First Impressions

"It's going to take many wrinkles for people to see you on first glance. By the time that comes though, they'll think you simply shrank."

And I'll be considered one of those cute lil' old ladies who needs help with her groceries. But that day is not today and won't be for a while, so what do I do until then?! It's like the freedom to live the "in between life" is snatched from me; it's at the mercy of first glances/encounters. I need to find that place that tells the truth between thoughts of me as someone's daughter and visions of me in need of assistance as elderly. Even when some project vistas of this "in between life" vantage point, it almost always is in conjunction of another entity. I'm never able to stand by myself in these story lines. I'm someone's significant other (cute and cuddly), someone's mother (cute, but courageous) or someone's muse (cute and inspirational). I'm bothered by the business of me always needing to be accompanied in these alternate universes of existence instead of me mirrored as a seriously stable soloist. How am I not supposed to assume that my being is viewed as a handicap or awesome attribute, due to human inability to navigate normality... Yes, I consider myself as normal although my talents are far from that stand point. If my beacon is my body which no one can get past without resentment, how am I to truly want to share myself past the lines of my exterior?

Many say they thirst for truth, but from my perspective when it's staring them in the face a lie is the easier alternative to understand. All I want to do is live as honestly as I can.

We're all aliens in the end:
"Alien can blend right on in wit' yo' kin
look again 'cause I swear I spot one every now & then
It's happenin' again wish I could tell you when..." ~Outkast, Aquemini

I Can't Even Cry...

without being disturbed.

Sitting by the water in my old neighborhood, I focused on successfully seating myself in deep thought. You know those times when you know you need to cry for a cleansing? Well, I was at the brink of this last night. I just felt the urgency to emote via tears.

After being interrupted by these wonderful women and their chatter-filled children, all on wheels, I found some semblance of silence. I began to feel the crispness of the wind making goose pimples emerge like magic on my scalp, so I decided to put my hood on. This is where the event of this entry began, I guess.

I was settling into my mood of blue when these two dudes walked by. I barely noticed them. Maybe forty-five seconds elapsed when I could see some one's shadow on the concrete creeping into my periphery. I thought this person would walk past as did many people did during my tenure on the bench by the water. I became stunned slightly when the shadow's body said, "Hello." This of course caused me to turn in his direction... "And OH, he's brought a friend", I thought. He proceeded to remain the lead in his exploratory endeavor by asking me if I was okay. I nodded yes (I was on the verge of my needed cleanse cry), expecting him to turn away and continue his journey. He then stepped closer and proceeded to ask, "Is there someone coming to get you?" At this I chuckled and said, "I'm fine, thanks. I live right around here", pointing to the buildings behind me.
After hearing my response in my own pre-cry baritone, his face went back to an expression of assurance. The duo walked away and I wept and wept and wept and wept.
~~~~~~~
At first, I thought this encounter was initiated out of concern for me as a human being, but when I heard those words of wondering if I was to be met I knew it was because they had mistaken me for a child. They could barely see my face so it's not their fault. Who do I blame then when I'm sick of being a victim/survivor of my own shell of self?
Many try to help me, but that's not the assistance I seek.

Blessed are the meek.

ABC's

Today I was read to and coaxed into reading on accident.
I was at a volunteer event reading to after-schoolers when one of the other volunteers began reading to the table.
One of the children suggested that the table read a person at a time per page.
When it was my turn, I noted the woman's quizzical look in my direction. She was baffled by my precise diction, so I found out a few minutes later.
We both realized her mistake after I let her know I was a volunteer as well and not one of the after school kids. She said, "Oh, I do apologize. At first I thought that, but then you read and I figured you were 17 or something." I guess she thought I was someone's older sister.
Not 5 minutes after this, the leader of the event came over and thinking the other woman at our table of children was the sole volunteer suggested that another volunteer sit down and read to "us". She said this as she pointed to myself and the girl I was reading to. Happy with her new feeling of 'discovery' the other woman perked up and let the leader know the situation.

I get so tired of seeing people's embarrassment too... sigh.

One of the Reasons...

why my old job is My Old Job!

"And is this your little helper?"
This type of innocent (ignorant) question I don't mind because once it's explained there is no more to say, therefore I am able to transcend invisibility. My actions are allowed to showcase my abilities as an employee (and adult).

"Oh my! That's a mighty large title for you..."
Is not what I wished to hear after it is explained that I was the holder of an established and esteemed title when it came to where I worked. This type of comment I found to be like an unrehearsed stroke of the bow onto string.

The hand (brain) can't seem to control the fingers (lips) to hold tight enough so instead of a melody, I get to hear the screeching of this instrument. My imaginary reaction would be to get into rock star mode and shatter said wood sound-box against the stage wall and floor. Instead most times I simply choose to leave the concert early with my sense of self intact. At least I know how to pluck my own strings properly. And yes, I'm a guitar -- more times than not, I am pissed [off] while standing!

Note: If you ever encounter me in a work setting, it doesn't matter if it's one of white-collar or blue... SHUT THE F^CK UP!!! Stare if you must, but DO NOT say anything. Looks can be let go, but language always always builds even in demolition mode.

♥ ur children... because i won't

Since I seemed their age, they pulled on my braids...

On the bus headed way uptown during a gusty, but clear day-off I find myself transported way back to the times of elementary academic age. The actions of two little girls are my ticket to this type of travel that unraveled itself into the front of my memory bank. These thoughts skipped the line to cash themselves before all others on this afternoon. Those timid, but tactical tugs of my tendrils became a vacuumed vortex. I'd felt like I was in 5th grade again getting teased for being tiny. Teasing became torture once I opened my mouth in protest to the tormentors. Wicked words went from said to dirty deeds displayed. This was what they could afford before adolescence... attacking what they did not understand.

It became the same scene for these two terrors of today's time. I opened my mouth to open their eyes; I wanted them to realize that they could not feel free to invade anyone's personal space. Even if some wayward hair had been hanging over the partition which marked the border into their realm.
I said sternly, "Don't do that. You don't know me. Don't touch people like that."
So shaken my matter-of-fact reaction to their wrongdoings, their eyes widened with surprise. However, because they figured I at most only added up to an adolescent they took comfort in contemplating a repeat of raping my weave by whispering to one another.
"Go ahead, pull it again. It's right there."
"No, you do it. I dare you."
"Okay..." [giggles]
I turn toward these tots, letting them know I've heard their verbal blueprint.
"No! You won't. Don't even!"
At this, they both become quiet and focus themselves onto something else. Until the end of their ride. As they go to exit (behind their mothers) at their stop, I am given rolled whites, raspberries and haughty "ha ha ha's".

And I think then about absence of friends during elementary days. I am so glad to be an adult now, but question the value of the post-adolescence of others. Like mothers who talk amongst themselves in coded language, ignoring their children whom are in desperate need of discipline. The strain of my early days is still being cultivated within the blood of socialization. This makes me so sad sometimes I wish to be a shut-in.