he is the truth

"Cause he is the truth
Said he is so real
And I love the way that he makes me feel
And if I am a reflection of him then I must be fly because
His light it shines so bright I wouldn't lie" - india.arie

this is the realest shit ever.

he ain't letting me get away with shit. i can't pull the smooth move, i can't talk my way out of it, i can't pretend.

i can't pretend.

and it's putting me in a place i've never been. EVER.

have you ever been in a situation where none of your old shit works? like, the games you play with other folk will have him calling you out before you even get started? or better yet, he'll let you do ya thing and then check you on it later? like "you know i know why you did that shit."

and then he starts reading your mind, telling you exactly what motivated you to do or say something.

"It's almost like I knew this man from another life
Like back then maybe I was his husband maybe he was my wife
And even things I don't like about him are fine with me
Cause it's not hard for me to understand him cause he's so much like me
And it's truly my pleasure to share his company
And I know that it's God's gift to breathe
The air he breathes"

i want to thank the creator and punch him or her in the mouf at the same time.

it's like i'm always walking around him naked, with everything right there for him to see. sure, he might immediately want to worship at the temple of my tsunami punani, but there's no way for me to avoid him checking out my apple(sauce) ass. it's not even about him not noticing the fact i don't have the body of a nubile 20 year old, cuz he's too observant not to see this. however, the fear is whether or not he'll see my body for what it is - that of a woman who has lived life and has the effects of that life permanently tatooed on her skin in both beautiful and belligerent angles and curves. will he recognize my mind as a reflection of my experiences and my reactions as a those of a woman who is continuing to grow? that's what comes with dealing with someone who walks right through the barriers to bear witness to the cowering soul inside.

what sista is comfortable with that? what person, period? do we really want that person who 'gets' us? do we really want that person who will see through all of our carefully erected walls as though we were 'made of milk box material'?

i find myself surprised into silence after having been read like he had purchased 'what makes nikki tick' at barnes and noble. i never realized until now just how much of myself i've held back in day to day interaction with folk. it's so easy to fall into 'automatic pilot', pulling up canned responses and behavior for the appropriate situations, affording them very little thought or effort. the real hazard of living is the disengagement that can occur during those moments when people have the opportunity to bond, even if it's on the most superficial of levels. i find myself preventing even that alot of times, content in living the life of the real nikki all by myself. seconds, minutes, days, weeks, years, decades passed in a blur of connections squandered because i was more concerned with putting forth the image expected or requested as opposed to the image reflected from within me, the true form rendered from the passion, pain, pleasure, power, perception, and panic that came with my daily struggle to persevere.

somewhere along the line, life became harder for me because one can only go so long before the needs and wants of the soul assert themselves. my life had become threadbare of any significant emotion, a monochromatic experience of flimsy fibers easily torn apart because of the lack of any true workmanship on my part. and i didn't care. i had convinced myself i could be content with the cheap product.

and then i started hearing this voice of discontent, first in intermitent whispers during specific moments of obvious restlessness. i refused to move in response to this voice, rebelling because i thought it was being unreasonable. erecting a false image was too easy a task to give up just because some damn voice inside me was telling me i could never be truly happy if i didn't present the truth of who i was to the world.

the voice countered by evolving into a yell, loud and unwavering, a wail weaving its neon threaded self through the pastel fabric of my existence, an unrelenting sonic stain spreading over every facet of my life. i couldn't avoid it. i had to respond.

my soul was speaking to me.

i had to respond.

and so i did, and my growth began.

and now i am faced with my first test.

for the first time in my life, the me i see each day, the one who cries at commercials, the one who trips over invisible cracks in the sidewalk, the one who still bears the burden of sexual assault, the one who is uncomfortable with any praise tossed her way, is being dissected by someone.

sure, i'm also the one who finds joy in intimacy, the one who truly believes in the goodness of people, the one who has a sincere desire to empower folk enough to seek out their own dreams and he sees that too. but i want him to see that. what i don't want him to see is that other stuff, like the fact that i tend to believe more in others than i do in myself or the fact that i battle daily with feelings of self-doubt despite all of the wonderful attributes i possess (according to him anyway...). and no matter what i think i'm doing to camouflage that other stuff, he's able to see through all of the optical tricks, all of my attempts to distract him from the flaws. he sees them with a clarity that scares the shit out of me.

what person in his or her right mind would want this?

and yet it's exactly what my soul has craved all along, the chance for someone to view her, renew her, pursue her through a tapestry of shadow and light with unrelenting determination, never dissuaded by the pitfalls and traps tossed in front of him, never discouraged by the occasional view of her imperfection. he laughs and keeps moving forward intently. he knows that even as i run from him, i am running towards him, because he is the truth.

"There ain't no substitute for the truth
Either it is or isn't
You see the truth it needs no proof
Either it is or it isn't
Now you know the truth by the way it feels
And if I am a reflection of him then I must be fly
Because he is, yes he is
I wonder does he know?"

the fear in me makes me seek out the proof, but it's a wasted effort because i already know what he feels like.

he feels like me.

and even though my insecurities speak occasionally...

does he like what he sees?

my soul, no longer cowering, responds almost matter-of-factly...

don't wonder whether or not he likes what he sees...just be...