Author: imobalove

Welcome to this realm of the universe: My World. I am here to challenge my existence through intense thought, artistic expression, and love. I explore my mind radically and shamelessly. I am creative, honest, and unique. I hope you all enjoy.

To You.

Hey.

I feel pretentious writing this because I still do not understand why I am doing it.

Maybe this is closure?

Delete

Hey.

It is me.

I think my soul needs to do this and you certainly do not have to respond.

Delete

I miss you.

I miss your energy and the connection of us. I felt anger for you for a long time out of jealousy.

Delete

Why was i not enough for you? What could I have done to help you to see me? Maybe these questions are obscured but I loved you…I am still Loving you and I really do not want to be.

I wish I could let my heart know that.

Delete

There is this gaping hole-space inside of me that I have filled with complacency.

Maybe I was empty before you, and now I can feel it. I feel you spiritually and my body vibrates to the thought of you.

The sex with you meant more for me than I allowed myself to process and I am still trying to process it.

I felt small in your mind as though you used me to fill your own empty hole-space inside of you and that hurts more than if I knew you were in Love with someone else.

I know this because you were, indeed, in love with someone else.

Delete

I wish it could have been me.

Delete

I have never met another person like you. I have never met someone who made it so easy for me to bring me out of myself.

My apology goes only to myself for pretending I did…do..did…do not Love you.

Shit.

DELETE.

I love you.

Delete

Hi.

Adulting..

Adulting has pushed me into the pool again and is dangling a dry towel above me.

I think I am doing it wrong. Actually I know for a fact I am seeing that I lack maturity, money, cares in the world, and children.

Adutling keeps me up at night and I have come to the conclusion that it requires inhibition and discipline; two things I have no desire to grasp.

The paradox is, my mental state is hindering me from normality and I just appear lazy and unbothered, which maybe be partially true.

I think I also may be in severe denile that I am sick mentally and being an adult is putting a coat on my cold body that is shivering from drops of psychosis.

Worry not they say because I have two options here: enslave myself with medication that not only sedates my thoughts, creativity, and flow of sexual energy, but that also enables my pending appetite.

OR

I can suck it up and continue to suffer in silence.

Oh how I admire our societal norms with its duration of ignorance toward pyschological trauma and deception.

Depression?

Fuck.

Yes I will start this blog post out with a word that intellectually defines abundance, while concurrently using it to represent my perpetual confusion about things I cannot explain; my life represents 100% of those things.

Honestly, I do not think I am ashamed of it, but shame still creeps in, reminding me of the downfall that could be me.

Part me of uses shame to devote motivation and the likelyhood of my sucesses and maybe that is a beautiful way to look at my own extension of negative thinking.

There are so many outlets in the world to release the fixture of pain from my mind, body, and soul, however, I am so idignant and prideful that the very knowlege and intention of me helping myself can result in me detesting said outlet.

To say the least, I feel extremely unhealthy, while romanticizing this heavy, toxic feeling because it seperates me somehow from my pain. It allows me agency to feel as though things are not my fault or that I really cannot help it.

Am I being unconsciously dramatic and consciously sadistic ? This poses as a mental health question and i am mostly in need of marijuana based smoke session.

I am exhausted and I still cannot sleep. So tense that I cannot relax and it feels so insighfully painful that i laugh when crying and maybe this is depression.

A Hopeful Lesbian Lover.

Yeah, so obviously there is no handbook on how to be a lesbian or whatever that even means. How do I ensure that I am not portraying, bi-sexual. what if I am bi-sexual? shit.

This is confusing. This has surpassed confusing, I am livid with the thought that I may not be gay enough because there is not a fucking handbook where I can check the criteria.

F*ck Being Rich.

When you are rich, you do not actually have money. You have more trees in your wallet than in the parks around the noisy city in which you live.

You still cannot breathe any better or any deeper than you would or could in those parks. It is sad, I imagine to be rich, to be frugal and greedy simultaneously combined with the fact that you have not eaten for days due to your eating disorder.

You have slit your wrists many times, however, the blood never drips onto the money you used to buy yourself new long sleeved shirts.

Being rich does not ensure you to Love, or insure you to healing. It does not cause you harm, being that you are intertwined inside a web of toxic spiders, biting you with advertisement sales on how to look prettier.

The Black Body.

It occurred to me this morning when I woke up, that in fact, I am Black.

Maybe being Black means to be violent. This violence is flowing through me in the eyes of peace. I overwhelm myself with the notions of being better…gentle…loved.

With just some Love, who Could I be. Through what eyes would i see?

What is Love. Is Love, the third large bag of chips in two days? Is Love the worst critic? Is Love a gentle slap to the face, reminding me, that I remain different and poised. Does Love remind me that I feel less and less like a girl, an more like a spirit? Does that mean, Loved?

By whose standards do I measure Love? In what science book can you find the theories on why Love IS : Fear, gratification, a risk.

Maybe, my mind can’t handle being Black…what a job to have. To remember that I canNOT yell too loud, or talk too fast, or wear anything too short. Just too Black for my own safety.

Then I realize…what is safety? What does that mean?

This brown body feels foreign, and easily morphed into redemption and anger. This body feels like a jello version of my thoughts. This body is not comforting, it is raw and un-found. This body is walking in a realm of unbalanced energy and I am the keeper.

I perpetuate my narrative of Blackness.

THE OVER-THINKER.

You ask me a question about myself,

My immediate answer is in relation to the greater world around me…never really about me, or answering your question.

I get lost in thought, and I am hoping with each exchange of questions and answers, that you are getting lost with me.

You gaze at me as I speak. My mind calculates your gaze as disinterest, and I can imagine anxiety putting on it’s best slacks to prepare to join us for dinner.

I change the subject. Maybe the alteration in the energetic fields of the universe will be a lighter topic for us to ponder against, maybe not. So, I let you speak. Desire for acceptance and relentless normality overcasts my need for releasing unfinished thoughts. You lead the way and take me into your realm of the mind. I am intrigued.

I can relax a little. My shoulders begin to decline the revolt of tension inside my body. I sip my Egyptian Chamomile.

“Be calm”, I internally whisper.

Then you ask me about my thoughts on sexuality. My Soul runs away from fear and opens the door to it’s light, just a little. I begin to talk, and let you in.

The worlds of reality are vague to me as I elude back to the greater world around me.

I don’t want you to know that I masturbated before this date. I thought about the possibility of you wanting to kiss me. The thought of me holding you swarmed by need to get to know you better. In my mind, I needed you to want me. My body disagreed as the time for our date arrived and I realized I had just been over-thinking.