The Champagne Soapbox

When I get scared on the plane, I picture my neighbor being you. I prop my shoes on the bag you bought me when I turned twenty two.

The media is fucked up for selling me this idea of being okay before letting someone play with your emotions. I want to boundlessly skip in the field of someone else’s mind, let them push me on the swings for me to fall into and follow through with abnormal motions of attraction. Spreading lies like that across social media and shit as if you’re the Buddha of being the babygirl, when I haven’t found a match, makes me believe that I’m not okay. That the universe rewards false sense self-healing with a … man. I look around the playground and hope that the old boys will stay because if they leave that means the influencer girls consider me to not be okay and do tenfold more healing just to say on another day that I’m in fact not gay. Whose place is it to determine my relationship status based on my psychological status. The fact is you lack the authority to assume my aura’s attractiveness. I believe life is a journey of constant healing from past mistakes and accepting your future as fate and understanding that mistakes aren’t real unless they create pain. The idea that a partner will come when I’m perfectly perfect is imperfect because i wouldn’t want a partner who wanted me at my perfection. I still wake up and add to my to do’s in case the next morning I forget to be the better image of my reflection. If that’s the case, my heart will never be enough and they’re always in advantage to take advantage of my heart. In my divinity, I’ll only know love and until then I’ll be enough for myself to judge.

I think it happens when you are just okay, not the best or worse on a given day but just fine enough to be normal enough to give enough of a chance on destiny’s date. Not with a guy who calls you strong because he values strength and knows your weaknesses better than your deepest passions. I’ve been thinking about strength lately. Let me be weak and have the privilege to find strength in love, as it was meant to be, as if there aren’t multiple forms of love in a relationship. Maybe I love myself too much for a funny man to be confident he can match it. Maybe they get jealous of how i sit on my couch without grace and I tell group stories about how a strong woman acts. They invented the definition of strength, so they know when you’re being it or not. I’m tired of being strong, so I’ll be gentle. At least to myself and others. Emotions have grown capital, the corporations are mining humans for their gold. Let it be your own, and evaluate what things you classify as reward.

I’m just over it is all. It seems like life has become a monopoly and romantic love is an asset reserved for the emotionally wealthy. It’s weird because I don’t necessarily think about a relationship, but I do think about my emotional wealth and how it can be perceived as a threat. Funny thought.