When the door opened Love ushered us in; outside we left the weights of REALSTUFFbyREALMe. An immediate resurrection of man and wife. We greet with our eyes and embrace and feel the Gatekeeper’s steadfast grace of steel.
Were we once a humble pair splitting wood in the frosty air? Could I have worn the apron with many pockets, dorned our love around my neck in a tiny locket? Could you have lit the lamps around these grounds, secured the doors and made dutiful rounds? Was I boiling coffee on the woodstove and mending your clothes, warming your supper with my lips painted rose? Did we sit at this table and you take my hand, give me a kiss and an engagment band? Were we lovers who lied in this feathered bed, content with simplicity of the life we led? Did we transcend through time to resow our love, have we risen again or come from above? Endlessly you’ve taken my love, my heart and fears, you’ve kept me safe and dried my tears. The fire will burn for eternity, for you are my Gatekeeper and hold our key. Each time we visit this calm, safe place the door to our love is reopened with grace.
From birth we bloom into small pieces of our influencers; be they biological, guardians or our adoptive family, they mold us and reinforce our beliefs. They can be good or bad and some down right insane. Lm comes from a broken one, a narcissist, sociopath, alcoholic, fraud. At some point in time we have a chance to release ourselves from the bondage of all negativity, hurt and wrong, after wrong, after wrong. I am not responsible for my father’s failures, dishonesty and lack of stability within himself. He had chances to show by his actions that he did give a shit. To do better. To live on a good path. He couldn’t do it. It was not impossible; it was a lot of hard work and his blue eyed white freckled privledged ass got him in and out of places, spaces, around rules, regulations, and he was a damn good con artist. But hard work he was too good for. He portrayed himself as the educated, worldly, white collar type. All starched and pretty when he really was just like thousands and thousands of others who’ve hailed from the “projects” of larger USA cities. He was a product of the government’s way of helping out people, of all creeds, races and dreams to bunker down and guess what to do with the rest of their lives. He would escape because he could lie himself into a better world. I watch all these fraudulent Netflix true stories and keep expecting him to be found and investigated. How the hell has he gotten away with his ugliness? There are many black men and women who have struggled legitimately to rise above their strife. Not everyone is leaning on a junkyard dog selling smack to babies. I was lifted from this strange and perilous lifestyle by my mother. She worked her ass off and honestly fought to the top. My father screwed around with his polluted version of his reality for years, yet still believes he is better than the rest. His current wife, the enabler and also younger than me he has used and abused; let’s agree it is their story to tell. I can only say that if you have one door slightly opening for you to “UP Your Self “, broaden your life and be better than those who have wronged you go for it. Hanging back because it feels comfortable or an anihilation of your duty to family togetherness is what the weak choose. They don’t run when their own sibling bleeds. As the Black Sheep I, Lm, am free because the one who was to teach me right from wrong left me with a puzzle with lots of pieces missing. ROCK puts these pieces back together and intel comes in slowly but surely of more lies upon lies that bury BaDDaD’s front. Behind those cold blue eyes are mounds of unearthed relics. The feeling he continues to project upon new people in his life makes them feel like royalty. They don’t see the grinding of his teeth, the tensing of his jaw when he is deciding his next move. But Lm does. He is 79 years old and can’t bare to to reveal his reality within. If he did, he’d be alone. That won’t happen because one thing that this white, nice looking well dressed man has that women of any color, men who are not white and those who have based their lives on trust, faith, love, TRUTH and honor is he will succeed in keeping his lifestyle through selfishness and living on lies. He will survive because he is a master of his craft. He recreates his name and his madly perceived world repeatedly. Does he or any bad man ever truly pay? Is their any truth to karma, any paybacks or divine intervention? I don’t know anymore. I just know a bad thing when I see it coming because I learned what a bad thing was growing up and running far away from my trauma and triggers was all I knew, until ROCK pulled me to my feet. I still pray just in case there is a higher deity who will show me that my own suffering has not been in vain. ROCK wants BaDDaD to pay for his violations of the heart, the lies, the life he has led. Lm has no belief in retribution. Lm just wants to be heard because she is good. She was always good and yet has days in which her mental anguish is so forceful she must go back down the stairwell and wait for some light again.
Who made a difference that forever will echo a pivotal change in your thinking?
Who made you swear to never sink “that low”?
Why do other people’s experiences matter to you?
Why do we dance around the TRUTH to save someone’s feelings?
Is authenticity even capable of being achieved if you knowingly leave doubt in the air?
Can one truly change another person for the better, or is it just in the timing that we converge?
Is the Earth sufferring for the first time?
Is “man” innately selfish and blind?
If you had to choose between making yourself happy or your child’s life better what would you choose?
Do you think we are predestined in this life as we know it?
If you had to list your best qualities, what are they?
If you had to kill someone to save another could you?
Would you choose saving a thousand bottle nose dolphins or panda bears over having thousands of extra dollars a month to spend?
When you say “prioritize”, what exactly do you mean by that?
Can you accept TRUTH and still love the one who hurt your parent, child, sibling, or friend?
Would you prefer to be “left in the dark”, “turn the other cheek”, or “stay out of it” as a moral code of action if you found out bad things about one of your most beloved humans?
I, in the NOW, surmise that since ROCK has protected LittleMe for fifty – nine years, no one wants the TRUTH or the real story because it makes them feel guilty and messes with how they see the “family” as a whole. Lm is the Black Sheep because she stopped compromising. In the end will her TRUTH matter?
In one instance, a human being can cross your path and alter every single aspect of who you are and how you see the world. Am I that person or are you?
In the middle of my night and the morning light I often feel my heartbeat’s whisper. In the black starless sky I know now that I am healing, heading for a choir of unbroken bonds, true meaning, countless moments of Love that’s mine. I shake loose the shackles of my past, I no longer need to remember him, the One who was to be my lifetime protector. I lay BaDDaD to rest as my father. I see beyond my physical ability into a rainbow of shimmering passion, a place so blessed and perfectly mine. No longer will my heart be full of muddy trenches and unfathomable pain. He is gone now. He is a good story for someone else to tell. Like a child I make a wish and toss my golden coins into the sea. I know it will take a very long time to sink to the bottom and perhaps they will become lost treasures among sea glass and pebbles in wavy sand for some one new to find. I ask the spirit of innocence, the power of genuine trust to comfort me. Lay beside me now. Let my heartbeat’s whisper belong in good hands, sister to sister, teacher to child, mother to daughter and lover to lover. May I save the rest of me and float softly into my dreams without fear. Amidst my sleep I beckon no fear to wake me, shake me and remember the lost One. Come, lay by me. Gently sing my heart to rest; Gently Lay By Me my Love, your devotion is my breath. If a star should shine tonight it is just for you, the love who stayed steady when I was almost through. The air is cool with springtime winds and following my heart always wins. Goodnight my love, my lifelong friend, let me sleep beside you once again.
Adorn me with flowers of lace, ripe cherries and encircle me with scents of love. The sweat, the tears, the glory, the risks. Swing me high toward the heavens where beyond the morning sun lies hope. Protect my heart from the fierce winds that lash against the sea coast, from the melting ice of wronged lovers, the friend that walked away, the past that tries to rebirth into my now. Let the taste of love, desire and acceptance which has been buried shoot up from the womb of our ancient gardens; ones we continue to sow and harvest from and breech without returning blessing from our gifts. Let love be released into the hands of kindness, kept from the grip of cruel misers who want it all for themselves. All. For. Themselves. Swaddle my inner child and embrace my womanly strength. Amaze me with praise just once, for I fought so hard with unseen swords and I came to know this place in me that I alone am responsible for. My courage came from the roots of all women before me, the blood and laborous calloused hands of every color of flesh, every stealth victory that was not recognized by the lone observer. I am adorned with the wisdom of wise, weathered trees that are like the bones deep inside the earth that lie and listen to the new steps taken above. Steps to become stronger, better not best. With smooth velvet, sanguine and rich I pour back my beauty of life into the land that I borrow from our highness, our home, our clawed and traversed planet. Swing me high above the cherry tree so I can see the hope. Swing me higher than the swallows and let me see the love that is in waiting; grace my heart and heal my sorrow for I am unable to be truly conscious without soaring above the ugly minds of those who tried to break me and the venomous souls that are the works of greed. Adorn me with solace so I may give again and again and more. Again, again and more.
Words form and stop, quivering at my lips I say nothing. A rush of warmth rises inside my throat leaving me choking on my own emotions. A battle ensues between my psyche and my gutteral instincts. I divide my shivering heart into portions like raw meat and pack them away making sure they are placed so far away from resurfacing, breaking free and falling out of my mouth. I am the keeper’s key, the guardian of truth and I am aligned with no one, not even my own conscience. I see from behind, from above, below and further within Her, that is, Littleme. I see in my mirror ROCK and turn away in denial, never wanting my scarred outer skin to acknowledge it’s own shedding. I have heard among many other words of advice to let sleeping dogs lie, a rolling stone gathers no moss, somethings are to be put to rest; I lick my lips drenched in salty tears and feel sewn up with my secrets. I know that my only chance of survival is to let go of the words begging to be spoken, to follow in the steps walked before me and keep my head down. To be truly seen is not going to happen. No magical wand will be given to me so for now, for Lm I raise a white flag and surrender to the unresolved, the pointlessness of words that are chained within.
Littleme, that is Lm, has a very bad drawer full of horrible, never released from her grip memories. They come from so far away but changed her entire life entirely when three words were said to her, “I love you”. By now she’d moved north to the east coast, the Mason Dixie line and Maryland’s capital, Annapolis. She was so stuffed with emotions, drowning in her regurgitated pain and felt smothered. She hoped this move would save her from hiding in the closed gymnasium during lunch, standing on toilet seats quietly, stealing cigarettes and never eating without self punishment. Sit ups and runs and more sit ups and excuses to hide her body from an ounce of flesh. It was her last chance at control. When walking along the city docks she loved the ting-a-ling sound of sailboats moored in neat rows, the fisherman pulling up baskets of crabs and the liveliness and freedom she’d not known before. Walking shop to shop, discovering alleyways and for once, even if BaDDaD had no time for her she was breathing calmly. A solemn walk around the historical homes, perfected gardens and boys eyeing her felt good. She was registered into a Catholic school as it was nearby and she could walk there in the morning sun or fog from Elle and BaDDaD’s home and her soft and sweet smelling sister that Elle had blessed her with. She loved her uniform which made her fit in without much judgement but make-up was frowned upon. Only three other girls wore make up in school and they were pushing buttons and perimeters. She didn’t want to push anything, just be loved. The one who got her attention was sly. Not that great of a young man but his younger brother was in her class. He was a straight A student and she had been also until she stopped caring. One sunny spring day, late March, perhaps it was St. Patrick’s Day, two older guys were sitting drinking canned beer from a small boat at a prime spot to see all the passersby. Lm walked past and a guy called out to her with messy blonde hair with eyes that looked like shiny blue gems. He asked her if she knew his brother and introduced himself. Both of these rowdy over twenty- one year old guys were brothers to a boy her age in her religion class. She presumed they could not be dangerous and obliged them with coy and polite conversation. The tornado of events and fucked up-ness that was unleashed from that point changed her entire life, her belief in Love, yes, the one with a capital “L” ; shame was all she felt. Her father was sometimes trying to keep the two apart but what could he do really? Parenting is a full time job and he couldn’t hold one down in his past so it was obvious he wouldn’t have the answers. The boyfriend pursued and among one of the places he lived was on an old fishing boat with his best friend at the time nicknamed, “Mo’. Lm hopped off her bus often just before her own stop over the drawbridge downtown. She had a craving for Love and he was meeting her needs even if he was a lying predator and a drunken druggie whom she obliged on a sinking boat. He always had weed and every drug imaginable. He told her how he liked her hair, what clothes suited him the best and mostly how to satisfy his sexual needs. What she didn’t know was he kept an entourage of young women to keep him happy and his demolition of Lm’s mental health would benefit him and confuse her for years to come. Nobody was stepping in or up to save her. He gave her an STD of some kind and she was terrified of seeing a doctor. She was absolutely nothing. Ruined. Used. Lost and lost again and again. To this very second Lm has not forgiven him or his friends who lied and withheld his sexual meanderings. Not even now can she let go. He soaked her in lies and words so tender yet he was the true definition of a monster. BaDDaD and this guy were much more alike than she realised. Within she had this desperate pleading need for her father and soon she would transfer all of her attachment issues onto this very bad man. She began failing classes, running away from her BaDDaD’s often to see her very unhealthy “boyfriend”and she would lose many opportunities for fun with good friends because she was always afraid of losing him. Eventually she did; his father intervened and he was sent to Maine for his Captain’s license and planned to join the merchant marines. She wrote letters, called often and even took me of BaDDaD’s credit cards and flew to Boston and then took a bus to Maine. The sheer vulnerability she carried was taking her down. She was on the Titanic and no one was going to throw her a life vest. It was one of the most pivotal changes she would go through and at her lowest point she had no one to talk to or see her suffering. BaDDaD just wanted her to be beautiful and continue to idolize him, which she did for many rocky years. Putting this drawer away so Lm doesn’t dare to dream of the nasty, cruel boyfriend. There will be much more on the wild, unreigned years of her life. No one knew, NO ONE how bad she felt inside and she would learn much later that men hurt you. The nice ones didn’t want her. A sweet friend paraphrased her redundant lack of genuine suitors as, they perhaps felt “out of their league” and intimidated by her beauty; she would carry a sense of a strange faithfulness to the horrid sleazy guy who used her nativity for his personal gain. The #METOO movement has brought Lm to her demons door and she will forge straight on telling her TRUTH. Rock will help her from swirling down the drain.
ROCK knows Lm needs attention yet he forces her to grow, not dwell on her past. She is indeed sprawling, like ivy across an old doorway leading to solid stone paths. Above the sky is blue and she knows that real people suffer and others are indifferent. She sees the careless, haplessly self-absorbed humans as beige. How can anyone not care about the whole damn picture? Who are those that see blood dripping from the heavens and go about their lives with normalcy? People are screaming for help in our neighborhood; Ukrainian families embrace fear and the beige people are shopping for more, more, more. The neighborhood is all inclusive, a package deal. What happens in the Ukraine is happening to all of us. Part of Lm is always thinking, worrying, sorrowful and broken, yet when she sees the same in others she stands up on the top step and pushes her way to the front lines. She will not tolerate the deficiencies in other’s consciousness, she will use a loud speaker, bang on drums and pipes until she is heard. She cares very little about beige people and their circles of chatter. Blue skies are hanging over the whole world right this minute, not at all like the blue in Thailand’s resorts, or on Miami’s most popular beaches that have beige people with pink cocktails. Blue skies are singing deep and low old spiritual songs from the warriors, slaves and feminine fighters before us. The air is thick with fumes spewing the cries of innocence, the children deeply weary from moving place to place for their own good. Who is running to help them up or out; is this real at all? This war is not a test, it’s real life, real stuff and how can anyone, anything matter more than this now? No broken porcelain doll, no dreary childhood, no stack of dirty dishes, no movie star, no religion, not NOW! Prayer has brought Lm to her skinned boney knees repeatedly for 59 years and nothing changed. Beige people walking like zombies pushing strollers full of new life in a world of blue skies that are truly full of broken hearts. The moon, the sun, the unnamed stars are all watching the game below. We ARE in the real world reality show and we aren’t winning. ROCK knows that as long as Lm is focused on sending out SOS signals to save others she forgets her self. She is selfishly entwined in her own pain otherwise. ROCK knows she is soon ready to push through the door that he guards. He also knows, even if she defies her own needs she will return to him on lonely nights, when the memories keep her awake, when she remembers her BaDDaD and can’t get passed a memory. She will come back to ROCK and as always he will calm her grief, even if it’s a repetitive move he will know how to protect her tender soul.
I really don’t like when I am lucid, full of clarity and on target and someone I love or care about is so far out in the left field that words are just as meaningless as a bad pitch in baseball; the batter walks to first base and it is glorified in an underdog way. To hit the ball and it land in the outfield without a doubt means a good run, sometimes third and the best of times a homerun. How do we manage our relationships with outfielder’s and there seemingly purposeless positions. Batter, batter Swing! The crowd cheers and everyone has a home team. What happens when the home team turns sour and distances themselves from the bigger picture? One snores, the other stays up writing and wondering how her major league Love and homerun hitter becomes so distant, callous and seems to just be playing the game for his/her self. I don’t need a homerun, just certainty that I am loved from base to base and cheered on even if I am the one who usually sits in the dug out waiting for a chance to make a grand slam. Baseball is so nostalgic especially on the radio. It makes me long for warm summer nights and a play by play commentator. It makes me feel safe even if I am a terrible player. My all star is asleep and I’m listening to him breathe; I guess tonight is 0-0. I am sad but know he will eventually be on the bench with me. I hate going to sleep with the score unsettled. Morning comes and the sun offers us a new day, one with new intentions, forgiveness and love our as always is anew.
I never saw me, much less Littleme, or myself even now as a valuable existence. My presence has been a seemingly huge burden to both of my parents for 58 years. I had the career woman breaking boundaries in a man’s world for my mother and a father who simply lied and recreated himself from one persona to another. Sad, a bit, yet he had a choice. He could have been honest and humbled but he responded to his poverty and his past with denial. My mother remains proud and honest and her success is all real, her own and no one can steal her accomplishments. Now I lay in some comfortable surroundings in a beautiful city and the war has brought us to our knees. In Sweden we see and welcome more blue and yellow, refugees who are without a choice. They are proud and strong and simultaneously fearful. Who the hell am I to care about my shitty father, my semi siblings who never call or inquire about my family’s reality? Here I am, a refugee of another kind. A foreign land with my true love, my only child and not one person back home calls to see how I am. Who am I? A woman, a girl, a mother, sister and wife and all I want is to help others feel love, hope and security. The Russians are not bad. Their dictator stole their souls and forced this invasion. Ukrainian women and children flock together and stream into our world but I feel only guilt. Why? Because I never can save enough people from life’s dangerous blows. I barely saved me. God give us a break please. Help. Lead me to solace and peace in my heart so I can stand tall for others.