And This? This Is More

The thing is . . .
I don’t know.
And the real things I will never know.

I don’t know if my life would be easier or I would be happier if I were someone else.
I used to wonder who I would be if I grew up in a different house or what my family would be like if we lived in a different town.
I don’t know if I would have been happier.

I suppose I could say the same thing about my looks.
What if I was beautiful?
What if I was wanted or cheered for and desired?
I don’t know.

I don’t know if I would be happier or if life would be easier if I looked different. I don’t know how I would be or feel if my package came with a different body.
I just don’t know.

I don’t know if I would be happy or happier because in fairness, there is always another side to the unexplored life.
There is always something, whether this is an unknown stress or an unfelt pain or worry or doubt.
No one knows what it’s like to see from someone else’s eyes.
However, I do not believe that insecurity is a market that can be cornered. We all have our own bouts.
I have always believed that no one could possibly be as insecure as I am. And I swore this for a very long time. In fact, I still swear to this.
But this is what people with insecurities think.
“Something’s wrong.”
I know something must be wrong

No one can corner the market on this or say whether they have it better or worse.
This is all relative.

I am only me.
I have been this way for as long as I have been alive. I am as I have been made, and this has been me since the day I was able to breathe on my own—and for the record, I’ve been doing this both religiously and relentlessly, for a long time.

I’ve been at this game called life for more than 53 years now.
And who knows . . . if all goes well, September will make its way with kindness and I will celebrate my 54^th anniversary that marks another year around the sun.

I may not know much . . .
But I know this –

I know that I have acted.
I have pretended to be someone else.
I’ve attacked the innocent and I have been blindsided as well, and nearly butchered of maimed by my own game.

I’ve tried to define myself and later, I learned that I needed to redefine and recreate myself.
I’ve had to do this countless times.
And perhaps I will have to do this countless times more.
Who knows?

It has taken me a long time to be able to do this with you.
It has taken me way too long to “fess up,” and be honest.
I have fallen more times than I can count.
I have found myself in dungeons, jails, internal prisons, and likewise; I have entered different levels of negotiations for a new life, a new hope, and I have done all I can to bargain for a new existence.

I know what it means to have to go back to the beginning.
I’ve had to go “back to square one,” and of course; I’ve had to go “back to the old drawing board.”
I’ve had to scrap my plans after failing to prove my theories and thus, I had to devise a new plan.

I know about failure because failure and I go back a few decades.
I met with the personified version of deceit and hate and judgement and also, I sat with them, collectively, in the so-called war-room of my life.
I sat at the table to discuss future negotiations.
I’ve failed and I’ve tried
but I have never quit.
And no one can tell me otherwise.

However, as for the afore mentioned, deceit, hate, and judgement, I can say that yes, we all know each other well.
I would call us old friends.
But that would be a lie.
There is nothing friendly about deceit, hate or the judgement that makes us question our value.
But still, I know these things well.

I know what the word bankruptcy means.
I know how it feels to be robbed.
I know what it’s like to be cheated.

I know about the demons that come with revenge and yes, I know how it is to be destroyed by resentments and lose oneself to resentful thinking.
I have seen this eat people alive.
I have these demons . . .
I have several
Perhaps they are the demons who made me understand why The Good Book says, “Vengeance is mine, sayeth The Lord,” as if to explain, don’t worry about anyone else.
You do you. Let them do them.
Karma has a trick for everyone.
Us included.

I know what it looks like to see pain, up-close, live, and in-person.
I know how it is to witness pure evil, alive and thriving, and I know what it’s like to see this eating the flesh of good people and living behind the mask of a soft and approachable expression.
And equally, I know what it feels like to be hurt or betrayed.
I suppose we all know what this feels like

I have been hurt too. I have been humiliated, deceived, and I have even been murdered in some regards.
I have lost battles to the unfair armies who left me beaten into submission.
Or worse, I have been meat for the worms and social parasites.
I have been exposed and laughed at.

Do you know what this makes me?
Human. . .
That’s all.

Perhaps man is not made to be overly admired.
Maybe no one should be overly worshipped by the masses.
Or maybe admiration can lead to a demented version of “self”
Therefore, this is why the Hollywood life comes with tragic downfalls.
Or worse, there are those who spend too much time honoring themselves because of their fame and yet, despite their wealth or popularity, no one truly knows them.
No one knows anything about them and hence, they die alone in the mess of a public consumption.

Or maybe this is something else.
Maybe the ego and the soul are not meant to be spoiled in such a way.

Maybe this is how we lose sight of a devastating and ultimate truth, which is that regardless of the mighty, the wealthy, the famous, the poor, or the middle class; in the end, we all go into the same sized box.

I said this to someone on a jobsite in my work life.
This person assumed it was a threat, which it wasn’t.
Yet, my delivery was calm and cold and while he was honoring himself, I suppose my delivery was chilling enough to warn him that death finds rich people too.

Beware the ego, it is the killer of truth.
Ego is the degradation of our inherent beauty.
This is what makes us ugly.

And yes.
I want to be beautiful.
I want to be wanted and loved.
I want to be desired.
I want to be free to tell you my thoughts or my desires.
I want to be free to show you things without the fear that I should cringe first and die later for being embarrassed about the way I am.

Do you understand any of this?
Or am I speaking out loud to no one?
Maybe I am . . .
And if I am, then please, somebody answer.
Somebody tell me that I’m going to be okay.
or at least, lie to me
and tell me that I’m beautiful.

I want to let the true spirit in my heart be free.
I want to let my spirit be free to dance or play without worry.
I want to free myself from the idea that I am too unsightly or that my smile is too crooked or my laugh is unappealing.

I want to let myself go.
I want to abandon the old tapes which have played in my head for too long.

I want to look at the love of my life.
I want to see her body.
I want to ask her to dance without a hint of insecurity.
I want to kiss her without the worry that my kiss or my body is not enough.
I want to give myself to her and not worry if I am unsatisfying.

I don’t want to ever hide anything, —not a secret, or a lie, or a desire, a need for an unspoken pleasure which I have plenty of, by the way.
And these things are fine to me because they are only ideas of different ways to cherish and adore my love, one piece of her body at a time.

I remember thinking that my life would be better if I were more adored and noticed.
But now is the time for honesty –
There were times when I had attention from people or felt the thrills of being popular.
And to be honest, I had no idea how to handle this.
I understand why Maximus Aurelius hired a servant to follow him after his victories and say, “Memento homo,” which translates to, “You are just a man.”

I have grown enough to learn that beauty does not come with one definition.
Nor can beauty be limited.
Beauty has no limits because true beauty is infinite.
And you?
You are far more limitless than you know.

I understand the hardness and the pain and the dishonesties
I know that I have been dirty.
I know that I see myself as ugly too.

I know that my eyes and ears are not shaped the same.
My teeth are crooked.
And I am, otherwise, weak or frail and fragile.

Yet, I have fought and battled and shared blood.
I have seen violence and spread hate like a virus, contagious and deadly, and I have spread this like a disease.

I have been missing for too long.
I have hidden for most of my life.
And the child in me?
It’s his turn now.
I want to step to the side
and let him play.

Okay?