The Internet can be a cruel and unusual abyss of half-cocked opinions and bargain basement analysis, especially when it comes to Black wom...
Keep On Movin (sing it Caron Wheeler!!)
In reality, he’s been on my mind a lot. This need to speak and check on his well-being, ask after his transition... I don’t recall the last time he crossed my mind. When I recognized he wasn’t deserving of the space, I packed his access to my thoughts in a black Glad Bag and laid it on the curb. I didn’t even check the schedule to see when it would be picked up, I just walked away. That didn’t mean he had disappeared, just that I didn’t need to hear his empty verses anymore. Then he did disappear. Before doing so I had an opportunity to make a bygones gesture. If I ever cared, I always do... The gift should’ve been kept in my bag of intentions because it only un-muted his voice so he could lay one more verse. I walked away again. He just didn’t get it.
And now this. Daily thoughts of him, wondering how he’s faring out there in the new world. Because it shouldn’t matter to me, I’ve remained silent. My silence has taken me inward. My subconscious mind is all a-flutter, stirring up this and that. I refuse him during waking hours so it’s in my sleep that he’s appeared.
I love the honesty of MY dreams. They don’t steer me wrong if I bother to pay attention. So, I saw him, in a familiar place. Spoke as I was passing by, as a courtesy to someone who once almost meant something if he’d only let it happen. It must not have been enough because he started talking, in response to my greeting. But he wouldn’t stand still. He was as jittery as a jitter bug (what the hell is a jitter bug) and didn't spend 2 seconds in the same spot. It was all unnecessary as I hadn’t solicited his attention; I’d only said “Hey.”
The dream twisted and turned, and even had the mention of the late Coretta Scott King’s name. That part can be disregarded for now. But dream world confirmed that I should let these thoughts remain shapeless as they are now and resist the natural urge to reach out and touch someone whose leaving footprints across my mind. Like everything else, and this too shall pass. If I honor my instructions, when it passes I’ll be fine. There’ll be no wide open revolving doors for BS to be served at my table. I won’t have to be maddened by meaningless words falling from his lips like so much spittle because he doesn’t know when to be quiet. It’s not always necessary to speak, especially if you know you ain’t really saying shit. Maybe somewhere that sound is soothing to some woman’s ears, blinded by all that fine he is INDEED working with. I’ll pass. And so, to ensure he doesn’t burst my eardrums with the cacophonous sound of shit hitting the ground, I’m taking a vow of silence so that I may lead by example.
It was bad when it happened to the Pharcyde, but I want him to keep Passin Me By.