The freedom of singlehood


Technically, I’ve been single for the last 4 months now. In this day and age, I shouldn’t be saying that out loud. Aloud for the world to hear that somebody doesn’t want me. Please. Somebody wants me, and when he stops, somebody will still want me, even if that only somebody is me.

I say technically, because since the age of 19, my soul has not been free. It’s not just been me. Always balls deep into this one soul and this one body. And only when I finally agreed to just do me, I finally felt freedom and true liberty. Me balls deep in me. It’s beautiful to finally be free.

I was wrapped up in thoughts of us. Spending time on us,mentally or physically. Even when the day reset my clock, it would be all about me and him, him and me. 

When we stopped being we, and us gave up on us, I could have fallen into the arms of some next body – trust. There always seems to be a some next body ready to catch you when your we falls out of us.

For the first time in years, I refused to fall into someone else. I broke away from being a monkey bar lover and all that mess. The mess of taking my broken and bleeding pieces and bits of your broken and bleeding pieces to someone with a mosaic of pieces and no peace to mend. 

The last 4 months have been liberating. My soul magically regenerating in a marinade of singletude. Spirit free. Untangled. Released. Walking down some highway, with half a head of braids, and half an afro, and the sun licking my naked freckles. Like tongue deep in my chocolate chip freckles kind of free.

No make up to impress, but only make up when I dress to remind you all that I am an Empress…I am an Empress! – that’s what my Rasta said. Lord, I miss him. Dead in flesh but his spirit lives on. Spirits never bleed the red of death. 

My Rasta’s words reminding me that true love sees beauty when she opens her mouth and her soul pours out. A soul mended and refined in solitude..Oozing peace, love, blessings, and gratitude for a type of freedom that truly is free.



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