Proof

I watched  U.S. Rep. Lisa Blunt Rochester give a speech the other day related to the insurrection in 2021, and she was carrying a blanket during the speech. At the end of the speech she said that the blanket had a marking of her ancestor registering to vote in 19th century. She said that she brought it as “proof” that her people have been at this for a very long time. That “PROOF” part really stuck out to me though. 

After mulling over my piece “16 in June” more, I had to question WHY I still have a love letter from my first love in 1999, or 3. Like, why have I kept them for so long? What was I saving them for? What am I saving them for? And when I honestly answered that question out loud, the first thing I could think of was “Proof”. Proof that someone loved me or at least professed to. And his letters weren’t the only ones I’ve kept over the years. I even found a letter from my high school girlfriend. But why do I need proof? Wait… Do I STILL need proof? Like How do I grow from here? 

I got rid of the shit. Right then! That day. Burned it and poured vinegar on it too. Pictures and all. Deleted numbers too, all of them, immediately after I processed this unhealthy attachment to past love. And from HIGH SCHOOL? Like nah. I’m 39. I gotta let this shit go. I’m making room for something new. Someone new. So I did, and I am. It’s a process though, like everything else in life. In the past I let my impulses guide me through so much of my love life that I never really took the time to examine what I really want, and I what I really need from a partner. But let me say this… I need a man who is nurturing and loving. FULL FUCKING STOP! 

“Nurturing and Loving” is the bare minimum, and if you don’t offer that, you are not the one for me. I don’t wanna fight, because I have spent a lifetime trying to convince other people that they should love me back, and I’m done. Done done. I am worthy and I always have been. It took me all this time to truly understand the depth of worthiness and how pervasive the fear of unworthiness can be. It’s like a poison seeping into your life that takes a lifetime to kill you by constantly making you feel inferior. I am not inferior! I am the manifestation of dying mother’s wildest dreams, and I will show all of you what a little black gay boy from D.C., orphaned at seven, who has surmounted every obstacle, every abuser, every hater, every eviction, every doubt, and EVERY denier of my greatness, can and WILL DO. 

And if you let me, I will seep into your life like medicine, and make you feel something deeply to make you better. All better. Because you are worthy too. You are worthy of having all of your dreams come true, and you will discover like I have that choosing our own happiness first means knowing that we have to be our own most important person. No one is above you. Not one.

I wanna walk through life with someone who sees me and knows me and protects me and my feelings. I want someone to answer the phone on first ring or text me right back even if I ask something trivial. I want someone to know how and when I eat tomatoes or eggs or sushi. And someone who takes care in the way they address me and treat me, even when I am wrong or when they’re mad; a man I can trust. I want a man who wants children and to start and build a family. I want as many children as we can afford. I want to know someone deeply. Every scar, inside and out. Every fond memory and some of the bad ones too. Every doubt, every fear, every kink, every year of the rest of our lives together. And I want him near. Like, here with me now; holding me and loving on me and just being in my space, and in my face affectionately. I want a man who can receive love and opens his heart to change and depth and letting go. I want to be married and build a life, a future, and a space to always share love unconditionally, indefinitely. Tenderness is always sublime. I just “wanna be in love. I wanna be loved. I want him by my side. I want him to hold me. I want his whole heart, and for him to have mine.”