I couldn’t remember the last time I had been me….couldn’t remember the exact moment or hour when I was at peace with what I saw in mirrors. I treaded the waters of my memory searching for the path through those waters that would bring me to the established landmark, marking the critical moment in my existence where I liked me…loved me…embraced me…
…i never found it.
life was spent in a proverbial passing…
I was almost always being passed and passing myself from personality to personality; lost in persona after persona..seeking for those moments of passion that would somehow carve on my tired mind and crushed heart; just exactly who I was. I believed I might find validation and affirmation in the arms of that perfect man…the kind man I wrote about and pined for back in those ‘carefree’ days of 2004 and 05…those were the days when I could just be who I thought I was…I could and did throw myself, with reckless abandon, into the arms of any man that flamencoed into my area…any man that strolled into my sphere and rearranged my stars…leaving cool 8-bar expressions of their love in sound-ular poetics or the delicious and discordant melodies of their lives…that didn’t exactly match with mine…but I was willing to creatively construct a fitting or at least passing composition that would sound interesting when played.
Those were the days…and there were many days. I can remember and do remember those days…
Its amazing how you can remember all the things you put in extra time for forgetting. I remember not so much the many faces of the men I slept with, more like I remember their songs…I remember the lyrics and the scent of their individual fragrances…some standing out like paisley print against earth tones while others have just blended into the mists of yesterday. I remember their songs…that is, the music of their lives…their states of being. I remember how drunk and hooked I was to their song’s refrain…how my body would sing their particular hook; loudly and boldly; never mind if I was out of order or wrong…I was honest…and bold, at least I thought that was noble at that time, I sang them and sang them loudly in my off-key voice because I wanted to sing not so much for the masses but for me; sing loud enough to convince myself that that particular person’s song that I sang was reality and more importantly it proved that I was simply being me…
the young man…fey and creative…so many things…
he was the magician of his age…the man well adept at presenting smoke and mirrors…the master conjurer. With words alone he could make you think and see whatever he wanted you to see…until he met those who could see past his sorceries…could see well beyond the seductive mists that brought sultry appeal…the ones that were familiar with the familiarities of a confused soul’s sorceries, but had enough keen insight to see beyond and right to the heart of him…the real him…
and in those days I clung to my carefully constructed fantasies…I watched over my carefully erected facades and world systems…systems where I was ruler and overlord…I made sure that I always came off as pretty…throwing my words like living serpents to seduce others that they would never smell the scent of corrosion and death, hurt and abandonment that really lined the walls of my cellars…how I worked and weaved my stuff. How I strutted and shared my contrived song…lip synching a melody that wasn’t even mine…but a hodgepodge of ends and pieces I’d carefully put together as a whole and hid behind the side refractions and reflections of light…how masterful in deception I was…but not to the ones…not to the ones who could see beyond…
I couldn’t remember the last time I had been me…couldn’t remember the exact date or day I was ever the real me…couldn’t pinpoint the time I ceased to be me and take on someone else…the proverbial actor…always in character and out of character was like being out of existence…I couldn’t exist unless I pretended…and what a way to live…I couldn’t remember the last time I had been me…
I couldn’t remember…
…those years seemed like 1,000 year interludes…and its only recently that ive begun to shed off the dead skin of past characters and character for the emergence of ME…the authentic me…its only been recent that the voice of my life has found itself being trained to sing the authentic song of me…to its fullest and most beautiful…how freeing that is…
selah
©2011/bloodspeaks
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