BOMBS

Sometimes it can feel like there are no soft places to fall.  And some of us are so used to the fight that even the soft places are threatening. We are so stuck in the loop of trauma and suffering that anything that looks like love, easy love, is a fucking threat. So, what do we do when our luck lands us in love and feeling safe?

We build bombs. We sift through texts. We analyze and over analyze. We convince ourselves that maybe the grass is greener somewhere else. We nitpick. We hyper-focus. We hyperventilate. We withdraw in order to confirm that the person will or won't chase us, we want them to chase us, however, if they do, we feel suffocated. 

You see, it was never really about the love or the security or the proof, but about those empty fucking holes that we continue to avoid filling with anything substantial.  LOVE is the trigger. It always was and always will be. When things get too beautiful and safe and steady I find myself vibrating with anxiety.  As Black women, some of us have been conditioned to believe that we deserve nothing but the fight, nothing but being left behind, and nothing but what is leftover in life. 

I'm trying to find the words to communicate this painful and sick cycle of working to earn the love that I never believed I deserved in the first place. We can't continue to be drawn to those who never want to show up for our love.  We can't continue to affirm our feelings of worthlessness through folks who use us until all the glitter is gone. 

I don't have any answers tonight, just the raw realization that too many of us are suffering and too many of us are far too comfortable settling with less than we deserve because it aligns with the abuse we know all too well.

We build the bombs and detonate them because we've only learned how to pick up the pieces.

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                                                  Wishing you LOVE, PEACE & HOPE in this harsh world ♥☮

                      Kjirsten aka Concerned Hippie Chick Copyright © 2019 Kjirsten Randall. All Rights Reserved