Recidivism, Kevin Powell & Mistaken IDs

It’s not a new day.

It’s the same day over and over again.

....and it's crazy because God always shows me stuff and I don't know if I just really truly believe that I have a better handle on life than He ever could,

or if I am soon to be the prodigal love child, returning to His feet with tears in my eyes and a hand full of stuff that used to be connected and formed as a beating heart. I am positive nothing will be there but shreds. But the night of the Floetry concert, I was gifted a chance to see one of my favorite people, Kevin Powell, LIVE for the first time. I was able to hear his voice, see his facial expressions, emotions and thoughts, LIVE. I was able to add an undeniably incredible memory to my bank. And then, I met him. I met him and he remembered the name 'januarie'. Oh how I'm so glad my name isn't nsaychable anymore. 

I met an ICON. And hugged him. I left out feeling something extraodinary:

I knew what I wanted in a future companion.

I want a Kevin. Not in the actual sense (which would be fine as well), but if Kevin was a metaphor, he would be exactly what I want in a man. As I listened to him, it hit me in the church pew that Kevin is the EXAMPLE of the man I WANT. Kevin is a warrior. I want a warrior. I want someone who is passionate about his passion. Preferably, that passion would involve black people, male, female and children. But to each his own. I want someone with an ability to see beyond his dick, the moment and his individual perception of reality. I want someone with patience. Someone who meets me and sees me as a Queen before ANYTHING else. I want to be adored. I want someone to adore me. I am not a thirsty chick. I am not desperate and not accepting dates from just anyone.  I never have. I talk and write about love wayyyyy more than I seek it or allow myself to be ‘sought’.  But that night was sort of an epiphany.

I finally met an example.

That was new to me. I know what I don’t want. I damn near know how to sniff them out. I know how they act, what type of things they are into and I recognize how they walk. Sort of like a big penis. A woman can tell if a man has a small dick if she looks at the ration of his ass, thighs and waist. Add the way he walks and you have yourself a surefire guess. Doesn’t mean it will be right. Surprises lurk around all corners; but it’s possible that she can have a good guess. That’s how I feel about what I don’t want. I have met more than a handful of examples of that guy. Never once met an example of the kind I DO want. I’ve never wanted a man like any man that has been in my life: Not my father, stepfather, uncle, so-called brother. …not even my  grandfather, who is basically the only man I have ever felt a familial connection of love and life with. Ironically, he wasn’t connected to me by blood. Ironic to that, his nickname was Blood. He wasn’t even married to my grandmother. He was basically her boyfriend for many years. But he came and treated me unlike any other male adult had….like he LOVED me and wasn’t AFRAID of it. But I never wanted a man like him. I loved him and still do to this day. But I never wanted a man like him.

There was never an example; I was always guessing, which always led me to the imperfect arms of the perfect example of what I don’t want.

But that night, listening to Kevin speak…following his brow lines to his vulnerability when he couldn’t hold back his tears, I saw it as clear as day for the first time. I saw my example. Pretty late in life huh? I really felt like God WANTED me there for more reasons than my secret KP crush. 

But nah.

I'm too institutionalized in the cell blocks of my own love failures and my recidivism for the exquisite pain is relentless. I like hurting. I'm used to it. When in the presence of someone who might not hurt me, I still have the same type of reactions. I am a grown woman who has dealt with boys for 36 years. Boys in the framework of grown men pants and shoes. I am used to dealing with them. I need someone with patience and desire to get beyond that in me. I need a warrior. ...like Kevin. 

I met someone who wasn't a Kevin.

I met a Mike.

A Jo.

An average Jo. And I got in position to meet him w/my Kevin Powell eyes. To my surprise, he couldn't see me.

And sex made it complicated because women don't have the right to want to have sex and not be seen as something less than a woman afterwards. Lower self is useless in the grand scheme of life. That's word. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been celibate or inactive or whatever you want to call it. He could be your first in years. It could feel like your hymen is being broken back into and removed. HE won’t see it as any of that. He is viewing the world out of his perspective; not yours. So all your ‘I been celibate’ and all your thoughts of ‘he should totally feel special because XYZ” is bullshit. Not to you, but to him. He won’t hear that. See it. Feel it. He will undoubtedly treat you based on his theory about women, how they act, how they shouldn’t act and what he will do with who, why and when. Is this all men? Idk. I don’t know all men so I only speak for the ones I have encountered and of the lessons (or whatever) that I have carried away. Sex complicated a great start to two people who may have been a januarie and Kevin, had nsaychable not came through, horny and ready to throw caution to the wind and chase it. I thought I changed my name tho? #Recidivism

It’s not a new day.

It’s the same day over and over again.

We should have waited. We should have waited because I liked him. We should have waited so he could keep chasing me. Panting after me. Pumping my ego. We should have waited so that he could see ME. In the end, he only met me where my celibacy wanted to be evicted. Everything before then became nothing. Our interaction afterwards changed for us both: For me, I got too nervous. I got scared. I felt like this is how I started w/Diesel and that is NOT what I wanted. For him, my nervousness was a ‘turnoff’ I supposed, but as much as I wanted to pretend his communication with me didn’t change, it did. It may have had something to do with me, it may have just been him. It was probably both. By the time I sent him a grand finale text message that would be the end all of our communication, he had transitioned from daily phone calls to not even returning the most simple of text messages.

No Kevin.

All jo.

It's the same day over and over again.

And once again,

I don't trust myself in anyone else's hands. At this rate, all the Kevin's of the world will look over me because I continue to stay bent over fumbling for my jewels while someone is behind me stealing the ones not found in my crown….i guess they not stealing if I give them the skeleton key. This shit hurts me man. ...a lot. It ain't about them. It's about me. It's not about how long I've known them or what type of feelings I do or don't have for them. It's solely about me and my desire FOR love but inability to act in ways that bring it to my receiving door. I need more God. Less world. Definitely less (or NO) Niggas. 

Blog track:

“(caught in the undertow)

Every second I waste is more than I can take

I’ve

Become so numb

I can’t feel you there

Become so tired, so much more aware

I’m becoming this

All I want to do, is be more like me

And be less like you”  ~LinkinPark

These are lessons I’ve learned a 101 times. There are voices as clear as day that I ignore flawlessly. There are things I do and mistakes I make that cause me concern. Worry. Fear. I wonder will I EVER let someone see ME. ….or do I think I’m so horny that all I need them to see is what my ass looks like?

What will break my mold and let me ALLOW MYSELF to be in the position to see a Kevin and be seen by one. I don’t chase.

I don’t beg.

I’m not pleading a nigga for SHIT. Not for money, dick,  time, phone calls….i won’t plead a nigga with a good deal. I’m good. You will either want my energy or not. I am content with either.

 But I am not content with notches. So I am vowing, on this here day in August 2015, a declaration of celibacy. 

I won’t be ruined anymore with false hope and generic promises. I won’t kid myself. I won’t act like they won’t look at me differently. I won’t pretend that I don’t write about this shit and know right from wrong. I won’t operate in my lower self. I will not be my lower self. I won’t sit this crown elsewhere while I laugh over Ciroc shots.

I won’t be a toy. Anymore.

Because it IS a fucking new day. It’s been a new day for years now. So how dare I disrespect myself and keep acting like my name is nsaychable and the following is my truth: 

It’s not a new day.

It’s the same day over and over again.

I am insanity in heels. Today I cried out of pure frustration with myself. I’ve done this a lot. I am so much woman man….so much. So loving, so beautiful internally….i take control of my happiness, I am trying to forge a better relationship with God. I get the job done. I write, I blog, I am accomplished and successful. I am an activist whether I want the title or not. I seek to build, heal and inspire other people. I am love. I was born to be LOVE. And I embody it. I write it, I breathe it and I adore it.

Only a warrior, a Kevin Powell type of man, would pick that over sex.

It’s a new day tho.

And the next guy, wherever in the world he may be, will have no fucking choice. #DoubleEntendre  ….because I don’t like feeling like this,

And I know I don’t have to. My name is januarie York. I'm a whole woman. A WHOLE WOMAN. But I am NEVER SATISFIED with this low-on-the-totem-pole treatment. Did I not just get a whole entire nomination? What fucking type of mindset am I operating out of and why??? * looks at self* HONEY!!!! Please understand your beautiful for once and I am meaning the beauty internally born into you. Please know you are worthy. Deserving.....but not desperate. Beautiful but not flawless....wanting, but not gonna die about it. PLEASE SEE YOURSELF AS A WHOLE WOMAN, januarie York, the poet, artist, activist and nominee. 

Please stop letting niggas fuck their way into mistreating you like they found you on the side of the road, naked and searching for some dick. 

I just want someone to hold my hand and not let it go because they saw a dirty fingernail. Maybe that will be easier now that sex isn't an option. And believe me, it took a grip and a lot of excitement about this dude for me to break that streak I had going ....so while celibacy is NOT easy....it will be easier to remain than it will for me to spread. It is a new day. I can't give my life any other options. I WANT KEVIN POWELL. ....figuratively (i know it will never be literally but I support that option as well). 

I DESERVE A KEVIN POWELL. ...i do not deserve any more Mikes, Ronnies, Rickys and Bobby pins.....I want what I have deserved since I got here: to be lifed in ways I never thought possible. Only a warrior can do that. 

Only a man like Kevin Powell can do that. A conversation with my sister brought this back full circle. We were discussing where I thought I went wrong w/TheGuy and where he went wrong with me. For what it's worth, my instinct recognized him as someone who is NOT for me relatively quickly after we met. It made the old me who would have put up a fight sit down, STFU and bask in the glory of her mistakes. One of the things my sister said is "he's not Kevin Powell....you said you wanted a Kevin Powell". 

That's God's voice.
That's how you hear God's voice. 
A conversation the day prior to the one I just spoke of included more nuggets about me, God and love. A full circle indeed. God intended on me missing the Floetry concert that night so that I could see Kevin Powell....and not just because I'm his fan. 
But because I need to be my own fan for once in life. 

 I chose this picture of me, from my recent show Along Came a Spider (if you a reader, you know where that title originated from o.O)....i think if I allow myself to continue to do dumb shit, I will forever have this face and this shirt on...all while waving my poems as white flags of surrender. 

“There is a woman in Somalia

Scraping for pearls on the roadside

there's a force stronger than nature

keeps her will alive

this is how she's dying

she's dying to survive

don't know what she's made of

I would like to be that brave. 

She cries to the heaven above

there is a stone in my heart 

she lives a life she didn't choose

and it hurts like brand new shoes."  

~Sade, EndBlogtrack.