Solitude

My alone feels so good, I’ll only have you if you’re sweeter than my solitude. – Warsan Shire

Imagine meeting someone who loves their own company as much as you love your own.
And you say things like “you like being alone and I like being alone, lets be alone together” and it sounds like the most magical thing ever and not as cheesy as you’d imagined it.

I believe in magic and miracles and answered prayers. And I have learnt different ways to connect to the creator, through creation and through a very important tool – my tongue. You see… it would’ve been so easy to give up and say, “fuck this I don’t want to give anyone else a chance because when this shit goes sour it hurts like a muther!!!”
No. Instead I am choosing to trust all I have ever learnt. I have listened to the sounds the breaking pieces of my heart made as they cracked… every single time. All they ever asked for was a chance to mend and be whole again. Because they actually love what they do; they love. They feel. They carry hope and most of all, they carry all those I love and have ever loved. How dare I dwell in the misery and false promise of this being it, the end? How did I ever think my story was done? How could I leave my heart in pieces?

Imagine realizing you have been an active participant in the brainwashing scam of your own damn self. Like some John Black and Stefano Dimera stolen memory saved on a floppy disc kind of shit. OMG!!!

I had to unfuck myself and go back to the person I was before I believed any of that BS I was fed about never being enough of amounting to anything. I had to shut out and shut down, leave the world because it always asked that I be strong and happy and positive and cheerful and such a good example that women are strong.
Fuck that.

I unsubscribed from being a strong woman, because unfortunately she comes with a serious amount of bitterness because her strength is measured by the number of punches she can take – no, not from life and the world – but rather from mutherfuckers (I tried to find a better word to describe them but all the words in all the world do not have as much punch as this in describing the breed of people i’m talking about here) who cannot stand their own company and love their misery so much and are always eager to have guests who will commiserate. And if you are a guest that stays long enough until the misery starts to seep out of your pores and you hear yourself beat your own damn self-up for ever thinking you could do better… you are a strong woman! You earn your badge of honor. You get a ring that will make all the other weak women envy you. What a load?!

So, I am not a strong woman. I am a woman. I am soft and fragile. I am a glorious mess and I am magical.
My alone feels so good and someone who likes being alone, likes being alone with me. And it is sweet AF!