Can I write something for future me ? Because I know he’s be so proud of what current me, is currently doing.

Undoing 10 years of an identity, that was never meant for me.

Preparing the path to intersect with him, and finding healthy ways to cope mentally

Especially, since they did him kind of dirty

It’s never to late to start over.
Even if your thirty

It may seem a little scary
No, it’s terrifying

a leech in my mind slowly sapping away at times-
that should be spent living…
Sorry I gotta focus on surviving,

But first, I need to get out of bed. I’ve been trying to convince every piece of me to talk again,
no part of me ever grieved the fact that I had to learn how to walk again

Extremely well taken care of body, sold my soul for employment,
22 years old a broken vertebrae on deployment?

Came back to the states and didn’t know that I was in for the change of my life,
for the next four months, I was forboding going under the knife.

“But I’m 22, I’m in incredible shape,”

“I’m sure you are son, but you see this x ray? This is a clear break”

“You made a mistake, it was just some discomfort , I only felt a pinch”

Dr said, “I can tell you’re upset I’m gonna give you a bit. “

There I sat, main character to my own horror movie, blood became curdling

The words escaped my lips like death row inmates –
“I’m getting surgery”

There I lay, a husk of my former self ,

my right thumb begging the vicodin to drip faster, no wonder this is controlled.
I cried as soon as the nurse left, I’m 22 years old.

Could barley take care of my self ,
I wouldn’t have ate if my boy chav never came,
I felt so embarrassed to use a walker, only a little lesser with a cane.

But day by day , I did my best to get stronger , those slow painful walks would ease and become longer.

I was really worried that I’d never be able to swing a bat again,
To strengthen my back ,
I first needed to strengthen my glutes, hips, and abdomen .

Everyday after work, I’d do a light jog, yoga, then mobility,
trying to stifle the disdain of my depleted ability,

Before I was poetic, I found solace in athletics,
55 yard throws, home runs over 350, 4.7 forty, benching 250,
33 inch vert…
all that stuff went away when I got hurt.

I gained a bunch of weight lost all my range of motion ,
I was willing to do black magick take an elixir or a potion.

But, one day by the ocean,

Feet in the sand, and my head in my hands, I realized …
I had to love my body because for everything it went through,
it still lets me stand.
Now as a man,

I realize I’ll never be in the same shape I was when I was 21,

don’t need to be a good athlete anymore, just do my job and play with my son.

My dear body,

You are my home, my wife, my life.

The mistress that sleeps in me too,
Will someday go with all her plights.

Her words of insanity, and her thoughts
that hate on you, my home, my wife, my life

Will come and go till I find it in me to no longer need
That mistress that sleeps

She is cunning and evil

Telling me my body is a beautiful as a crack house
Telling me I am not womanly enough because of my size
Telling me I do not deserve to eat
Telling me to punch myself
She is cunning and evil

She is the mistress that sleeps so I can be the wife that won’t second guess what she says

~

My dear bones
They have caused me no trouble

My eyes
They are mine

My skin
Soft Soft Soft they say

My nose
Perfect
Never Changed
Always Stayed With Me

My scars
Protect the cells that could have killed me

My back
I was embarrassed of you
Now I flex you in the mirror

~

My dear body––with all it’s dots and marks and lines and wrinkles and hair––you have stayed with me and hung on even when I hit you or made you bleed or made you bruise

You heal me even when I do not want you too

My dear brain is trying every damn day to erase the bad thoughts and race to the good ones; my damn brain deserves an award; my damn body deserves an award

Dear body: you are more of a friend to me, than I have been to you. Thank you.

I’ve been feeling so defeated.
So many emotions bottled up,
Looking for a healthy way to release it.

I’ve always loved to write,
But too afraid to share the feelings I’m feeling.

Wanting to use my life to make a difference,
But I’d have to put myself out there,
For the whole world to see it.

Too afraid to lose my sense of security,
I hold on to all that I been through.
But what good is my pain,
If it’s not used to help you.

As the years pass me by,
Sometimes I feel I’ve lost my purpose.
Just when I think I’ve got it figured out,
Here comes life saying,
“Here, let me show you this.”

I have to relearn & readjust,
Every so many years,
& it’s so exhausting.

Idk whats right & what’s real,
Life tends to back out on its word & confuse me foreal.
Todays healthy, is tomorrows cancer.
Just when I think I’m headed in the right direction,
I fall off my track,
& create a new disaster.

I never knew how to love myself,
Even though I really tried.
My idea of self love backfired on me,
Time after time.

Then one day my body gave me no choice but to listen,
I was barely walking or standing & my mental health was deteriorating.

I had those thoughts we never talk bout,
Because I wasn’t living.
I was glued to my bed,
Thoughts racing day & night in my head.

I couldn’t be the mom I wanted to be,
& above all, I think that’s what broke me.
So many things combined,
Made my body explode inside.
& From there on out,
I had to say goodbye to the old me.

Day after day,
I wake up & go to bed in pain.
But I try… again & again.
Whole body screaming,
“Someone please come & heal me.”

Slowly but surely, I’m working.
Hoping to find the remedies to heal all the trauma stored in me.

I deserve more then self pity.
I’ve seen ppl worse off,
living they’re dream.

It would be so disrespectful,
Not to do all that I can,
To feel better.

I’m hurten,
but occasionally I hear that voice in my head saying, “I’m worth it.”

It’s a painfully slow progress,
But Its said, “slow & steady wins the race.”
I hear we hold within us & above us,
All the tools & strength.
Strength needed to face tomorrow,
Until you reach the day with no more sorrow.
Self healing, not self pity,
Is the motto.

My body is a powerful place,
Covered in Gods healing & grace.
& one day I shall conquer.

Dear, Unsealers:

As I looked at my silhouette on the beach in Rincon, Puerto Rico the sunlight surrounds the shadow.

I can’t help but smile when I see my entire body in the early morning light. I’ve been holding it back for so long. Covering it up with socks, shoes and jeans. Making excuses for not joining in the fun. Now, I’m walking along the beach barefoot. It doesn’t matter that there’s not a soul around, just me.

The scars on the right leg from a double surgery back in 2001 are ever present, all seven of them. And the scars from the pins that used to be in my three middle toes. I feel the sensation of the sand softly walking up and down the beach. The splash of the water getting closer to the waves. And the breeze of the water surrounding me. Life feels good right now.

Days like this weren’t possible before. I was so afraid that everyone would gawk at my body. Heaven knows it came up for criticism during my younger years from loved ones. And I’ll be the first to admit that my body is an imperfect vessel.

But in this moment, I embrace myself fully and all the scars that I have. Without my scars I wouldn’t be the resilient person that I am.

I wonder how old I have to be before
people stop seeing my body
before they see me?

all life long
little black girls are sexualized
before they can even form a concept of the self.

12 year old me
standing in line at Smart & Final with my grandma
wearing my favorite romper
adorned with vibrant yellow sunflowers
and a conservative white shall.

That was the first time I got t h e stare
The licking of lips
and flirtatiously raised eyebrow from
the mid 50-something year old cashier
who kept a straight face until my grandmother looked away.
His glare of desire will always be engraved in psyche.
I didn’t know pedophiles existed
until I looked one in the face.

We can’t help that we bloom early
Blossom early into our womanhood
even when we are still kids.

What has to give before my DDD’s
stop entering the room before I do?
Before the melanin in my skins stops
telling my story before I even have the chance to speak?
Also….
what else has to be said before men
can comprehend that comparing my skin and my body to chocolate
and to meat is NOT a complete.
It’s dehumanizing.
Just. fucking. stop.

Ethnic women do not exist for the male gaze
or to be the starting point for your think pieces on feminism.
We are more than our bodies
and more than our skin tone.
We are the spirit
We are light
We ARE the blueprint
and the curator of most things
that you know and love.
Put some respect on our names
and treat us as such.