We all want to be better people. No. I take that back, because I’m not sure the R. Kelly’s and Ted Bundy’s of the world think that way. So… some of us want to be better people. We want to operate as our “highest selves.” The problem with this, is that it’s just a term until you define it. You have to know what makes you low in order to elevate. I’ve done a lot of isolating, crying, meditating, day drinking, I mean, dreaming, and analyzing to pinpoint my vibrations.
This one is going to be a doozy so bear with me.
Let’s talk about my lower self, because yes I’ve been there. I feel that when it comes to who I am I’m always operating in a grey area. I’m such a I give what I get type of person that it’s hard for me to stay either up or down. My goal is to always, always take the high road, but some people really make you sit your crystals down. It’s okay to let people know when they have you fucked up.
What is your sun? It’s your ego, identity, “role” in life. It’s the core of who you are. (Co--Star app)
Me? Yes, I can be possessive, more with things than people, because well I’ve suffered great loss. I get tired of losing so I hold onto the things that mean something to me. I hold them even if they make me bleed. Am I working on this? It’s not at the top of my list.
Am I clinging? I can be. With people, because when I love, I LOVE. I want you everywhere with me all the time even if it’s in silence. I’d probably bring my partner to work with me if I could. I know that this is unrealistic, because people have to have their own lives. Maybe this is why I’ve been so successful with Pisces. They have no issues making you the center of their world. They are the most adaptable people in the world. It’s crazy. Still too much of that can be a bad thing. Too much of anything can be a bad thing.
Overly jealous. Mmm, no. Jealousy is dangerous. It kills. I can't imagine being someone always hating what someone has just because I don't have it. I can’t imagine being so bothered that I’d do anything to take that away from them. Who am I to say they don’t deserve it? Have I had jealous feelings? Of course. Do I still have them now and again? Yes, because I’m human, but I check myself. Jealousy is a personal problem and up to you and you alone to figure out why that feeling found a place inside of you. However, I will admit that I’m territorial as fuck. Like a dog. Come near something of mine and I will probably, literally bite you. I’m so damn protective and the way my trust us set up… yeah. I’m loyal to a fault. I’m such a “if my girl or friends don’t fuck with you then I don’t fuck with you” type of person. I let my last Said Lover compromise this about myself, because her loyalty, to me, was faulty. I don’t want to have conversations about who did what, when, where, and why. You associate with people who I don’t like then I’ll just be territorial with myself and keep my distance from all you niggas. Period. I shouldn't’ have to ask anybody to choose. If you even have to think about it or make excuses, that says enough. Don’t pick me. Don’t expect to be picked by me either.
I’m not even going to sit here and flesh out “refuses to open up and speak about their emotions.” I’m an open blog/book. It’s the people that I deal with that seem to have a problem. I’m done twisting on doorknobs, knocking and tugging. If you want me to see your heart, cool. If not, fuck you. Let’s not waste our time. K.
Apprehensive about falling in love and becoming vulnerable. No and more no. I love, love. I am love. I am the heart chakra. I just am. I have my moments in life where I feel burned and bitter, but I blame that on the ain’t shit people that I’ve chosen for myself. Love has not changed and it never will. Leave love out of this. I’ll always, always be willing to fall and become vulnerable with a person who is deserving and it’s the right time. My three deal breakers: don’t lie to me, don’t talk shit behind my back, don’t involve another bitch. You’ll regret it. Otherwise, there is nothing like a perfectly timed love.
I’m headstrong. I’m not going to argue. Who doesn’t like to have their way? I’ve accepted when I don’t. Sort of.
Resistant to change. Funny. I used to hate change. I still do, but again it’s a grey area. I like slow, gradual change. I’m just not a rip the band-aid off type of girl. This conversation would be different with my moon and rising. Do you see my struggle? Okay. Because I will pack up, quit my job, move across the country, then silently suffer while I figure it out. I don’t know.
I’m not shy. I’m not reserved. I am observant. That is all.
Reject me, I don’t care. Some people hate me, some people want me to sit on their face while I sing them a song. It’s life. This is where I can sometimes be okay with not getting my way.
I. Am. Not. A. LAZY. WOMAN. Do I have lazy days? Absofuckinglutely. Sometimes I am in full sleep and eat all day mode. I’ll pick a show on Hulu and/or Netflix and do absolutely nothing. ALL DAY. But, when it’s time to grind and chase this bag, I’m on it. Can’t be broke. Won’t be broke. I ain’t dating you if you broke. Should have caught me in my 20’s. Even when I’m down, I’m not, because my pride won’t allow it.
Insensitive. Yes. My sensitivity is most certainly selective depending on the circumstance. Another grey area.
Grudges? I hold them. Show me a bull that doesn’t and I’ll show you someone full of shit. I’m not Jesus and owe nobody my forgiveness. I have gotten to a place in life where I can be cordial with people who have done me wrong, but they will never have my trust enough to fuck me over again. Ever.
Better at sustaining what others have started, rather than starting things themselves. Nah. I’m a boss. I create other bosses and never ask for a thing in return, but maybe a shoutout and dinner. I know people that I don’t speak about and I can get shit done when I want to.
Yes, I am critical. I’m working on this. It’s not what you say it’s how you say it, Christiana.
I am right all the time or at least I like to believe that I am. I know in reality that I’m not. I remain teachable. Feed me. Give me knowledge. That’s sexy.
Treats people or objects as possessions. I do. Scorpios, Virgos, and Cancers don’t mind. Problem solved. Well, not really, because I don’t too much care to date any of them. Maybe if they are developed enough. Maybe.
Can be lead but never pushed. I have a problem with this one. Being pushy is actually toxic AF. I’m pushy and I’m trying to stop being that way. One, because it’s not my job to make you ambitious. Two, because sometimes it’s just too aggressive and some people just aren’t ready to thrive. I have an understanding that everything I want is on the opposite side of fear, so that means taking leaps of faith and failing forward, if necessary. Not all people think this way. They are more calculated and they feel pressured when pushed. So, guess what? I’m learning to leave motherfuckers in my dust and run with people who want to run with me.
Wolves eat sheep.
Don’t push, encourage.
My opinions are mine. I choose to deal with people who have like-minded views. That’s it.
What is your moon? It rules your emotions, moods, and feelings. It reflects your personality when you’re alone and deeply comfortable.
I’m happy to announce that my moon is pretty much developed.
I am friendly. Ask all the strangers that I talk to daily.
I try to be as a original/unique as humanly possible. I like my lane and I stay in it.
Hella intuitive. Lie to someone else. I’ll know. Pretend to be a good person with someone else. I’ll know.
So broad-minded. Pro-choice, pro-hoe, pro-minding my own fucking business so I don’t have time to judge you on yours. If you want to share, I give great advice. I’ll always encourage anyone to live their best life. Even people that i’m romantically interested in. Don't let me be a hindrance to what you define as freedom. I’m a bull and will huff and puff, but I’ll let you go. Thank my moon.
Non-conforming. Me. Fuck patriarchy.
Independent. All the way. I mean feel free to pay a bill or two. I’ll even slide you the cheaper ones. I also accept food and spa days. Still independent.
Freedom loving. Yes.
Super unusual. I’m a whole mood, a vibe. Get to know me.
Super practical. Logical, too.
This one is huge. Yes, I seek to share knowledge with others in order to bring a better life for all. FOR FREE. I got fairy dust in my pockets and unicorns and mermaids are my best friends, even though I’m a witch.
I rock ‘group’ anything. Put me in coach.
Yes, yes, I help others so they can help themselves. On every level. Certain people can’t ask me for money, but they know why.
Humanity: I want to feed the hungry and provide shelter for all that are homeless. I do. I do a lot of silent humanitarian work that I don’t talk about. I can’t show up physically, but it’s not an excuse.
I can sit here all day with a list of shit I do because I love to, because this world is strange and fucked up and needs more kindness. I do things because I’m fortunate and I recognize it. I always want to do more. I want to deal with people who do more. I’m working on that.
And it is true that I will NOT attend an argument unless I feel passionately about the subject. Always ready to defend what’s right. I actually don’t mind polite debate.
What is your rising?It’s your “mask.” It’s what you present to others. Your personal style. Mine: independent, optimistic, confident, overly blunt, and critical.
I said all of this to say that operating in your higher self is all about checks and balances. I identify those things about myself that could use more of my love and dig to the root of it. Nine times out of ten it’s tied to conditioning, bad parenting, a habit I picked up from a toxic partner, and/or childhood trauma. Unlearning and healing will be two of the hardest things you will ever do in your life, but I can assure you it’s worth it. You feel different, you stop seeing flesh and you start to see souls. People’s decisions will make more sense to you, even when they hurt you. A higher-self is an awareness. An understanding.
Get to know you. Be gentle with yourself. Take your time. Success is directly tied to knowing yourself.
I can remember thinking that I needed to be a lady. My Mama raised us that way or at least she tried because that’s what women do. Mold their daughters to be what men say they want. I followed these rules up until I was a teenager. Didn’t cut my hair, sat up straight, tried not to be too loud, didn’t cuss… I basically didn’t do anything unlady like.
Then I heard a Little Kim track.
I was obsessed with that little woman from the moment I heard her voice. I knew all of her songs and posted her pictures on my wall. I’m sure I even named one of my vibrators after her. I still love her. Til death. But every time she crosses my mind now, I feel sadness.
Sadness because in loving her I had to know her story, too. I’m all for women changing their hair, bodies, and whatever else they want in order to be happy. It just has to be for themselves. I hate knowing that a man made her feel that she wasn’t enough, because she was more than enough. That woman was fine as fuck.
It makes me even more sad that I can relate. I’ve been there with the people that wanted me to be different physically. I’m just glad that I found myself enough to know better otherwise, I’d look just like Kim.
I wasn’t always the girl that was told she was pretty. Brown, buck-teeth, wide nose, kinky hair, and thin. That’s what I looked like. Guess what? People still liked me.
My ex liked her women white or Hispanic. She expressed this often. She always wanted me to straighten my hair. She often reminded me that I was thicker than she liked when I’m actually not big at all, but I mean when you’re used to dealing with Meth Anne, I guess I understand. I would just take it at first, but the savage in me got tired because, like, why the fuck are you here? You are more than welcome to trade me in for tacos or unseasoned food. There are other faces I can be sitting on while you’re wasting my time.
I had to humble her because she wasn’t my “type” either. If I have to go for physical, which I don’t because I truly believe in loving the soul and mind of a person, I like my women artsy: dreads, tattoos, piercings. I like my women with a sense of style.
She had none of this, well, except the tattoos. She also didn’t exactly have a winning personality or money or a luxury car. I’m just talking shit, but for real. She was basic.
She tried it.
I’m not bleaching my skin, I wear my hair the way I feel like it, even if that’s uncombed, and you’re going to take this body however it comes. You want bones, go get it. You want somebody with a massive ass or a BBW, I can point you in the right direction. I have a waiting list of people willing to suck orange soda from my ass if I asked them to, even your homies (insert shrugs). Ain’t no way I’ll let someone who can’t do a single thing for me that I can’t do myself, hit my self-esteem in a way that I want to transform.
I don’t even ask myself what another woman has that I don’t. I’m not competing. You can go. I know who I am. I know what I offer. You see it or you don’t.
My last Said Lover called herself making out with a non-black woman and felt the need to announce her race.
First of al, black women get enough shit and here we have our own trying to make us constantly feel inferior (blog for another day).
***Shoutout to Said Lover in November for only loving dark-skinned black women and being radical about it. Black Lives Matter. Keep your all lives to yourself on this one.***
Months later, Said Lover decided to tell me her name and was like, I can show you what she looks like.
Why does it matter what she looked like? Why do you even still have access to a woman you swear you don’t talk to, to show me what she looks like? Will seeing her make me feel less betrayed? NO. Will it erase what happened? NO.
A part of me believes she wanted me to feel insecure, but that doesn’t work on women like me. It just turns me off. Who plays those types of games? It shows me who you are and what you think of me. I'm not the woman that will want you just because another woman does. I actually prefer the opposite. The low-key sexy types that can have whoever they want, but are hard to impress with simple surface level things. They appear like they are full of themselves, but when you get to know they are layers of shocking possibilities.
So with that, She can have you will forever be my favorite things to say, because there is an infinite amount of people out here who know I’m amazing. And I’m not talking about people who stalk me on IG or Facebook. I don’t even feed into that type of validation. There are two type of women in this world: wounded or awakened. Guess which one I am.
Anyway, I’ve even had to call myself out on this because I do have a preference for chocolate. I was with a light-skinned woman for five years (remains undefeated in time) and I always told her she needed a tan. That wasn’t right of me and I recognize it.
Everyone is allowed to have a preference, but we are not allowed to force those things or our own insecurities onto other people.
So to Lil Kim, I’m sorry. You looked better than Faith Evans and Charlie Baltimore. The world was at your feet. You deserved more than what you were offered. Thank you for making me unapologetic.
I still love you.
I waited for Justice to knock. I stared at the key holder by our door that spelled out home and the custom-made wood carvings just beneath it that read: Justice and Deanna. Her knock startled me. I stood in the doorway, opening it just enough for Justice to walk through. She was coming to get her things. This was finally it. I watched her as she moved from the front to the back, passing pictures of us that hung all over and picking up things that were once ours when we were in love.
Now out of love, they were just hers.
I could see her sneaking peeks at me as she moved around. Her pain was apparent and so was mine. I never understood how loud silence could be in comparison to noise until that very moment. Had we finally run out of things to talk about? How did we get here?
For a second, I wanted to read her mind and see if she was thinking the same things as me. There had been a point when her love was exactly what I needed to get through every day. I had to admit that the days hadn’t exactly been easy without her. So did I still need her love to make it? Yes.
I felt my heart beat fast as she walked over to our dresser and sat down the chain I’d bought her for her birthday. I wanted her to keep it. At least then, I’d know she would remember me long after time had healed both of our wounds and new lovers were in place.
She sat it down slowly, and that was enough for me to know that it was hard for her to part ways with it and possibly me, too. She never did hide her emotions well, but what Cancer could unless it was behind exaggerated anger. I loved that I knew her so well but I hated it, too, because it would make it harder to erase her; harder to forget that she liked her burgers plain, her friends loaded, and a Dr. Pepper to wash it all down.
Now I thought of everything that I would have to forget: our first date when she held my hands and asked me to be her girlfriend wedding proposal style. Us sitting on the floor of the bookstore reading Canterbury tales, Nikki Giovanni, and Shakespeare. Her giving me the last of anything she was drinking when we went out to eat just because she knew I wouldn’t finish a refill and she liked to share. She would leave the television on my favorite channel—Lifetime—and run my bath water. I would complain about it being too cold. Justice got angry at me when I took too long to get into bed. She needed to kiss me every night before we fell asleep whether we were angry or not. I’d remember the fact that she wouldn’t sleep without some part of her body touching mine. Then, every morning she greeted me as though she hadn’t fallen asleep with me the night before. The thoughts of our movie dates and Blockbuster nights, just us. I’d be forever haunted.
She still packed. I wondered what she would miss about me, if anything at all since she was pretending not to care right now.
I knew better.
She had her favorite things about us. Our clubbing nights, where because of me, we always had to match each other no matter what; we’d actually started matching by accident. There were story nights when I read to her sliding in some poetry sometimes. I kissed her entire face, gave her countless back rubs, we took long showers; made love beneath the drops. I’d wash her back and she’d wash mine. She hated my random biting, but loved the nights she caught me singing by accident. She carried my bags when we shopped because I was too much of a diva to do it. Who would I put my feet on now as I slept? She’d never find another to give her our reinvented butterfly kiss, which was my long lashes, fluttering against her cheek. Why are we over, I thought.
She threw her bag over her shoulder and turned to face me in our, no my bedroom. It was the first time we’d looked into each other’s eyes since the break-up. My soul lived in those eyes; they set me on fire. She reached out her hand, my my door key in her palm, but I didn’t want it. I walked past her stretched arm, standing close, pulling her bag from her shoulder and dropping it to the floor. I reached for her chain on the dresser and unhooked it, latching it around her neck. I spoke in a whisper since the tears that sat in my throat prevented me from speaking louder, “Don’t… ever…” I paused to hold my tears, “…take this off again.”
My hand shook as I reached up to touch her face. Her eyes started to water. She grabbed me tight and held me close to her and it shocked me. I wrapped my arms around her and she buried her face into my neck and started biting at my flesh. I could feel her tears running down my collarbone as she kissed me. She tossed me onto the bed and stood beside me removing her shirt, then her sports bra. My eyes widened. She hated to expose her chest, so this was just like saying I love you.
She pulled off her shoes, then her jeans and boxers. She got into bed, leaning over me and raising my shirt. I pulled it over my head, exposing myself to her. She pressed her skin against mine and lay in my chest. Her tears were warm. I reached my hand to her face and in my mind I had flashes of the first time I wiped her crying eyes due to her thoughts of not being good enough for me because she had nothing to offer. That was so far from the truth. She leaned up kissing me again, while sliding my pajama pants off. She kissed down the middle of my stomach but I grabbed her head. I didn’t want to have sex. We lay in bed holding each other and crying. This is what it took for us to understand each other. We couldn’t get anything right, because in arguments we had the same problem, we never saw the other side. However, this was love and love was where we both wanted to be. We had achieved love and now we had to get through the hard part—loving the flaws of each other. I looked into her eyes. ''I'll unpack your bags.''
She kissed me and turned around so that I could spoon her. She liked when I laid behind her and held her. That was the only time that I didn’t mind seeing her back.