A Collection of Disjointed Musings that Somehow Taste Good Together.
Maybe I forgive so easily because I’m usually the one needing forgiveness. I understand that position so well, having been in countless situations dead-wrong and red-handed. My surname is Grace, which literally means, “the unmerited favor of God, as shown by salvation and bestowal of blessings unearned.” So believe me when I say that although I’ve seen many sorrows of the heart, I’ve been saved from much worse, and blessed far more than my actions deserve.
But that doesn’t stop the Survivor’s Guilt I feel, that persistent nudge telling me that I’m not worthy of love’s favor. You didnt do enough, insecurity says. You did too much and fucked it up, shame says. But love says, you lived, loved and learned. Be ready, for I will grant you another chance.
I console myself with the false notion that I only commit victimless crimes…..mostly. You see, I don’t treat my women harshly or wear them down with direct mistreatment. I’m splitting hairs here, but I’m the type to do things on my end that make it harder to look at me the same. That distinction is faint, but real to me.
But most mistakes are born from honest intent, so that’s no excuse. Whether court of law or court of God, we’d all be in the same jail or same hell. What worries me is this: when I’m doing wrong, I react the opposite as others. You probably be like let me gone and get my life together. I be like fuck it, let’s keep going downward. It’s not pleasure to me though, it’s punishment. I feel unworthy, so I engage in increasingly immoral behavior with whichever brown soul will indulge me. You haven’t seen ratchet hoeishness until you’ve been bent over by Tae.
But it’s all meaningless, a chasing after the wind. After getting my fill, I feel emptier. She knows it too, by my demeanor. In case no one ever told you, you can tell exactly how a man feels about you by what he does after he busts. Need an example?
After shooting milky ropes over someone’s face, my immediate reaction- after admiring my spray pattern- is a feeling of intense ugh for the girl lying there. I don’t wanna touch, be touched, talk, nothing. For guys, an orgasm with a woman who is not bae is like eating a marshmallow: tasty to the eye but not food to the soul.
If, however, I go to the bathroom and return with a warm facetowel for you, lay in the wetspot (which isn’t all that bad so long as you keep it warm), then you are Bae. I’ll spoon with you despite the discomfort to my lain-on shoulder. We can talk about what to eat for din, I’ll remind you to call your momma back, and chat aimlessly for 20 solid minutes before rolling over for a nap. See the difference?
As suggested in the subheading, I don’t know what this post was about. I just hope you tasted it, and swallowed……. 😉