I played myself. Thinking I could travel down the road of perfection, pretending in this mask of deception…not realizing the beauty of self-reflection. Thinking I could bury my insecurities, cover my lustful impurities, and shield the world from my obscurities. Thinking I could lie my way out of the truth, indulge in the permanent ways of my youth, acting like the wild woman while being told to be “Ruth.” Perfection. That’s the road I choose. Because if I get pregnant at 21 with no man to marry, that’ll be my ultimate bruise. My ultimate scar. I choose perfection for the sake of my mothers mistakes…and to cover up that night in that car. I choose perfection to make up for that one time I danced up high in that bar…Perhaps, perfection chose me to repent for that long drag on Bourbon Street on that cheap cigar. I literally played myself. Choosing the road to insecurity versus inner beauty, not understanding souls cry out for what the eyes cannot see. Sometimes, I can’t help but think, “What is wrong with me?” I’d rather choose a blind heart than take a fresh start with a man that wants to marry me. I’d rather cuddle with potential and shrug good credentials because “I see something he can’t see.” That’s right. I see kings in jokers and instantly become Wonder Woman, not letting my own superman come save me. I choose a freedom road rather than predictability. I choose heartbreak sometimes rather than traveling with love. It’s hard sometimes to put me first…hard to “set my mind on things above.” I choose whatever road gets me there fast…and not slow. Thinking that life shouldn’t come with a struggle, priorities shouldn’t come with a juggle, and my heart? Well, that’s always up for snuggle. It’s always up for grabs. Because I choose love over hate. I choose “Let’s try” over fate. I choose “I’m a independent black woman that likes to go on dates.” I rode all these roads…traveled all these roads…reaching for perfection. Still traveling in a mask of deception…and ready for deep self-reflection. Truth is, it’s time to stop at the first quarter of this journey…I now realize it matters not how the world sees me. It only matters how I see me. After all, only God can judge me. I stopped in front of a tree, faced my insecurity, and said “Insecurity is me.” He’s my demon and my angel, my joy and my regret…Insecurity reads me like a book and challenges me like a threat. It pushes me to my limits and makes me work harder. I’ll stay on this road before I ever travel with beauty because…Insecurity is me…and just like beauty-it’s all a part of what the eyes cannot see. Therefore my insecurity? Oh, that’s beauty. I can no longer bury him behind confidence, or whisk him away in a new pair of jeans…This road…This road teaches me Insecurity is both my pain and addiction….He’s my lover & my fighter…my friend & my infliction. I cannot simply hide from him anymore on this journey. I cannot be perfections prisoner on this road traveling on this imperfect gurney. It’s time for me to turn around now and recognize exactly what’s perfect about me. What a relief it has been to be maskless in this bashful society. How liberating it is to smile in the mirror not from the beauty I see, but from the radiance of God’s voice in me that screams “I got me.” “I got you.” Like a soft whisper, I’ll never forget the night God said that to me. I was drowning on the road to perfection, trying to swim in goggles of deception, struggling to face self-reflection. I’ll never go back to that road. I’ll never stoop low as to fade in anyone’s background. I’ll never be the nice girl again who doesn’t make a sound. I’ll never return to hating my insecurities in efforts to fulfill the standard “beauty”. I will treasure what’s in my heart, not what the eyes can see. I will choose love, because that’s what God tells me. I will always be light. I will always be filled with glee. For some months now, I thought God was missing from me. I thought I was stunting my own growth. I neglected that two roads really did diverge into a yellow wood. And I’m sorry….I could not travel both.
Inspiration from: “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost