Princess of Tides

My life has become flooded by sturdy memories.  It’s not bad, sort of like watching “The Prince of Tides,” calm flashbacks happen while our hero cooks a meal.

i dream about my brother, my mother.

The most brilliant man i know tells me to knuckle-down-memories are trying to surface.  i can’t toss aside the truth of this.  He is calmly waiting.  i soak the sheets with sweat.  The insomnia is mind bending.  i hear music from my childhood, music i don’t listen to anymore.

Barbra Streisand.  Carol King. Sweet Baby James. Nina Simone. Any love ballad my mother sent me on drunken voicemails, pleading with me to come back, telling me she is half dead without me, that she needs me.

Any music playing when my biological father called me in sweaty, tense, tight with emotion calls.  Especially the one where he was clearly drunk, and asked me if i love him.  For one heart beat, i thought of how i had a poison dagger right now.  i could hurt him and i knew it.  But i told him the truth, that i loved him.  During our last call, that fucker literally ordered me home to take care of my mother.  When i pointed out the woman had literally just come after me with a pair of scissors screaming I’ll kill you in front of two babies, he laughed.  When he spoke next, His tone darkened, and despite everything, all of the absence and prison visits, i understood him.  His hand, i knew, had just reflexively gone to his belt.

And despite the ludicrousness of it all, i smiled despite myself.  Game on. i always did enjoy any situation that makes a mans dick hard, in particular when he can’t do one thing about it.

i flatly told him i wasn’t going back and evenly asked him how he could judge me.  My tone was meant to remind him that if he had handled a situation, the only time i have ever asked for help, that we wouldn’t be having this conversation.  i am resentful.  i think of John the Baptist, his head on the platter.  It was a single cool demand.  i should have had to ask once.  Hell, i shouldn’t have had to ask at all.

i have memories.  i have them.

Trying to push them down isn’t helpful and i’ve already hid myself as well as i can.  i have made myself invisible to men.  The price is a bit of self hatred, of disgust, rage turned inside out.

i need to focus on my art and spirituality for awhile.  i’ve neglected these things, just not enough time.  Not enough energy.

Sir Raven wants me to not swear.  As in, “ever.”  i presume that she is okay with the word “fuck” as a verb, cause i have to keep that one.  🙂  i figure it doesn’t matter here but that reminds me to ask.

i’ve fortunately gained some maturity over the years.  The tape in my head singing, “fuck, fuck, fuck. Don’t say fuck” is at least silent.  Seventeen years ago, i walked into my first acknowledged M/s relationship and poly household.  It took me close to two weeks to figure out that he actually meant it.  You’d think i may have figured it out the first time i was sitting with difficulty, and he merely smiled quietly, praising the meal.  We had cornish hens, fresh rolls, and i had tried my hand at cooking real vegetables galore.  After the meal, i had served iced tea with mint on the front porch to the two of them.  i was returning to mop the kitchen floor and polish the table when i stubbed my toe and absent minded at the pain, i swore.

Then i tried to roll over him with a list of all of the things he hadn’t covered, because the poor Navy Seal Mr. Man had thought life would be simple.  You know, that he’s say, “Hey, quit swearing,” and i’d just stop.

The lovely irony was that he physically resembled my biological father tremendously.  And so i quite enjoyed winning our little power struggles.  He’d be lecturing, and i’d interrupt his thoughts with a glance.

i wasn’t mature enough to force myself to do the best i could for him.  He didn’t have the stomach for the job and i rolled over him.  After that, i chose more carefully.  What that meant is that people who are most attracted to me have something dark inside.  i can pinpoint which person wants what and if they can go about taking it, if need be, when i meet them.

Few people surprise me.

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