So, What’s it Gonna Take?

I have been me for as long as I can remember.
I have tried to be different. I tried to be other people or someone else, but no matter how I tried, the only person I could ever be is me.

Anything else was fake, like an imposter.
I’ve been a fraud before, like a bad check that has no business or funds to cover the debt.
I’ve been this before too, or otherwise bankrupt, empty, or voided like a canceled check that was no longer worth the paper it was printed on.

However, past endings and old challenges are no longer my focus nor should they be.
Bottom line is as follows:
This is me.
This is my skin, or like I always say, “this is the skin I’m in.”

These are my parts. Do you see them?
These are my legs which work pretty well for my age. My legs and I go back to the beginning of time. They’ve carried me a long, long distance.
And these?
These are my arms.
I have two of them. They come complete with two hands and both have all the fingers and thumbs that come with the usual package.
For the record, I have two feet that support my legs. Both come with all the regular options of ten toes combined. They might not be my prettiest characteristic, but whatever they are, both feet are mine.

I have hair on my head.
I have hair on my chest as well.
I have my own sense of style, which may or may not be cool, but this depends on opinion of course.
They tell me that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. So, if you don’t mind or if you can or if you have time, it would mean a lot if you were able to behold me because it would mean everything if I could be beautiful —
(to you).

There is more to me than my surface. I suppose this is obvious, or at least common sense would lead us to believe that there is more to everyone than what we see.
I know there is far more to me than what most people see, which is why I come here to show you more.

In fact, there is much more because I am like you — or should I say that I am exactly like you in so many ways.
I am like anyone else for that matter.

I have levels. I have different depths.
I have different divisions of “me,” and like anyone else who’s been around the sun a few times, I have secrets and shadows which follow me around. Some of this can seem unshakable like a scar that details the wars I fought before I met you.

I have truths and lies. I have strengths and weaknesses. And I have dreams. I have plenty of them.
Countless dreams. Or endless is a better word.

I have fears too. I have questions and doubts and unseeable things, which most people fail to notice. Then again, who actually looks at people?
Who cares enough to see beyond the facade?

It seems to be that most people are either superficial or too focused on the “skin-deep” surroundings to look beyond certain things.

So, I’d rather you see everything.
I want you to see me for who I am. I don’t mind pointing out my flaws or my unappealing traits and features.
Look at me this way, raw and uncovered.
I figure this is best to show you and share this with you here because you can see that yes, I am unarmed. I come in peace. I am not here to deceive or to convince you of anything that goes against your wishes,
None of this is done with the intention to win you over or earn your trust. In fact, let me show you the ugly truths because if you can see my beauty now, then I know you have found me truly beautiful. 

And so you know, I have always wanted to be beautiful
(to you)

I remember a speaking engagement which was somewhat small and modest. There was an older woman in attendance. She sat up front and somewhat harassed me about my looks. Then again, she didn’t know that I was the keynote speaker.
She mentioned that she did not think that I would look or sound the way I do.
She had comments about my skin, which is tattooed and heavily decorated. She mentioned something about my accent and the way I speak.

She told me how she never thought someone that looked or sounded like me would say what I said or make her feel like I did.
The world is full of misconceptions and we are equally fooled by the art of misperception.
I have decided that I do not want to be part of any kind of deception or misinterpretation. I do not want you to be fooled or swayed or tricked about me.
So, I hope you understand this.
I hope you can see why I make these journal entries.
Despite your doubts, yes, all of this is about YOU.

In fairness, I don’t know what I look like to you. I don’t know how I sound. I know there are times when I have to force myself to speak calmly or act professionally. I emphasize the word “act” because I know that my diction and my tongue placement when I speak is indicative of my New York accent.
I know I can change things about me.
But I want to be me first before deciphering the things that need to change.

There are reasons why I never do public readings. There are times when I recognize my old fears of inadequacy. I can relate and understand the restraints that come with insecurity very well because insecurity and I are on a first name basis with each other.
We go back a long time, insecurity and me.
One could say we are old pals.
(Kind of)

I suppose my biggest fears are judgment and rejection.
I suppose my energy takes off when I start to worry if I sound or look wrong, so-to-speak.
My biggest fear is to be exposed as a joke or a bum or a worthless “thing.”
That’s right, I highlight the word, “thing” because words and people have a way of dehumanizing each other.
I know this all too well. To be honest, I think you know this too.

I am not stupid. But I have old memories and tapes which play in my head, and these are the things that trick me into believing that I am stupid.
These are the sounds from old voices of people who held a station in my life.
Or more impactful, these are memories and voices of people who held a position in my heart and then tore it to shreds.

I suppose my exterior is far from soft or soft-looking. Maybe I appear to be unfriendly. But this is all a facade.
Deep down, I am that little boy who lived in a house at 277 Merrick Avenue.
My head is shaved for now, which is not a soft look for me. Some might tell me that this is not a good look for me at all.
But that’s okay.
My days of seeking approval or paying social dues to get attention are over now.
I got the job. I can be me now.
No one else can stop me, except for myself, of course.

I suppose words can hurt more than the aches of a physical blow to the face.
This is true because I have been physically punished and beaten. But those marks are less burdensome than the words from a so-called loved one who decided to cut your heart out with a spoon or break your soul to be irreparable.

Words like loser, or stupid come to mind.
Or how about the word pathetic?
Or words like psycho. . . and, of course, the list could go on if we choose.
But why list the words that hurt me most? Why bother?
What does this do for me?
I have been called countless insults.
I’ve been part of the angry and childish banters, back and forth with low-blow and angry words that hit below the belt.

I have taken my share of slander and remarks that shoot like poison darts. To be honest, none of them hurt worse than the deadly darts that came from the only person who I assumed “loved” or “believed” in me.

In fairness to the truth, no.
That love was not real or true, and I was not their “person” nor was I deserving of a position in their life.
I was not right for them, the same as they were not supposed to be in my life.
People are like the tides of the ocean — in and out. Some stay around and some pull out and head off to sea.
Some people are not meant to stay, at least not for longer than a momentary splash.

Some people are like a jump in the puddle of life. Or some are more impactful. Some leave a more embedded impression, like a heavily tossed stone which disturbed the peace of a lake.
Ever see this?
The ripples from the stone spread outward to disturb the stillness. The peace is overturned and the heavy stone plummets down to disrupt the bed of our personal lake.
These are the deposits of toxic people.

I do think that people are (and can be) beautiful, despite their personal ugliness. Me included.
I do think that anger or resentment can make us do ugly things.

I have been ugly and angry for a very long time.
I have been the beast who others claimed me to be.
I have been the brunt of the joke.
I have embarrassed myself by fulfilling my worst fears and I have preemptively exploded and struck, cut, bruised, and harmed so-called innocent bystanders.
With all of my regret, I have taken my share of emotional hostages, which is the ugliest thing we can do as humans.

Worst of all, I responded to my internal hatred and forced beautiful people to see themselves as ugly or unworthy.
I will hold this and keep this in my heart because I can never move on or go forward if I have this kind of hatred to always pull me back.

I admit to this because, again, I am reminded of what Henry David Thoreau said in his essay called Civil Disobedience.
“What I have to do is to see, at any rate, that I do not lend myself to the wrong which I condemn.”

I cannot point my fingers or blame anyone for my wrongs. I cannot assume other people’s crimes or blame, shout, or be a hypocrite anymore.
I am guilty and, at times, I am grossly imperfect to a fault which I can neither achieve, improve, nor move beyond this point until I acknowledge my own sins.
I am no guru. I am not what I consider a professional and some might argue that I am hardly a writer or someone of note.
And that’s okay.
Like I said before. . .
I do not have to pay social dues anymore.
I don’t have to bring my report card home to anyone anymore.

In fact, all I have to do is make it home, and keep myself somewhat alive.
I have to be able to see myself in the mirror before going to bed and be able to come to some kind of constructive conclusion.

I have to wake up every day. I have to show up.
I have to make sure I am fed. I have bills to pay.
I have people to whom I owe my love and care to; and while the list of friends and loved ones has dwindled significantly, I am fine with this now.

At least I know who loves me.
At least I know who loves me truly and not because I was there to give them attention or fit into their emptiness because they were missing something “at home.”

My life is not a lie anymore.
I don’t have to hide.
I don’t have to speak from both sides of my mouth or worry about who knows, who sees, or cares.

How I am now is emotional to say the least.
I am soft now. I am not hard at all.
I weep. I sigh.
I lay back at night and look up at the ceiling and wonder about you, where you are, or what you’re thinking.
I am weaker now than when I was at my weakest, yet this makes me stronger because enough has happened, and enough pain has come to show me that I cannot forfeit my dreams or surrender my life to an idea that says I am not worthy.

Do you want to know what it took for me to get like this?
It’s more than being sick and tired of being sick and tired.
This is more than a combination of pain or a compilation of disappointments.

I am tired of my old beliefs.
I am tired of the bullshit nonsense that comes with the male ego.
I am done with keeping up with other people.
I’m done comparing myself.
I’m done believing that I am ugly or unworthy.
I might not be beautiful to the world or to anyone else, for that matter.
But they are not who I want to show myself to.
They are not my beholder.
There is only one person out of the billions on this planet who I want to see me, and find me beautiful.
I don’t need attention or the approval of the crowd.
I don’t need a spotlight.
I don’t need anything like this anymore.

But I do need you.
I need all of you.
I cannot have you see me the way I was or think that I was a loser or stupid or any other words on the list of hurtful things.

“Nobody likes you.”

I was told this by someone who claimed to love me the most.
But first, this is untrue.
No one who loves someone would say this, which proves that the most misused word is love — because real love doesn’t talk this way. Real love does not slander after separation and real love does not look to hurt or destroy someone’s heart.

Secondly, this is not you.
This is not the real you . . .
I know you.
The “real” you would never tell me anything like this.

I stay away from slander because slander is too easy.
I don’t fire back insults or defend myself.
I walk away now.
I have enough battle wounds.
The last thing I need are more scars that run deep enough to make me ugly. Plus, this hurts me.
Or better, this disturbs me like the unwanted stone that hurt the emotional bottom of my personal lake.

I never make fun or say mean things about people’s looks or the way they talk.
Know why?
I used to stutter. I used to have rashes on my skin.
I used to believe that I was stupid and ugly.
I have never had beautiful teeth and this was pointed out from my childhood.
Hell, even people in my own family used to call me “Bucky!”
And I know how this hurt me.
Therefore, I won’t do this to anyone else. Not even an enemy because in the end, I only degrade myself.
If I slander or “talk shit,” then I degrade myself by lending me to the evils and the wrongs which I condemn. 

If you choose me, then please –
Never leave me, please.
Never give up on me.
Never let us go to bed angry.
Do this, and I promise that I will show up to give you all that I have and more.

I will close for now.
But being loyal to my subject, sometimes the answer to the question, “So what’s it gonna take,” is simple.

You just have to say goodbye to what “was” so that we can learn what we are supposed to do and make life become what “is.”

Together