i wake in the night, our legs intertwined,

my hair in your fist or under your body

i smile and drift back to sleep.

i pause in the moment

let the tension leave my body

before the hot tears break free

just for a moment

i let myself drift.

In the moments that i beg God to prolong the night

where there is no separation between you and me

when i can feel your heartbeat inside of me

when i can feel emotions i don’t have words for

i drift into you like a wave crashing home.

Your lips on my lips,

your welts on my skin

i arch into you.

Beyond drifting in and out

beyond breathe

beyond stillness or surrender

beyond sweat and tears

i am Yours. 

i have always been Yours.

Tell me our souls will always drift back together.

Tell me you can feel my heart beat on your tongue.

It’s no wonder, before you, i always carried a sense of lonely

and a case of wanderlust.

You are home to me.



i haven’t written in awhile, i know. Things here are mostly fantastic. i quit writing for a bit because i was very much stuck in my head and some things that i was thinking about were just not appropriate for the blog. Also, Sir Raven had here vacation time and we were busy spending time together, which was really nice. On the last day, we joined a friend of hers for lunch and she said, “I’ve been home too long. It’s been good but I’ve been home so long I started picking fights with jade and then wondered what am i doing?

LoL. While that is not exactly true, i’m sensitive to the idea that too much down-time isn’t the best thing for her. So, i deliberately tried to ask to go out for different reasons and we did some shopping for her to have some new outfits. i suggested she go out for lunch with friends. That sort of a thing. Otherwise, she’d stay in bed in pjs and get waited on all day. As it turns out, one can have too much of a good thing. 🙂

i’d keep her home if i could because i genuinely love her being home. i love everything about it. We always make plans for special outings for when she is off work but those tend to fall away in favor of relaxation. That is mostly my idea because i place a high value on her being able to do nothing, daydream, read blogs, rest, and watch stupid movies we have seen ten times. Yep. That stuff matters to me more than seeing the real Tiffanys. 😀

i kept playing the lotto just so if we won she wouldn’t have to leave again. well, that, and we could knock down the wall next door and have a bigger apartment. Heh. Or, better yet, get rid of the people upstairs and get that apartment space and make a loft. Clearly, this is what i daydream about.

We just had a really nice weekend together. i felt super bad because she planned a date night for us Friday and i felt sick and begged off. i’ve decided that no matter how i feel, i won’t do that again. Just being around her makes me feel better and i know that in my bones. i should have made it and really underestimated that she was looking forward to it. There are times that i think things matter a lot less to her than they do and perceive it as something she is doing for me. i tend to think of something for me as not a big deal and don’t get too attached to the idea in case it doesn’t end up happening. Mostly, she says she would rather be home and i take that literally. i think i should stop thinking of it that way because we do have a good time together when we make time for dates and i shouldn’t be so quick to say that we can just go home and pass on the good time because i think she would rather be home. i did the same thing a couple of weeks ago when we met for a drink and she wanted to take me out for a steak dinner but was tired. i passed on the date because i figured she would rather be home and passed on a good time.

It just seems so greedy to me to know she is tired and still go out on a date. However, dating is good for us and we need to take that time for each other. i need to be more open to that and push past the guilty feelings, i think.

We had a lovely night anyhow, replete with a beating and other things that make me swoon and move me beyond words. We slept in a little bit on Saturday and i made breakfast.

We went to a meeting for POC, which i am actually glad we went to, overall. What i think is that they need to decide what their goals are and that wasn’t hashed out very well. Someone made the comment that POC should stop apologizing for needing a space that isn’t inclusive of white people and i fully agree. However, that comment is about the experience of being black, from a cultural standpoint rather than a racial makeup. i say that because a person damn well can have skin whiter than mine and be more than 80 percent African by race and may or may not even be aware of this. In which case, they travel through the world with white privileges intact, even if by racial make-up they are a POC.

From a cultural standpoint, a person could be white and have the experience related to being raised in a black environment, in which case they know what it feels like to be the minority and have been treated to the minority experience. What is that? Well it includes being harassed by the police because you don’t look like you belong in a place, being mistrusted based on your skin color, hate stares, people misunderstanding your motivations, anger directed at you for how other people who look like you have behaved, having your bags searched like you are a common criminal. The difference is if your race is ambiguous or appears to be white, you can expect to have your privileges restored once you return to an area that is mostly white. Clearly, POC don’t get that option.

You can’t assume based on how someone looks if they understand, at all, the cultural experience is being immersed in black culture. i’ve known people who were raised in white areas, by white parents, and had to learn to assimilate later on in life. i’ve shared before here that my experience is of black women reaching out to me, being mothering towards me, even before i was able to gracefully embrace the experience. They offered hair tips (and again at the meeting, i got yet another product to try to tame my kinky curls). They told me i was beautiful, exactly as i was. They taught me how to laugh and be comfortable making jokes. They made sure i had food to eat when i was hungry. In short, they fed me in all ways that matter. They taught me how to receive love and warmth and what it felt like to belong to something for the first time in my life. My skin color didn’t matter, though many people asserted the idea that i must be mixed between this ass/hips/hair. what mattered was the content of my character and my willingness to learn how to be a part of something.

i was raised in a very seperatist environment before that so it was the first time i was every a part of a community or extended family. i attended baptisms and funerals, graduations and parties, prayer vigils and group dates. i miss that because i fit there. That is powerful when you have never fit anywhere in life. It took me a real long time to understand that i was wanted, that i belonged. It was so big and huge and wide that i couldn’t wrap my mind around it. It was so hard to let myself be held and hugged and loved on by grown women.

And so, for me, being in a room of POC feels natural, like breathing air. But i’m also sensitive to not wanting to be in a place where i’m not wanted.

If the goals of the group include having a space to vent, hell, i’d want to join in because the way that privilege moves through the world pisses me off too. If the goals include having better understanding, then i think it is vital to invite supporters because it is simply safer for a white person to find out how the group wants to be supported and do that.

i don’t know. i’ve never identified as being white. No one in my family ever has.
Those are the people who didn’t want us and made it clear that we were different. i can remember being told in school that i “looked weird” very often. My hair was weird. My speech was weird. i was weird, different, not a part of. Until i have the experience of belonging, in a place that i cared about belonging, it just never mattered to me.

Sir Raven has said that i am more black than she is, culturally. Heh. She wants me there and that is what matters most to me.

i think that the world might be a different place is everyone had access to genetic testing and people began to understand that our race is not one thing, but many, and come from the same source. It would be a lot harder to hate something that is a part of yourself and your family. At the very least, everyone would have the chance to understand where they came from and that would be a profound experience.

i can only trace one side of my family tree to my great-grandmother. That’s it. Like we never existed beyond that point and i don’t even know the names of the men that would have been my great-grandfather on that side. The other side, is totally empty.

In other news, i hate statistics. In a major way. It’s just miserable and i can’t wait for this class to end. i keep flunking the tests, even though i have an A- avg in the class. So, every week, i have nightmares about getting the strap perhaps owing to a guilty conscience that i can’t understand the material enough to not be flunking the tests. It seems like if i tried harder or something, i could will myself to understand. Ugh. One more week and it’s done. At this point, i’m focused more on that fact than the grade because the hours it takes me to do the math is insane. i am fully on board with needing to understand statistics to have an accurate understanding when you read studies. i am less enthusiastic about having to actually run mock ANOVA tests because it is a nightmare and does not increase my understanding of anything at all.

i am really happy though overall. i’m thankful for so many things in my life that it would take a million words to say all of it. i never take for granted what an amazing provider my Master is or how lucky i feel that she chose me.