I am mE

Written on March 18th, 2009.

I am Me.

I sing. I am 15.

Singing through life, I linger in the warm tones of love, family, and friendship. With vast shadows looming in front of me, pain, death, and resolution shape my song...

a song of Grief. A song of loss, pain, desperation, trial, error, tribute, love, hate... I scream as my eyes are forced open. I learn to hate. As the grips of exhaustion and terror grip my throat, I choke--sitting in Silence. Though I begin to hear a soft, tentative voice, the voice of those always there. Learning to ease into the painful chords, time heals my tune, resolving the harsh dissonance in my soul. Several voices join mine here and there, none resolving my song.

I swim. I am 16.

Swimming deeper and deeper, I am a strong swimmer. I am surrounded by those who are weak. I reach towards those beneath me, letting the darkness pull them under. When I reach the lifeless wanderers, I succumb to the stillness of the cool, apathetic water. I sink slowly, suspended among the silent screams. Surrounded by darkness, I hear a subtle splashing from above. At the sight of the light diffusing through the unending tomb of water, Thrashing, drowning, suffocating, I have run out of air. I grow tired, scared, pulling the relentless water, pushing it beneath me. I am so close... I can't reach... Splashing Hands from above grab my eager fingertips, Ripping me out from my slumber. My lungs have developed, my body is stronger, my mind more aware. I am wiser now. I race for the finish line, though my need to help others pulled me behind. I finally catch up, though I take second place this time.

I write. I am still 16.

I grow frustrated with the English language, blaming my spoken handicap on the lack of words. Jumbling the thoughts and ideas, I am incapable of compiling words together fast enough to keep up with my brain. I have already smelt, tasted, seen, heard, and felt so much. I lack the verbal ability to convey my comprehension. When I speak, I feel Stupid.

I write.

As the thoughts shoot through my mind, my hand interprets, writes, translates into philosophical gibberish. In time, thoughts turn into ideas, ideas turn into motives, and motives turn into reason. I find reason. I find life. I find what I think is my Answer. I shape a way of thinking that is my own, that is me. I am Me. For the first time since someone ruined my song, I am ME.

I dance.

Communication: the thing I want to perfect.

Communication: the hardest thing in the entire world for me to do.

ADD: the inhibitor.

ADD: my will to prove myself.

DANCING: My Medium of Communication. My cure for ADD.

My Love.

My Life.

My Words.

I DANCE. I am 17.

I realize that I am not the only one crying, laughing, angry, and satisfied when I come offstage. I see the understanding. I see the empathy I have longed for so much. I feel the hate begin to dissipate. I feel my soul ooze from my extremities, my eyes, my feet, my fingertips, my teeth, reverberating in my ears. My resounding energy fills everything to the corners of the universe. There is another voice who has matched mine.

We sing. In Perfect harmony. He takes my hand, puts a mirror in it. "You are Beautiful." He says.

People stare. In total contrast, we become yin and yang, white and black, light and dark, calming my intense vigor with his rich sturdiness. Some voices fall out, some hands loosening their grip. He is Black.

I teach. I am 18.

I know too much. I have seen too much, heard too much, felt too much. Stripped of my innocence, I shed my ignorance, accepting myself. Accepting me. He is by my side. At times I struggle, reliving painful memories. He is by my side. I teach my students how to sing, dance, speak, and Be. I show them love, affection, and guidance. Some of their own parents don't have the supportive voices to help them sing, the hands at the top of the water. It is hard to lose your innocence. Many of my kids already have.

They are 8 years old.

And I am young at 18.

Singing, my song joins his, our voices opposite and perfect.

Coaxing him into the water, he brings a float--I will never sink again.

Dancing together, he teaches me how to be free, to let my Soul guide me completely. Hip Hop sets a new tempo for my dreams.

Smiling, he takes my hand.... A ring soon will follow.

I am 19.

Shrugging, I finally forget my nightmares, and embrace them for shaping my spirit into the lush, deep, bubbly piece of happiness I have become. I am Me. I am strong. I am old for my age. I know what I know, but I want to know so much more. I want to learn as much as I can. Sometimes it feels like the only thing I know for sure is that I know nothing. But there are two things I do know--My words matter, My thoughts matter. And I have been blessed with multiple ways of expressing them, but I long to learn more.

I matter.

Why?

Because I Am, and I say so.

(And he does, too.)

bE fABULOUS.