WHO AM I?

I always say "idk" but truth of the matter is I know something- I know the back of my mommas hand and I know the sadness that flows through her.

Dear diary,

It’s been two years since I’ve written to you last. No one really understands how tired I’ve been. Tired of carrying weight that ain’t even mine. Tired of loss. Tired of giving it my all and never getting anything in return.

This past year I continuously felt myself growing into something that was bigger than myself, it was jarring. No one really tells you how bad the growing pains are– or maybe they try to but nothing can really convey how bad these pains can be. You tell yourself, “I got this, I know who I am,” and the growing pains look at you and smirk– it's so sinister almost! When I was 19 I was so sure I knew what womanhood looked like, what my womanhood looked like. I used to dream of living on top of the world, to be able to see the skyline from my apartment, to know what wealth and lust tasted like. To be alone, and to be envied yet loved. Now I am 20 and realize that womanhood does not exist within me, I no longer want to live in the high rise apartment with wealth on the tip of my tongue. Niggas turned 20 and realized they just wanted a place to lay they head. 

The beginning of last year I realized how painful the growing pains could actually be. It was December when we broke up. It was also then that I felt the heart wrenching pain of losing someone who was never for you, oh how frustrated was I!  It was January when I realized how angry I was and how I didn’t know myself as much as I thought I did. The clouds from the summer before that I had found solace in were not dancing in the skies anymore. Instead, I found solace from Kiya at the rave, Bre from hinge, Kyra from instagram, and anyone else willing to allow me to live in their chest. The clouds spread themselves thin that winter, attempting to be free, and in a way so did I.

Sometimes I feel ashamed that a breakup is what pushed me to open my chest, but other times I am grateful and think that it couldn’t have come sooner. The months that followed after my breakup could only be described by one word; transformation. When you mentally look at the world differently, its physical form will soon take place afterwards. That’s something I learned that summer. I held emotions in my body and as a result I was on fire. The sun beat the sweat out of my back and I called it love. Now I feel scared, the rug was pulled from under my feet but I asked for it. What do I do when everything is too big and drastic? We fall in love but it never lasts….

I lost so many things and people this year, i almost lost myself (i did). Do you know what it feels like to look into a mirror and not recognize yourself? I DO! I didn’t know who I was because the things that felt most familiar to me no longer existed in my physical world. The autumns in Chicago were always so bittersweet, especially then. In the beginning, it was fun, I was excited to shed the girlhood within that was leftover from that summer. But like all things, it’s only good until it’s not. The leaves that were once beautiful, vibrant, and warm– now lay on the ground dirty and stepped all over. I find myself trudging through them, being weighed down by baggage that isn't even mine.

I no longer talk to so and so. I am no longer allowing so and so to stay on my couch. So and so look at me from the dark these days and I try to pay them no mind. I miss so and so sometimes but at what cost, my identity? My love? My comfortability? Nothing seems as sweet anymore, and my legs continue to trudge through these leaves but the sun no longer beats the sweat out of my back and I find myself no longer in love with the things (and people) I’m familiar with. 

Who am I? Am I the problem or am I the victim? Uncertainty clouds my judgment these days and my emotions are too big for me. There's only so much negativity these white clothes can hold. There's only so many baths I can take. How do I get this anger out my body? Dis sadness out my body out my body out my body. How much more do a nigga gotta grieve? 

Sometimes everything feels pointless. I watched my momma cry herself to sleep some days and raise hell the next. I watched her raise her fist to the world and all her problems, and some days she raised her fist to me. She was always ready to lose a battle and lose everything she thought she had. I hold so much of her pain and uncertainty in my body, I have a hard time differentiating what's mine and what is hers. It’s the baggage I carry when I trudge through the autumn leaves, when the sun looks down at me and pours love into me the only way it knows how to– pain. I was her child at one point, yet the battles I fought alongside her made me grow into a person I no longer recognize. I feel so distant from myself, it feels like everyone knows me but what does it matter if I don't know myself. I keep asking myself how do I get dis sadness out my body my body my body, but what can I do when the sadness aint even mine?