|
read Afrocrowndiva's other columns!
|
I Me Wed
(It Doesn't Have to Be a White Wedding)
Bi Yvonne O. Etaghene
It doesn't have to be white, I would actually prefer that it wasn't—it's been done hundreds of millions of times in white and I think it's time for a change. It can be baby pink...or midnight black...or sunshine yellow. I've decided the wedding, my wedding, shouldn't be white. I'm sitting here, pink candle lit, munching on a lusciously delicious coconut cookie, sipping on a coke listening to late night slow jams on the radio. Now, just because I'm sitting at my kitchen table in a white wedding dress over my brand new blue panties, a pot of rice simmering on the stove in a borrowed pot doesn't mean—alright, shit it's true, I got love on my mind.
Am I asking for a lot? I just want a warm, intelligent, sweet, gender boundary-destroying, conscious, spiritual, revolutionary, kind, fierce, fearless, sexy, ambitious, woman-loving woman of color to slam poetry with, ride the train, cook, drink, be stupid with, be serious with, a butchy femme who can hold me, inspire me, laugh with me, build me up, fight with me, make up with me, stay with me cuz it's me—is that a lot? Maybe, well obviously it is cuz I'm not with her—this mystical woman I've created in my head who is so perfect her imperfections only make her more marvelous. She is not a goddess or a queen, she laughs titles like those off, she is someone so real that I automatically know that the woman that smiled at me in the café yesterday is not her, and she is so real that the woman I accidentally-on-purpose bumped into on the train this morning has got to be her—I mean her eyes were so riveting I could barely mutter a rushed "Sorry" on my way off, rooted to my spot on the platform watching the train pull off, convinced the butchy femme love of my life just swooshed past me.
Not to sound hella abstract, but the search for love is a search for self. So many women are looking for that one special person who will magically make their life "complete", fill in their blanks, make the nonsense make sense, erase the lingering pain from past heartaches with breathtaking lovemaking. Who doesn't want that? Shit I want that, but I know, despite what my desire dictates to me, that that is not what love is, that is dependency, addiction and pure fiction. No human being can make another human being complete—except maybe your mama—there's always an exception! Searches for a woman to fill up those unexplored or hurt parts of ourselves will eventually be fruitless, and even if you find someone, or THE ONE, you're still alone even when you're in their arms, when you're kissing or gazing into each other's eyes over dinner. We're not even fully there to give the intimacy and love we so achingly desire because miniscule and titanic parts of ourselves are owned by exes and haunting complexes. The totality of who we are exists in tons of different places—living in the unfulfilled dreams we created with our ex, in between the bars of our favorite song, at the restaurants we used to go to and on the pages of old love letters...we are scattered so far and in so many places that we can't even give the love we want and need
I want to be a whole woman; I don't want to dream about what could've been with the one that got away. Why? What is really the point of pondering a past I can't change and if I'm not going to call that one ex up (we all have at least one that we still sigh at the thought of) and get back together, am I not wasting my time? Would I want to be with a woman hung up on someone else and using me to forget that pain? Do I want to be with someone whose eyes are crowded with memories of another woman? Hell no! So if I fit the above description, then if I could, I wouldn't date myself—isn't that horrible? It's been said before but it bears repeating—we have to embody what we seek in others. We have to be those things we want to receive not so that we can receive them from others, but because that is a healthy way to live. I love love, I love loving, I love being in love, doing the things lovers do and all the ecstasy and joy that love brings. I also enjoy myself; I enjoy times like these when I sit losing and finding myself in my thoughts. Figuratively speaking, I can't wait to find and/or be found by a sweet woman to cherish and adore me, but literally I can't and won't live my life waiting for love. That isn't really living—what about hanging with my girls, taking walks around Manhattan, ice cream on a hot day, the radiance of the sun, writing poetry, time alone, sleeping, an unexpected phone call from a loving friend, my favorite song on the radio, crying when I need to, laughing when I need to, just living, loving myself and the beautiful people I'm blessed to know. I am a woman I would love to be with. I am the woman I am with and all else that follows is icing on my wedding cake.
I think it's time I got out of this damn dress and went to bed.
Got feedback? Email the Afrocrowndiva herself at afrocrowndiva@yahoo.com
|
Tha Afrocrowndiva wrecks shop on and off stage, on and off pages, screaming and whispering about love, war, politics, truth and rage. A Fierce Poet & Workshop Leader based in New York City.
|
| |
|
|
