They say where ever your birthmark is located on your body
Is where you were stabbed, shot, hung or whatever other means
Of death are plausible in your past life.

I have come to the conclusion
That I am not human.
I do not have a birthmark anywhere on my body
A patch of pigmented skin different from the rest
This is both englightening and very very very dissapointing

This means there was never a low blow to my calf, a karate chop at my neck, a gunshot to my ankle
Nothing to symbolize that I once maybe had another life.

A life where I was the cracks in the sidwalk
or the wind gently stirring up chaos on days when I just **** felt like being noticed
or maybe i lived out my seven year old dreams of becoming the sixth member of the Spice Girls
or even an NSYNC groupie

I will never know.
I never emerged from my mothers womb
With a scar baring my worth

I was never blessed with a kiss from an angel
As other mothers told their children

I was never born with a birthmark,
and while this is perfectly natural.
I am very dissapointed, beacause maybe I was never given a chance.

Maybe I was crushed before I entered the world
A womb filled with disgust and hatred

Maybe I preferred to stay as the cracks in the concrete or the wind
Because I'd rather deal with the simple casualities of life rather than the mess humans tend to create

Maybe I was never given a second chance because
I never made something of myself here first.

Or just maybe there is a possiblity that I'm immortal
and if that's the case.
You are all invited to my 106th birthday party.

Oh what a shock, he changed his mind.

In a conversation dripping with sarcasm and oozing distain, I begin to tell my coworker about my big news. I begin with the transition with *remember that guy I used to talk about. For months now we had been hashing this situation out at work, the unanswered text messages, the constant apologies, the sudden disappearance of what was seemingly the perfect guy. Everyone had heard the story, it just glided off my tongue whenever the conversation came to relationships, which at 22 is the topic of choice. By now everyone is either so stable or in some varying level of turmoil which makes my story not all that unique. It’s a classic girl gets drunk in costume, falls for a tall guy who listens to records, then spirals into self-doubt and bouts of frustration.

So how did this happen, the coworker asks with a laugh as we drive back. He knows the story up until this point and cannot wait to hear how I managed to get to this level. It started just as it had begun, a full circle of drunkenness. I had texted him after an open bar, and to this day I don't really know what I was expecting to come of it. After a casual opening conversation, the first that we’ve had in many months, not counting our stream of snapchats, I tell him we should hang out soon. When I saw that he was pretty drunk.ish. drunkish, I knew that we could have the first real conversation in a long time. We discuss his unavailable nature casually and he identifies as not being worth all the fuss.

Of course he is not worth all the fuss, I had been telling myself that since the beginning. Of course I had been fussing all the while but at least I was aware that it was not necessary. This is where all those craft beers stepped in and I agreed with him. Yep I told a guy that he wasn’t worth effort. To make it even clarified that due to a lack of variety, he was just the best out of many bad possibilities.

I deserved to see him reply with a single, punched in the ball style, ouch. Being the strong independent black woman I pretend to be I once again hit him with a one-two punch of truth. Oh please, as I electronically roll my eyes, you know I am interested in you. I tell him that he confuses me and that we could figure things out. I hear the classic line that I have now heard from many more guys than I am happy to admit, blame it on my need to hunt down every damaged travel ****** in the western New York area: I’m going to be nowhere near here in a few months.

They never are, this one is bicoastal but the last few are across an ocean, across the world, a verbal cultural and emotional divide away. To follow up he hits me with possibly the worst thing you can say to a girl, in my very extensive history of turn downs at least: I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings.

*****, please. You are talking to a psych major here, I know more about feelings that your barefoot running lack of *** could even imagine. Saying that would require that I have feelings in the first place is just the tip of the ******* iceberg. I am on lock with being in charge of my emotions. I am a grown *** woman who knows my **** and has healthy *** cognitions most of the time leading to stable *** feelings. Don't get me wrong I feel but no vegetarian is going to reduce me to a puddle of disgusting feelings.

So what are you looking for? The same thing I was looking for four months ago, a friend, a fellow explorer, maybe some physical contact, someone to confide in, worry about, cook for. Nothing big, nothing serious, nothing forever. ohh

Sorry bud, ohh is just not going to cut it here. Now’s the time to check back in with what he wants. As a recap, originally we had a conversation, same topic different tone. In that moment he wanted a friend, a fellow explorer, maybe some physical contact, someone to confide in, worry about, cook for. Nothing big, nothing serious, nothing forever.

Oh what a shock, he changed his mind.

This time his conscience was taking over, he couldn't hook up with me because its not in his nature, because it wouldn't form something real, because that's his guiding force. It’s certainly tempting, it would be lovely. He took my a good time in the present, no strings attached * as a ******* which wasn’t its intent but finally I was relieved.

The purpose of this story is not for pity or out of unbridled rage even though I used a few swears. The conversation goes on to target some insecurities, to open up about this being a pattern, and ultimately to wish him the very best.

And, I do, honestly and entirely wish him the very best. Although he had disappeared I know that he didn't do it with malice and that he has a really kind soul. Once again it didn't work out but this case was different.

We had 2:30 AM closure of the best nature, and I feel free and so much happier for the time I spent hung up on him, which is not something I can say for all those previous cases. I really enjoyed our sparse conversations but even more than that, this was the first time I came out of my shell and got pushy about what I wanted. I did all the work and had nothing to lose and for that I do not have a single regret, and I feel like the sky is the limit. No more texting rules or hurting other people feelings in the Game just for the sake of winning.

thank you, you too :)

His response was perfect, and I promptly removed him from my social media. After all, I am human.




*NSYNC’s best hit

I remember when we would practice penmanship
along a clean dotted line
I remember when we were absent minds
with focus fixed
Yes, Ma’am. No, Sir.
Climbing atop monkey bars,
we were crafty criminals never discouraged by law
We didn’t know what we were doing

I remember when I was crushing ******* him
and little love notes
Barbies aren’t cool anymore
NSYNC versus The Backstreet Boys
No, Sam is my boyfriend now
Gaucho pants and platform sandals
We didn’t know what we were doing

I remember when I couldn’t pearl papers,
tapped out after one rip,
and thought roaches only existed
in the cracks of crumbling city apartments
But I was still “cool”
and destined to be a rockstar
so, whatever...
I didn’t know what I was doing

Now,
I am a spinning dreidel despite the cataclysmic storm
I am the drizzle of syrup on a Sunday morning omelette
I am the cherry blossom tree that blooms in late spring
A settled and centered soul,
I am a pen on the brink of a classic
And I don’t know what I am doing

He holds me near the keys
I sit on his knee
playing asian melodies
with the black keys on white
I fall asleep to his unique melodies of the night.

Easter time, I remember Louis
he came to our home on King Street
what wonderful feathers, and lovely tweet
Louis would fly free, the wood banister is his seat.

Large tomatoes grew outside,
She would go there to hide,
in the sun, crouched down, tending the flowers
looking after me almost every hour.

Polish pottery set on the table.
wooden spoons and soup ladel.
Her lovely flower crown, and white gown
the chapel bell’s sound
I hope my wedding can be
as beautiful as this one was across the sea.

She curled my hair often, barrettes, and bows
for first communion and theater shows
She wore long skirts, long hair
and an irish hat she would wear.
We thought she dressed funny,
But now I wear her greek cape

We shared a small room
I would hear him breathe softly
when morning would loom.
we danced wildly to NSYNC
and giggled and played
how sad I am--things have changed.

Four of us, together forever
nothing can tear us apart, never.
and now I wish I had kinder things to say
my family so beautiful
the memories, like the most lovely song
I always want to hear--
so I won’t be far, so our hearts can be near.

He threw them out. Everything.
My pillow.
My CD's.
My toothbrush.
The sting of his actions hit when I saw NSYNC in the trash. My rage was a sort of domestic rage.
My pride shattered, my memories wrecked, he woulod not have the last laugh.
Months later, after my dreaded departure, I stood outside his door.
His dignity dangled on my size 8 finger. It took the form of my misgivings.