Growing pains…not the ones that hurt because you grew 3 cm tall and everyone at thanksgiving noticed. No, the ones that hurt because your nephew is 17 now and “the system” no longer see him as a kid but as a ****, a beast old enough to take bullets from the back but can’t envision him as the next Obama or the next Mansa Musa. Can’t seem to accept my blackness, **** they barely accept the jews. Growing pains…not the ones that got my hips spreading and my ******* developing. No, the ones that allow you to be thankful somehow, that your daddy was a rolling stone and taught you the ways of the play book, so you could be ready to read through any ******* men feed you. Like, “I know you scared but don’t be baby cause I got something to ease you.” Ruining your fairytale of loyalty, fidelity and men. Growing up to only find out you have daddy issues.
Growing pains, when you realize your narrow-minded perspective as a child gave you false hope as an adult. Thinking I wanted to be like my parents when I grow up. I just had an epiphany, I’m just like them, and that’s what ****** up. Living to metamorphosize into a greater being not just to break this generational curse but to live up to my expectations rather than finding out what’s worse.
Growing pains, digging up the emotional trauma. Discovering my triggers and healing from the past that no longer serves me. Having to navigate my own way to the destination. So, you birthed me, gave me beatings, personally prepped my platter of mental disarray. But I don’t blame you, mama. I forgive you…because you only taught me what you knew. And you taught me what not to be and from that I only grew like a mushroom that flourishes even through **** and still possess a magical hue.
Growing pains, realizing the elephant in the room was louder than any silence I have ever heard. For years, accepting everyone’s lies that turned into words that turned into truth that turned into hurt. Shaping me, molding me like clay, into a prisoner of their society. A prisoner who had to break free. A prisoner held captive for wanting to be an individual. What some would consider a pariah but really just a lost soul looking for a reason to breathe. Making use of this breathing container encapsulating the forsaken child within. Hidden in brown skin. Waiting to feel the liberation.
Never thought a therapist would be an essential part of my living. Never thought in a stranger I would ever find healing. Never expected my mental to be depressed or my feelings to be addressed, I’m just holding on to what’s left like a hoarder I’m obsessed but living that life I won’t progress so here it is…. I…. confess.