I’ve lost my appetite again. Even when I think I want food, even when I have some, I struggle to finish even half of what’s before me. What I swallow is not enough to satisfy my hunger. Hunger I know I have, even if it doesn’t quite resonate.
One of my strengths is looking for the bright sides in my life (if not the broader world when I think about systems of oppression) and looking for the best in others. There’s a lot of beauty so that’s not difficult. But there’s a part of me that’s asking to be allowed to be express my hurt, too, when something is amiss. And also, what is not quite anger (or perhaps a small dose), but impatience and sass.
My main instincts are to be gentle, compassionate, and self-deprecating, but there is both cayenne and strawberries in the lemonade I’m sipping.
Perhaps someday the gentle me will smile and bow to the sassmaster me, and the sassmaster will laugh to those who need to hear it,
“Manners and all, I’m the baddest b you’ll never have again,” and walk away.
I didn’t need Lemonade when it was released, but I’ve listened to it nearly nonstop the past week. Thanks, Bey.
I don’t explicitly refer to gender or sexuality in this or some other pieces, Les, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t on my mind, or part of this. I don’t have energy for nouns on target today.