I busted out into hysterical laughter but it didn't faze him.  It didn't stop his song.  He sang it in it's entirety, sitting on the steps of our apartment, freshly barbed head down in lucid concentration on the string in his hands.

After that I lived to hear him sing.  I discovered that he had quite the repertoire of music in his head.  He would sing a song from beginning to end in a silent room with nothing to prompt him.  He does it to this day.

I've always considered Lima to be my first child.  He is my youngest brother but I always attended to him like he was the child God gave me.  I love him so much.  I love him because he is my brother.  I love him because he's so vulnerable.  I love him because he is so funny and he has no idea he is.

He really is a gift.  If it weren't for him, our family would have fallen asunder so long ago.  But for his sake, for his love, we endure: all the fighting, all the disrespect, all the pain because he is our family's higher calling.

And it hurts my heart to not see him, to not hug him, to not watch him run from my kisses (because he doesn't like kisses), to not cook for him, to not yell at him to take a shower, to not cut his hair, to not do his nails, to not make necklaces with him...all because my parents and I can't get over ourselves.

One day Lima, we're going to get it right.  We're going to function and have peace just for you my pretty baby boy.

I do love you.  I love you I do.

Sometimes I Cry Over The Spilled Milk

I don't really understand the meaning behind the "spilled milk" saying,
but since I'm emotional and I love/hate to cry, it is interesting.

I say love/hate because anything you love to do too much,
you probably hate on some level too. 
I love the melancholic rush of crying
but I hate the messed up make-up, the puffy eyes, and the sleepy feeling,
because I never cry at convenient times,
when I have the time to take a nap.

Anyway, I imagine my whole life to be a full cup of milk spilled all over the floor,
drying and evaporating at an extremely slow pace...which is good. 
I imagine that means I'll live long.

I love milk. 
I have no idea why but I love it. 
I don't drink cow's milk anymore
(adventure's of a hoodrat African vegan--cookbook title?)
but it don't mean I don't still love it. 
I love milk = I love my life.

Of course I'm a huge crybaby with all the mood swings. 
I'm extremely sensitive and somewhat histrionic. 
When I'm happy, I'm extremely happy. 
When Im sad, I'm extremely sad. 
When I'm disappointed, I'm extremely disappointed. 
I feel everything to it's purest intensity. 
I feel strongly all the time.

If I feel blah or numb or detached,
that's about the time I should be committed because I hang onto this life mostly for the feelings.

I'm always "in my feelings." 
For a while I thought that meant something was wrong with me. 
I thought that other people had it more together than me because they could curb or hide their emotions. 
But that shit ain't real.

I feel...really intensely. 
As such, I can't curb or hide anything. 
So I'm forced to deal with it. 
So I'm going to force you to deal with it because I won't harbor this negative energy by myself. 
You are responsible too. 
So we'll talk it to death or I'll talk you to death. 
It doesn't matter to me as long as there is a catharsis of my feelings. 
And along with my emotional nature is my compassionate sensibility. 
My catharsis is inviting. 
You'll find it hard to not talk and resolve with me. 
Unless you're my mom or dad in which case, my feelings are irrelevant and I don't know how to operate under such conditions.

I say all that to say I'm in my feelings...in a good way this time. 
I told you I am working on my faith...for real this time. 
And my faith is kicking in. 

I've made some deals with the devil.
I've made some with God. 
The universe is funny enough to make either deal successful, even if it's just in the short term,
but God's negotiations endure and change for your benefit.
Sometimes without having to re-enter negotiations
(because God already knows what I need).

I'm making deals with God...exclusively. 
These deals require more patience. 
They test your faith. 
But a happy ending is almost completely guaranteed...if you keep the faith.

The deals with the devil don't require faith. 
He's gonna deliver because he wants your ass. 
The success is short-lived and the resolution is a big risk.

You might hear me say this life sucks.
I might tell you, on any given Thursday, that I hate my life.
It's not beyond me to ask you "What's the fucking point of this [life]?"
I might get really irritated if you give me a super-poetic, spiritual answer.
You might catch me crying though nothing appears to have happened...just because words fail my feelings and waterworks say it all.
I can occasionally be found in a glorious stupor of dejection in a room full of joyous chaos.
Don't be surprised if I fail or refuse to do something semi-important because, on that day, I think "life is pointless so what does it matter if I do it or not?"
It's all temporary.
I want to be here.

And I want to be here with you.
All of you.

This is my linguistic installation for sad Black girls stuck in bodies too small for their grandeur...
Stuck in cities too light for their darkness
In relationships not present enough for their vacancy
Stuck in shoes that are not their own
In futures too simple for their profundity
Stuck in shit for which you did not eat enough to produce
In a job in which you assume everyone's darkness and are paid by the lives you light up
Stuck on a bus to somewhere and nowhere at the same time
In a constant cognitive shift
Stuck in clothes that don't fit your mind
In a house full of babies you weren't prepared for
Stuck in a time you know you weren't meant to be born in
In a world where happy is a commodity
This is for sad Black girls who'd rather be sad than die.