Singing the Blues...Again

Think about the most beautiful romance you have ever watched on film or listened to in music. Okay, now think about how great that romance would be for you to experience firsthand. It must be nice.

 Not to be dramatic, but I will probably die without experiencing some kind of genuine romance or die without ever being in a romantic relationship with someone. I surely do not see my fantasy love life ever happening, unless Thanos snaps his fingers and makes my dreams come true.

 Have you ever pieced a shattered heart back together? It is not as easy as sewing a lace front in some cornrows for a girl’s night out in Atlanta after a Gucci Mane concert.

 Have those pretty butterflies in your stomach that made you weaker than SWV ever turned into musty, hairy moths that make you want to slash the tires of your romantic interest’s McLaren Elva? Eh, who am I kidding? If you are reading this, you do not know anyone that damn rich, especially someone you used to kiss on.

 How could those beautiful butterflies that would even make a beautiful actress like Nia Long quake with jealousy turn so ugly so very fast?

 I am just ready for something genuine like 4C hair with no water, leave-in conditioner, or gel, well, maybe not that genuine. I just would love for my romantic life to stop sounding like the majority of Mary J. Blige’s songs because I am just tired of going down. I want to start being just fine. If you did not understand what I did with those lyrics just now, then please go pick up a Bible or Quran and get some culture in your life.

 It is okay because when I take over the world I actually plan on abolishing romantic love so everyone knows how I feel, it is what any iconic villain would do, right? If I catch you being in love with someone, you will be sentenced to life in prison where you will use your tongue to clean chitlins taken from sickly, alien pigs eight hours a day, and you will not have access to any toothbrushes, mouthwash, or dental floss either.

 Maybe I was not placed on Earth to experience romantic love and that is okay, right? I do not want this to be true, but the evidence says otherwise. I mean, do you want to see all the text messages of all the failures I have experienced? Oh, now you are afraid of scary movies? Right, that is what I thought.

 Animals like beavers find long term partners all the time and they do not even smell as nice as I do, so why can I not find someone? If I offended any beavers that might be reading this, I am so sorry. Honestly, if you are a beaver actually reading this, then you are better than me anyway and you most likely have a partner too, so you are pretty much everything that I aspire to be.

 Maybe I can get reincarnated into a beaver so I can experience partnership, that would be nice.

 “What is wrong with me?” I say to myself often as I experience another failed romance where I was suddenly dropped like a bag of weed on a police foot chase through Baltimore.

 Failing romance is like breathing at this point for me, except breathing is a little better because you get a chance to be alive, if that is the sort of thing you are into.

 I am worthy of being prioritized, right? I am worthy of reciprocated honesty, communication, and passion, right? I am worthy enough to meet someone’s raggedy family, right?

 I fry chicken as good as a Black grandmother from the confederate south and make great hot water cornbread. Is that not good enough? Wait, some of your Black grandmothers cannot cook though and thank god I never had to burden that kind of shame.

 Can you imagine your grandmother trying to exert her authority over you and she has Glory greens from the can and boxed stovetop stuffing cooking on the stove? I would laugh at her like the court jester she is. I would tell her to be a fucking lady! Someone who can only make black-eyed peas from the can is not qualified to give me directions and she probably does not give nice hugs either. She is awful!

 It is probably naive of me to expect a human to care about me any more than they care about a worm squirming around on the ground as they seek oxygen after the pouring rain. Maybe being a worm would be nice though, they do not get lied to or misled in any way, that must be a beautiful existence.

 Maybe I was only put on Earth to consume my favorite desserts and spend almost every second of my life thinking about how I can eliminate every social issue.

 I am tired of giving out the key to my heart just for it to be crashed in a ditch somewhere like a getaway car in Grand Theft Auto because the driver was drunk on narcissism or uncertainty.

 My heart is easy to drive and even easier to service, but it still keeps getting wrecked. I like to think of my love as a luxury vehicle made of gleaming blue diamonds, so you know the repairs are always expensive. After my heart gets crashed, I am left all by my lonesome to repair the damage and like poor people living under capitalism, it is never fair.

 Yes, I hate it here, but I love it here even more. You must play the love game if you ever plan on winning. I am a sucker for love after all, so I will just have to keep taking chances and being vulnerable until I get it right.