but if you don’t want it, the full heart and the thriving; if you are wound tightly inside the cusp of your victimoness, afraid that if you shine no one will notice, your hands will grow bruises and your fingers will become weak from gripping so deeply to the pain. change has to rise in you with the strength of infinite passion. you must make the decision to find out who you are beneath the fog and clouds which continuously drift inside your energy. introspection is an art. it is when you say this day belongs to no one else but you. it’s when you only listen to the blues for the rhythms not the tears, because you have chosen colorful moments that reconnect you to your own ethereal existence. it’s when you choose you. ~Vennie~
A male friend told me that I don’t have a boyfriend because I don’t want one.
“What does that even mean?” I asked.
He said “You want too much.”
It left me perplexed. How is that possible? How can I ever want “too much” when it comes to the peace and comfort of my own existence. This does not even equate in my own mind. No. Those days are over; you know, the suffer in silence type of give in to bullshit type of not going to do that anymore because I matter to me now. Say that twice.
“So what should I do?” I asked him.
I love to ask questions of people to satisfy my fascination with psyche; to listen to the thoughts and words of the human; soak them in and read what lives beneath their skin.
“Like quit being so picky. You know, if a dude is married, for instance, sometimes he’s not happy or it’s on the rocks. That doesn’t make him a bad guy. Like, open yourself up.”
::BLANK STARE. TRULY. BLANK FUCKING STARE::
That doesn’t even need explanation. I’ve been that route. It’s called self abuse. Now at this point, you guys, I’m giggling to myself inside, in a hysterical kind of “am I really hearing this ridiculousness?” kind of way.
I don’t have a boyfriend because I don’t want one. I don’t want one because I want too much like…
you know, all those far fetched things that might take a little,
Yeah, the type of things I tend to freely give in a relationship.
Once, I sat across the table from a man who said, “I just need to get me a trophy wife.”
I got offended. Then later learned what a trophy wife was and immediately stopped being offended. There are just some superficial terms that I didn’t understand the meaning of. Trophy wife was one of them. When I found out what it meant, I immediately thought “Oh no. I don’t want to be one of those.”
Emotionlessness does not become me. Putting on airs is not my forte’. Giving a shit what anyone thinks of me is not something that often crosses my mind. I’m me equivalently. I have passions. They matter. Anyone else’s opinion just doesn’t. I’m amicable. I have grace. I form relationships. We’re not swimming in the shallows, though. I don’t stay there long. I like the bottom, where the coral reef and colorful fish live.
Here is my answer, dear friend. I don’t have a boyfriend because I am at peace with my aloneness. I am so at peace with this aloneness that I will disallow anything less than what is at one with my own state of being to enter my temple. If these parts that make me feel at peace do not match the current male existence that is floating in my grid, then I am fully at peace with the resulting aloneness.
I haven’t time for small talk, and I love to be silly. I am deep as oceans and crave savant conversation. I like silence that is not mistaken for anger. I can ride in cars and listen to music and not need to speak. I am most comfortable with space and time around me. I need to be allowed to BE. And if that means being with only me;
Then okay. I am in acceptance.
I have moments I long for touch, to be held to a chest, looked at with tenderness, surprises and early morning not giving a shit breath, but they do not override my unwillingness to bend from what contributes to my heart’s happiness, and the greatness I know that I am.
You see, I believe chivalry was murdered during the feminist movement when human beings mistook the right of women to have equal pay, equal treatment and the right to vote, to mean we no longer wanted to be involved in romance and connection. Illusion killed chivalry. Feminists didn’t. Apathy replaced empathy, and that is a choice.
and I figured that all out… alone.
[image credit: “The Arrival” by Paul Bondart art – paulbondart.com]