Nothing disrupts my sleep at night like realizing I explained myself when I shouldn’t have. I hate being misunderstood so I will become very voluble when in the moment. Even after walking away, if things remain unsaid, I’m not above sending an extended text message. I will light up a phone.  Hours later, when the mouthy beast inside me has been satiated, I will realize I should have just kept my lips closed. People hear what they want to hear. They will only understand what they allow their views to be open to. Predominately, you will find yourself offering an explanation to someone who has closed their mind to facts that do not support their opinion. Yet again, I’ve allowed another’s bullshit to cause me to defend myself.

“I fuck with you until I realize I’m just too much for you.”

We have to stop allowing another’s perception, possible or actual, of us to govern our actions. We are flawed. We are imperfect. You talk too much. You are too loud. You take up too much space. You are crazy. It still remains that…

…There ain’t a damn thing wrong with you.

My one resolution in 2015 was to stop saying I’m sorry. In the past, when I would say something nonconforming, I would preface it with “I’m sorry but.” “I’m sorry but Prince is the greatest artist of all time.” “I’m sorry but Greg Hardy shouldn’t be allowed in civilized society, much less a football field.” “I’m sorry but men spew more bullshit than an actual cattle’s ass.” “I’m sorry but I deserve a pay raise as I’ve been carrying this department on my back lately.” Essentially, I was apologizing for having an opinion. The habit became so instinctual that I would not realize when it reared itself. Why was I trying to assuage the impact of my opinion by requesting to be excused for it before it even left my mouth?

“I fuck with you until I realize I’m just too much for you.”

There is always someone that wants to reduce you, keep you contained. It could be your job, your lover, your family, society. You’re easier to deal with if you’re constrained. Maybe you wanted to wear neon purple socks with a houndstooth skirt on your school trip, and your mom said no. You wanted to climb the oak tree at the park, but your mom told you that wasn’t ladylike. You wanted to pursue music or art in college, but your father told you that wasn’t a profitable field. Your boss tells you your new approach to analysis is not the way the company does things. Your boyfriend calls you difficult when your emotions take over.

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Love’s Too Weak To Define…

“In the beginning God made the sea
But on the 7th day he made me
He was tryin’ to rest y’all when He heard the sound
Sound like a guitar cold gettin’ down
I tried to bust a high note, but I bust a string
My God was worried ’til he heard me singPrince – My Name Is Prince

Today is the worst day ever.

The. Worst.

This won’t be eloquent. It won’t be pretty. Because I am hurting.

I’m sure your social media timelines are full of Prince tributes today and it may feel like overkill to you.

But for those who know me personally, then I would gamble I’m the biggest Prince fan you know. I mean my name on social media is MyDarlingNix, shortened from My Darling Nicki. My text notification is the opening chords of Darling Nikki. The alarm on my phone is his scream from Gett Off. I quote his lyrics in conversation like most people quote Coming to America or Stepbrothers. I had to buy an external hard drive to hold the 950+ tracks of his I have. I’ve seen him in concert five times – three in New Orleans, once in DC, once in New York City. I almost missed my 10 year reunion for the one in New York.

My Personal Facebook Page

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