To a God,
I get confused by the concept of God a lot, too much confusion for our relationship to ever be stable, or fully loving or fully hateful. And yet, in my darkest times, in the middle of the night when I’m sat cross-legged under sea-blue covers, I whisper your name and I beg you to heal me. To be reborn, changed, clothed in indifference, less feeling, less sensitive. Less. Less. Less. I feel always that I am too much for me and for him and for they.
I remember in the middle of the year, when I broke my own heart by catching feelings for someone who would never return the longing ache, I asked to be baptised in cold, unfeeling waters so my heart would be frozen solid and I would never experience heartache again. Then I kissed a boy, I nearly fucked a boy. Nearly. My heart ached. I don’t think I ever even want to have sex. I’m telling a lie. I do. I’m telling a lie. I don’t. My trust has run empty << Do you see, sweet Mother of God? How my feelings run across lines, how I can’t move in straight lines or straight thoughts? >> But yes, I feel for people too easily. I give too much and I expect too much. So much so that everything they give me is too small.
God. Are you one or are you many? There are deities and there are orishas/orisas. Manifestations of Gods and Goddesses but in the bible it says you hate altars to other Gods. This year I learnt of Oshun, who rules over fresh water, sensuality, flirtatiousness, feminine sexuality, love and fertility. See God, in her honey-yellow glow, I find the solitude I never found in the pages of the bible. For such spirits to exists, surely in the sky above the blue sky they acknowledge the power a woman holds in her head-heart-thighs. Between the thighs, I used to fear. My between the thighs, I use to fear. I am youthfully old, on the verge of 17 with dull pains and colourful thoughts and into the ocean of black womanhood I am trying to find me.
So God, there is a prayer I want to pray, a being I want to embody, a fresh water ocean I want to be submerged in and bury my bodily woes, kiss goodbye to my earthly foes. Can I whisper it to you? Will you answer, even if it goes against your testaments? Or should I ask Mother Oshun to heal my internal wounds, and embed the wisdom and knowledge of love and sex in my head-heart. I think I will.
Bless my heart, heal my heart, guide my heart. <<It is funny because as I write this, Oshun plays in my ears.>> I have a habit of flocking to people who give nothing good but promises of sensual ecstasy, and it does my soul no good to overindulge in feeling with no emotional depth, just rhythmic hips and sweet kisses from lip to neck to waist to…
In your waters, here is a prayer to your waters, pull me away from what tears my heart apart and bruises the soft, delicate spaces I hold to console myself. Give me onfidence in myself to hide no more and take control over my sexuality and how I am perceived. The love I may find, love I may not find, not a worry no more because with your blessings things as such will find me and hold me tender.
In the middle of 2015, when I asked to be baptised in cold and unfeeling waters, I was wrong. I’m a girl who is overwhelmed by my feelings and I cherish the warmth of being so connected to my mental waves. Rigidity is not what I ask for, emotional disconnect is what I will never want. But to feel and to be in control is what I need.
Watch my head. Watch my heart. Watch my soul. God. To you today, as time spills into a new year, I pray to you to be reshaped, to be firm and solid in my own supple shape. I’ve spent 16 years taking the shapes of metallic moulds, meant to uplift my soul but only spreading doubt across any notion of who I am. I no longer want to run from my words and I want to take notice of my beating heart.