I look forward to not being vulnerable anymore.
As a licensed therapist, I transform lives, that’s my role.
Life’s trials and tribulations have made me somewhat bold.
On some days I am strong and fearless.
On others, I feel small and fruitless.
BUT I find that in attaining success I’m on a roll.
When I wake up each day, there is hope not despair.
I would like to also come out of my miserable and dark lair.
Being the best of the best is not my ultimate goal.
I pray and pray to become whole.
I should look at what the Creator has bestowed upon me.
Blessings upon blessings with many reasons to find glee.
The rain has its purpose.
It does great service.
The drops of fresh water give me a chance to start over.
Not pause, not hesitate but to look across and ponder.
I have so much to offer and much to gain.
Eventually, I will find a way to not make my efforts go in vain.
I will take it step by step and day by day to not become another unfortunate lore.
I look forward to not being vulnerable anymore.

I’ve prayed for a cure to this horrid disease

Of loving someone without loving me

Is this a choice or a mental disorder?

My pain is a chasm, I’ve stood on its border

If I can’t love freely, then why love at all?

Is there a cure or an ultimate fall?

Society speaks, but where is my voice?

Why would I suffer if given a choice?

It’s how I was born, it’s not my fault

A wound that is raw and covered in salt

I’m imperfectly perfect with nothing to fix

Why not accept me and love me as is?

Some say it’s wrong and abhorred by nature

But can love be wrong, and is that my wager?

What are the stakes of swimming upstream?

Not choosing convention and living my dream?

Giving up peace, a love, happiness?

Living a life of turmoil and mess?

So examine yourself, don’t diagnose me

Do you think you are normal, perfect and free?

I pick to be “sick, distorted, and ill”

For that is my choice which comes from free will

The sickness is yours and not mine at all

I’m perfectly splendid, I’ll fly and not fall

You’re perfect just the way you are.
Such a cliche that has made it thus far.
Who would I be without all the stigmas?
A sexy, fierce chick without bodies to count.
A million dollar female not asking for handouts.
Names of a breeder b**** or rag for bodily fluids will be silenced.
A deeper meaning to a survivor embedded.
Laying down my armor, replaced by unity.
Revolution is near.
Remove all the anxiety when I take the stage.
Perhaps, I am eager for the outcome they say.
Postpartum will no longer haunt me, the demons in my head no longer taunt me.
Full of life with only angels guiding me, rather than fighting the noise from the negativities trying to down me.
Still always picking the yang.
To boot as a woman, we’re the yin, so a little bird sang.
Titles given by man would be thrown out.
In this ideal world full of bliss.
Every worry taken care of.
A village for my littles.
No more irritability that cripples.
Don’t you change a thing, beautiful celestial being.
Fix your mindset to attract these things.
So the little bird sings.
Remember, you’re perfect just the way you are.
A cliche that has made it thus far.

Dear Retro Me,

Let me begin by expressing my deep concern and pondering over the path we have taken. It seems as though the memories of who I envisioned you to be have slipped away from my grasp. It’s as if I find myself trapped in a moment of profound sadness and confusion, finding solace only in the bittersweet realm of reminisce, where thoughts of you become reminiscent of the ill-fated love story of Romeo and Juliet.

In this contemplative state, I question the purpose behind this toxic love that urges us to end it all, but for what reason? Can I truly comprehend how to handle our relationship, my beloved? It seems that in my endeavor to provide you with what you desire, I have inadvertently denied you of what you truly need, direction. Perhaps my actions and the choices I made have left you with a sense of melancholy, causing you to move on from me by the time this letter reaches you. I roll around, unable to shake off the sadness that my words, laced with regret, impose upon you.

You, my dear, embody the quintessential muse, yearning to break free from the shackles of my ignorance. Yet, it is the stubbornness and pride of a scared man that keeps your exquisite beauty hidden from the world, denying them the privilege of beholding your magnificence. In my denial of the reality I have created, I question whether the love I have entangled us in is truly what we deserve, or if it is overshadowed by the responsibility I carry as a person. Sometimes, I find myself revering my concepts as if they were a separate entity from you, failing to acknowledge that your existence is a testament to my own creation and influence. It seems that the laws and expectations I have imposed upon you fall on ears that have become deaf to the significance they once held.

I feel ashamed for what I attributed to you is nearly impossible for me to reach and grasp a hold of. Dearly beloved you are the greatest achievement one can possibly attain, and I have always been a foot or two behind your shadow. Reaching for the acknowledgment of your presence in my heart’s ambitions, yet I have sunken deep within the pool of potentiality. Never to answer the old question of will I ascend to be the Superman I created in my childhood dreams?

If you still here in this present moment reading this letter answer me. Please give me the wisdom that a man needs to surrender.

Love always,
The outer you to present you