like when galaxies collide

say word. too nice, too sweet, too giving. broadcasting in different frequencies that when overlaid only cause a jarring cacophony. in sync, they would create a divine symphony. don’t act like you don’t deserve me.

i was starting to feel comfortable in that universe. but then everything shifted, constellations rearranged, points of reference transformed. things that i had once believed are no more. no wonder my nails are bitten down again. nervous characteristics, reflected in the physical.

i’m starting to sound repetitive. same patterns of shifting happening once more, think that should be telling me something. when i can’t trust what i’m being told, it’s time to bounce. thankfully, so far you’ve been honest, but i should learn to not believe the initial, the superficial. should remain elusive until the surface is scratched through and through. i wasn’t the one who talked about blood. wait a minute, i did, and i wasn’t talking about mine.

trying to examine motives, can only come up with a need to co-create. not good enough for me, i’m not looking for a future bird’s nest type of arrangement. old-fashioned romanticisms and paralyzing fears around loneliness. i’m a teamplayer, y’all. might not have learned how to share but i’ll be damned if i’m on a solo mission for this destination. think twice before you end up stuck with me.

the earth-energy dreams have been coming back again and the clock ticks louder. a return to those old spanish island prophecies – some of them might have been lost in translation, but they haven’t gone away. i should stop fighting the preparations, ochun’s in my ear saying ready or not. (i hear you loud and clear, ma, but i’m not ready to stop being wayward. bear with me a little longer, please?). one way to fight that destiny and somehow, i’m not down with the self-deprivation. i’m not naming it, not putting it out there in the universe like that, not leaving a record, just in case it chooses to manifest too soon for my own schedule.

Them eyes are gorgeous
I must advance
I don’t check for no superficial
It’s got to be beneficial
These sonic fruits
These sonic fruits
Sight

– even after all, finlay quaye

***

Title reference: Sexy Cinderella, Lynden David Hall (RIP), 1997.

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