soft boy #2

wake up. brush teeth.
gut tight. urge here.

hurt knee. soft boy.
new hurt. harm done.

lay down. dream love.
gut tight. can’t sleep.

urge here. new john.
teeth pressed. one falls.

no time. missed call.
missed meal. tug sex.

health check. day dream.
check in. more pills.

day three. sleep now.
slow start. dry skin.

long bath. more food.
call mom. work now.

time spent. dimes made.
harsh speak. clock out.

soft boy. stomach tight.
urge here. skin dry.

lakeside. dried tears.
new poem. old pain.

old pain. walk town.
home now. rest boy.

phone call. urge here.
choose now. he speaks.

lay down. move on.
wish peace. brown child.

wake up. work again.
push through. long day.

long day. eat meal.
eat meal. eat meal.

heal up. warm hands.
wax dry. wick lit.

place fruit. be still.
breathe deep. breathe out.

love speaks. from self.
shape self. know love.

flowers, reflection and other thoughts : meth. shame speech. cravings. self determination.

this should be prefaced (because the rules of this storytelling and most others demand it) there is something to be said before the something that must be said. 

i am seeking peace. always moving and attempting to work that process. to see what it can manifest it self into in my lifetime. folk told me the other day that peace is something ugly and moving. that it, for them, was caught in the duality of stillness and the chaos. accepting that chaos will be and that stillness will be too. i take that- for me peace is seeing and holding to that always. chaos always is but so can be our stillness if we want to see it that way.

moving out of my old space recently has brought on hard feelings. more severed ties, more conflict, more movement with money at it’s center, as this evil thing. more trauma.   

moving out of my old space recently has brought on good feelings. more strengthened ties. more reflection, more movement with intention at it’s center guiding me to still shores. more growth. 

i am experiencing trauma, homelessness, addiction, set back, triumph, love, community, good food, laughter, downtime, planning, and intention all at once and it is a lot to process daily.

today i woke up feeling down on myself. and had several intense flashbacks of my drug usage.  

i felt embarrassed.

i believe this and feel this deeply.

i see myself for what is worst. what has been worse. what is worse. all the time. 

the dangerous thing about solitude is that it can fuck you in ways that no other lover/thrust/or drug can. it can leave you with yourself crawling in ears and doubling on self. it can… and, for me, does a lot. as a Black queer male i feel sadness for the ways in which i have allowed my body to be used, by White men and others, during my meth use.

and i think on that and i feel embarrassed and sad. i also feel the need to use again. i feel it rise up and i understand that for me part of my addiction has to do with my ability to understand, and forgive myself in order to be able to heal. i have to accept what has happened as much as i have to analyze it. and i am sitting with it. speaking it and then letting it go because it is a story of mine that only i give power to. i can move that sorrow around myself. it don’t move any other way. 

my sadness is just. this is a sad situation to remember and to have happened. and in this valley i also see more of what is- this is a tremendous gift. to be able to see this memory and to know that with my hands, mind, and tongue, i can create more. my world is beginning with each dawn. i have seen the world end in oceans on my pillow. every night i have seen this but i also know that we transition into dawn. change (the chaos of it) is a principle of the universe.

and so my sadness too, can exist and transform. it must exist and transform.

so must i.

and it ain’t easy. and part of understanding is knowing that i will fuck up again. we are building the tools that work for us. our parents and elders have their own ways of being to learn from. and other folk have methods. but no one is a greater expert on your healing than you. and so we fuck up because we are building our own models and it takes time to craft something fabulous enough just for you. 

i got through my sadness today in realizing that i could at least rejoice in getting back up. i got that strength and will. i messed up but i can always come back. and think on how to build more.

i rejoiced in getting up. 

moving past what isn’t ours to sit with

what is accountability?

what is righteousness?

how do we go from places of harm to places in which we can heal?

my addiction and my recovery have taught me things about myself- they’ve brought me to deeper places within myself and, in some way, i am grateful to have these feelings/ urges/ desires/ and struggles because they make me into the person who i am destined to be- who i want to be. i am growing through pain.

at this moment i am in a place of both distress and gratitude.

my addiction to meth made me a liar, a thief and cloudy minded. i ran in confusion.

insanity made it worse.

triggers- whiteness, gossip, shit talking, lies, poverty, struggle, punishment, etc… those are my triggers and living in spaces where those things prevail harms me.

i am learning how to breathe now when i feel triggered and how to look for out’s that are healthy.

this week i struggled hard. it has been almost two weeks of sobriety. i decided to attempt to not drink or smoke weed for a month to gain clarity of self. in these two weeks i have continued to struggle to receive social services (which have been denied and prolonged for months), i struggled to say “no” to the invites of older partners, and i have struggled to be at peace with the fact that i have lost the trust of some community members. and i feel proud in the fact that i have not used or sought escape. i have felt irritable and on edge. i have felt pushed and pushed by circumstance and by folk whom i considered friends.

they assume that im using whenever i am gone for more than 4 hours.

they assume that im using whenever i hum low.

they assume that im using whenever i loose something.

they assume that im using whenever i get angry.

they assume because of what i have been

and i cannot fault them. i can only try to find peace in the fact that i know i am trying and that one day maybe they will believe again- once i prove it.

however, i will not take on more than what i am accountable for. it has been hard to own mistakes of the past and to move forward because i feel so very alone.

and so i talk to flowers- because they listen without judgement, or looks, or gossip. i can confide in them what i truly feel.

and i walk because thats where i feel at home

and because thats where i am at peace

and i dance because i feel a righteous high then- i feel natural then- i feel left alone then- i feel the world of trauma cease.

if no one will be there to believe me in my recovery, then i must believe myself and believe in myself.

i will believe in myself, no matter what problems come my way.

i will work to build the life that i deserve and i will cast off all who believe darkness about me (friend and foe).

and i feel growth here. i feel happy here. regardless of what notice or bill is due, it will be made right because it’s possible.

and i know i have to feel this entire weight right now.

but i also know that it will not last forever because i can grow wings.

i can fly.

someday i will fly.

even though i am burned out on relations and folk- i will fly.

and for those who don’t believe in me- be gone.

they tell us- that this isn’t our fault but is still our weight to shoulder.

it’s hard.

mightily so-

to look into a mirror that fills itself out in the image of a person we become not familiar with. 

it becomes hard to say to ourselves- that we need help and to be held

and that the language to express such was never given to my tongue. 

i lost to urges i couldn’t speak against

and let them take me where white men dance on ruins, and humiliation. 

the ground beneath our feet is cracked

torn earth. 

beds  

made from dirt, her sisters, and the infinite lay us down

call us out in a way of holding.

they tell us-

that this isn’t our fault

but is still our weight to shoulder.

the way it was for the ancestors who broke backs in fields for profit.

and as we sleep uneasily 

we dream

of one day having skin gentle enough for the lightest kiss. 

we dream that we may one day accept ourselves as easily as those lies in our guts.

that we may one day see in mirrors 

what others see in our hearts.

breaking skin: thoughts from mah diary about mah addiction

grounding:

i feel very alone and i feel very powerless.

i feel this way often even if i know that this ain’t truth.
i feel this way often even though i can feel small bits of power moving in me.
i feel this way because i am alone and powerless-

in part, at least.

and i feel this way because my mind has been stuck here and because that thinking makes mental realities into material trappings. i know that battling through and out of depression means challenging myself to see future colors, even when they are not as clear from where im at. and i know that i have to find myself, and value what is there so fiercely that it blinds any thought daring to be contrary.

i am piecing together what healing means to me and what it looks like for me. and i am so lost and have no real idea of what digging myself out of this hole looks like but i want to try. because i feel the need to-because “dying off ain’t so easy either.”, as a friend once told me in a garden.

and at core-that means truth.
even when no one wants to hear it: truth-because ultimately it is for you.
even when folks are uncomfortable-because ultimately it is for you.
even when you are uncomfortable-because ultimately it is for you.

in the process of trying to be healthy members of community we must first work within ourselves and thats why i say ” . . . because it is for you”. i believe we carry one another in spirit. so we can only be as loving with one another as we are with ourselves.

during the attempt to understand my drug addiction and depression i have/am writing. i want to start sharing some because i want to own what i am. i want to articulate where i am so that i have clarity and because i feel that i am alone and i want folk who are like me and who can maybe find this to find this.

this is an introduction and a warning for folk who may have feelings of discomfort reading about things about drug use, sex, rape, etc . . . feel free to communicate reflections and thoughts in the comments and to me through email but please do not place harmful words in the comments. if they are placed, they will be deleted immediately. i have no time for folk to find discouragement in this space.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

in my movings, i have found discouragement. i recognize the beauty in my heritage and myself, however it isn’t something that is always easy to access under the immense racism, homophobia, poverty and illness of this world. i have not held the strength to overcome and instead have sought to escape. loving Blackness ain’t easy when i can mostly remember poverty, homelessness, violence attached to it. loving my queer self ain’t too easy when no one is there with you feelin’ the same as you. this world has been made to destroy self worth because thats how Capitalism works- that is how you submit to working/breathing/and living for someone else. you do that by destroying the foundation of a being. and if you destroy enough folk then you create communities of trying hands not able to grasp the tools of their liberation because they don’t see the strength in their grasp.

when i was small i would run away from my house-sleep outside. didn’t hold friends close. hid inside myself. slept. ate. drew. was alone alot. and so on. i found every outlet i could to remove myself from the realities of homelessness, homophobia, racism, cancer, drugs, police violence, and neglect. when i graduated high school, i ran, across the country. i hoped that leaving the poverty and Blackness, that i had learned to hate, would bring about a new life. a better life. and i came to San Francisco, not knowing that moving doesn’t heal. being in a place so filled with the opposite of my earlier life took a toll. i became hateful-more so. angry and jealous of white folk for what was given to them through the systems of white privilege that exist. i saw myself more as worthless and as a fraud. i didn’t feel as though i belonged in a university because i was “poor”, a “nigger”, and a “faggot”. i was not “smart” to any of these people. and so i ran again. i didn’t commit to achieving any excellence. i committed to surviving what was to be in that school. at the same time, i felt worthless because i was undesirable in the “heart of gay men”. i was “fat”, and Black which meant a nice fuck toy or target of abuse for most men. eventually, i would be numb, let myself be that. i thought: if this is what i have, then i will be it-at least i can find some numbness in it. and through this it became so hard to see what was worth seeing: i had/have a supportive community of folk who love hard on me and believe in me, i was making it through a university while many weren’t, i was surviving — apart from family on another side of the country. my mind was/is socialized to go to the endless shades of blue instead of finding the blessings that are. i didn’t/couldn’t appreciate them. i was focused on wanting and desiring without recognizing the worth in my face. and in this negative space i was also casting a spell on myself. as allowed misfortunes to guide my sight, i began blocking out the good. becoming cynical and becoming jaded. and not speaking on it because i didn’t want to seem as pathetic as i believed i was. i wanted people to not invest deeply in my thoughts, as they rotted, because i was not permanently invested in any of this world and because i was did not want to worry anyone. i wanted to exist and then fade as quietly and as numb as possible. i recieved praise, love and acceptance in for an artist, being funny, and being “intelligent”. but i never completely saw those things in myself.

i assumed a character playing up those strengths in order to please folk and to gain another kind of high- one of ego. one built partially in a manipulation of reality because people only knew as much as i allowed them to. as much as i believed appropriate or “enough” for them to see. i took all those things which might make me “unattractive”, “unpopular”, or otherwise completely abandoned and repressed them. my saddness, my contradictions . . .
i desired to leave this world as a character i believed at the time would be “perfect”. what i was really doing was creating more walls of silence. more contradictions. more saddness.
and in arrogance, i often thought highly of myself. i felt as though i had found some intelligence and power in this reality through illusion.

i began using men for sex frequently because i wanted to not feel hurt by them. i wanted to feel power over them. i saw power in being “desired”. in reality i no longer view that as “power”-not the power i want to harvest. i don’t believe there is anything productive to be had in using and being used. this world of exploitation is built off of usage. my ancestors were used to create this nation. their lives were drained and used. their spirit energy almost completely smashed. and that continues-workers (those receiving wages and those who aren’t) are used to create profit/or personal wealth (which isn’t always monetary) for a small amount of manipulators. and in this, there is a way that “using” is normalized. in order to “succeed” (attain money, stability, notoriety) in this reality most paths require that you must use and or be used. pimping and allowing yourself to be pimped out is normal.

when i became HIV positive, i partially felt numb.

i felt it coming on-i helped to create the reality when i consciously stopped caring for myself. i did not know how to have safe sex, or speak in any way that was honest during sex because my goal was to get off a load and to leave with a false sense of power. i didn’t know how to speak to men because i was only taught to relate to other men either in aggression or sex. i was not a man. i was a “faggot” and so i never learned to have those friendships because i didn’t trust them and i never learned to feel at ease because the adult men i saw, throughout my childhood, were violent and damaging. they were hurting immensely and i turn hurting others.

and i said to myself again: “if this is what there is, then let me not feel it. not completely. it’s too much.”

when i began using meth it brought me into a more intimate place with white folk-white men. they were/are the majority of the folk with the access. for me this was/is dangerous because of the immense anger and guilt and jealousy and envy i harbored/harbor towards them-which in-turn meant that i also held/hold an immense amount of contempt and hatred for myself that is in the process working through. i wanted all of what i perceived as not having and i decided to do that through allowing myself to be used. each time more blatantly. each time i tore a new skin-i broke with this reality more and more. i began to not care because it seemed pointless. as i allowed this mantra to sink in, the drug took root in that. it grew power in that and played on that. i began to love my oppression more, and care about who i fucked/fucked over less. i began to love it because it meant that i could play in a world where i could be kept numb temporarily and so nothing mattered. i became/am someone who is unaccountable or trust worthy to myself and others. i am working towards finding again and rebuilding that. and it is hard but “dying off ain’t so easy either.” and nor is shying away from those who love and believe in you. because they can help you save yourself, if you allow them.

i was raped. i was very high and in the process of being raped. and i was so high and confused/scared and numb that i didn’t come to realize it till months later. initially, what was clear about what happened was the conclusion. a few of my friends hunted me down and found me-marched up to hell and demanded i be let out. and i was. that act of beauty and courage still astounds me.

memories still come back to me and i remember being told how to remember the event by the man who orchestrated it. and because i never saw some of of my attackers i could never clearly say what i assumed. and so i sat on assumptions and repressed them. the importance of seeing those memories now lies in their truths. they tell me where i was at/am mentally and what danger is. they tell me how to love myself and to forgive myself. they tell me how to take accountability for and how to treat my body better. and they give me lessons, that must be remembered, about trust and what evil is. and evil is hurt moving off of hurt. evil is hurt becoming sorrow and creating danger.

the point in this remembering and reflecting on parts of myself is for me. and you.

because i want to be with you (the world. the community. the family. myself)

and i cannot do that as i am. i can only be here if i choose to work to harvest the kind of power i need and want. which is the same power i see us all needing and wanting. and that is love. because that will be the basis for us trusting and moving and the building organizations, spaces, and relations with one another, that will end this Babylon system-this world of the normalcy of “use”. and that sounds mighty vague to many but it is true and simple. we cannot love or move outwardly if we are not doing so inwardly. in my understanding, part of that involves the owning of truths-the sharing of truths and the holding of truths. if i do not write or speak i will be crushed under the weight of silence. patriarchy teaches us silence, as a way of repression, so that exploitation may win. i am choosing in this moment not to use and to allow myself to be used. i wish to share what i can and hope that it can do what it will/must.

for me, i hope to continue to plant seeds of healing
and find new places to find flight.
another beautiful part of community and what i am coming to value more each day is in the love that is there and how it can save.

part of my quest to find worth in who i am and my existance here is rooted in the tremendous belief held in me. my folk will not let me fade away because they see in me a potential and value that i am trying to find for myself. that makes me want to believe and do work.

and because work needs to be done. and i cannot feel accomplished or rested as long as i know i am not contributing to that work. and love needs to be found, seen, and spread. i have seen villans and zombies. i have been them. and i know we can hold more in our lives. i have seen men cry to themselves without tears and fight when there aren’t words. and i know that ain’t inherently in us and that we can be better. and i know that the work of us being better is crucial to work of making the entirty of humanity better. and we have to do that amongst and for ourselves as male bodied folk who face particular oppressions, commit particular offense, and suffer from particular loneliness because of our hurt.

and i can’t do that work for everyone. . .

not anyone really- unless i am doing it for myself.

that makes me want to heal.

Seeing Our “makers”

the universe gives us moments that measure our humanity

i do believe this.

today i ran into the person who introduced me to meth for a second time.

and my dungeon shook.

i thought i would try to kill him

but i didn’t

i cried.

there.

i cried

on my bike

i cried  

eating

i cried writing this into my journal

and i will probably cry when my mind finds this thought later on. 

And it maybe a surprise to everyone but me that the majority of those tears were not because of anger or being mad that i allowed him and that into my life. they were empathy. i feared for what the world has done/ and will try to do to us. two queer black men.

all he is responsible for is his life- not my choices. 

and i wanted to hug him

would’ve hugged him if i thought it was safe to and if i wasnt so scared.

there is things i want- i want to build better relations with men. i want to move from a place of compassion. i want to genuinely be excited. and i will. 

i think today- through the tears i did find something more productive than anger.