I loved him in a secret place. It wasn’t hiding. It was somewhere, some where, some place I couldn’t put my tongue to but I knew it existed. I didn’t know where it was but I knew it was. I knew because it was a soul-truth. Not one of those truths where your tongue just does a few tricks and flips and clicks and some sort of phrase comes out that sounds good enough. Not that. Not that type of love. That type of meaningless notion of love that has no power. Has no blood or sweat behind it. That type of love that wasn’t paid for with nothing but time. Time is cheap. Time is going to be spent anyway. Spent with them* or spent with just you doing something else meaningless in this world of meaningless activity masquerading around as productivity when it is really just capitalism doing what capitalism does, running you down and making you feel happy about being an instrument of your own euthanasia, that’s what it do (as we say)! I’ll tell you true, now, just listen here. THAT. IS. NOT. THE. WAY. I LOVE(D)?. THEM*.
I loved them* like raindrops on cacti, in the wet-dry heat of Arizona. I loved them by choice. Their visit would not have made or broken me. I could survive. I had stored up just enough love in this body of mine to take me to many morrows. see. I been done taught me how to love myself properly. You don’t get here, in this space, this space of living, without learning how to love yourself if you Black, if you Queer, if you grew up Poor not knowing what the inside of a bank looked like or knowing the true wealth or cost of love delivered or love’s promissory bounced. See, I loved them on purpose. Opened myself up to give a taste of my nectar and opened up even more just to make room their essence. Had me full to the brim on the edge of bursting but it felt good because I was giving of my space freely. I have home enough inside me for they that know how to be good stewards, good guests, ain’t no rent due long as you can bring life, bring (more) love and bring laughter to this space meant for dwelling,
A living organism gives and it takes and we ain’t all perfect. The goal for me is always to give just as much as I take, not a second, sliver or sip more or less. I used be a recovering, undercover, over-lover as Ms. Badu states giving so much of myself I became heavy to walk with, the earth itself would shudder under my step because it had to usher me long when I should’ve been sprinting, i gave gravity a bad name, giving those other them*s all my stuff. all my power. i should’ve been flying but i was crawling on that ground lying on gravity, acting like i couldn’t move through soul-winds like the black eagle i was, not, stuck, truly. I was the living dead. Loving these menfolks* to my own death didn’t need no
Valentine’s Day to show me that that type of love was expensive and love costs everything you ever gon’ be but it doesn’t cost coins. that’s that bullshit they use to make you work overtime without over time pay, that shit that romanticizes work for the sake of working. that’s that bullshit. i ain’t doing that today ya’ll. today i’m eating pie. today i’m drinking wine. today i’m sharing space with folks that will look me in my eye and know i’m beautiful and see their beauty and power and blackness and sexy and free and truth and divinity reflected in the light of my melanin. that’s what love do. i hope that you
Enjoyed this stream of (BlaQueer) consciousness. I did. I need to re-member those pieces I lost and recollect them with the ones I found in the process of loving Them* on purpose because in loving them I re-met my me, a new me, who’d always been here but just got permission to be free in my face, in public. I love her, him, them* finally.