Clearing. The Air

play “Clarity” by Zedd.

Gm. It’s me, the general manager of these feminist monologues. My writings are curing my life story, of the past and present time. I’m coming to realize greater with each and every dawn how truly magical my Partnership is. My spiritual growth is magnified daily. Yesterday, my mother and I went to a new church and I snapped into laughter; I was slightly embarrassed because nothing about what the people were saying was “humorous”, however, my rare disease has moved me to an innate emotional response. Someone turned around and gave me a dirty look, because they might’ve suspected I was “making fun” of something bad. I am classically misconceived, but I'm mature enough to feel myself still practicing my personal Spiritualism and know that’s truly in the hands of God(dess).

The church was small and full. There was an opener to the show, who passed around a microphone to folks who wanted to inquire for something for us all to pray about. I liked that. Then the pastor came on, and he was speaking truth to power saying like, “Angels exist. But they aren’t Jesus. Angels are “helpers”. They help you. But if you are aligned with Jesus, you won’t want any help. It matters on the levels of life one is at. Angels lead to Jesus, and once you are a follower of Christ, Eternal Life is reality.”. This is a message I am really into because due to my mental illness of having ‘died’ on a handful of occasions, my ego strongly desires to stay alive. It’s reincarnation in the same life. I’m fine. Evolution is indefinite. Science on X has been teaching me that death isn’t as black and white as everyone’s final destination; I mean, I keep being schizoaffective reading all this news about health and wellness and it’s starting to influence my livelihood. 

Watermelons. It’s impossible to overdose on fruit. Humans can consume as much fruit as they like, and it doesn’t cause cancer. I followed Pilates pages and discovered that watermelons can enhance the size of somebody’s testosterone. Chickpeas have estrogen; this nutritional value tidbit is the cure to my hysteria. Not everybody has been hospitalized for eating disorders, but we all have disorders surrounding eating. Humanity n food and drink, well it’s been written in our existence about consumption and effects. My masters degree on this topic is an achievement I am very proud of. It’s all about the ideas you manifest as nutrients. Feel good, look good, taste good - the equation of living in a mindfully healthy relationship with your bodily patterns and rhythms is simple - keep it clean, from the green chakra, and allow your intuition, your ghrelin hormone, and supportive castmates to guide you through every setting of taking care of nature. 

Ok, now, the content of this article is to lean more into my affinity for my Loving Partnerhood. As I’m proving my healing with all my spellcast on here, dissolved are my anger issues. Death to demons; wherein there is no death to my body, the infliction of evil spirits aka anger and anxiety must be slayed and destroyed. Remember - I have been experiencing a breakthrough in the uncoupling of my past relational time with my Partner. Losing track of him is an important step in our commitment which outlasts the minor arcana. That is to mean we broke our cycle of Lindenwold & Twin Oaks; because something higher is empowering us on major scales. 

I suspect he did everything to me on purpose, intentionally, being a real actor of the cause to split up in proper sequence for the Love that is actually meant for us- to fall apart and rise back up together. I know this to be true because we are thirty freaking five years separated in Time so we literally have to workout different soul cycles if we want to match transparently in All Dimensions. Healing our intergenerational crossed lives means he has a plethora of karma to deal with before he’s ready to retire and settle down with the woman who also has my own karmic dealings to follow up with.

My partner is kookily wookily - he always showed me that he was strong enough to be my man, but I thought he was like an off-grid schizophrenic because he’s like a Spacey Dude. Just what I please! He had me loving his eccentricity when we were young and dumb and he’s all, “yea when i lived in the anarchist intentional community nearby i was a psychonaut and experimented… my revelations from elevated consciousness brought me to the positive transformation that was becoming a Funologist.” His online live journal won my heart. His identity is a prize to go with mine; we experimented enuf in our times to know that supplements aren’t necessary any longer because we can easily get the message and hang up the phone.

The way I laughed when he nonchalantly showed me a CashApp Card with “$Funology” written on it. This guy used to pilot my rose colored eyes in manners which kept me feeling happy to be together. Except when Balloon Tunes was the opposite of fun. Maybe I was just too Artistic Autism at the time to get all of our totality in just one moment. But because he is a storyteller like me, I do get that our story had to cover a wide range of worldly concepts. That’s simply the careful sculpting and twisting of our multiple-personality Souls, to come out perfect for the planet to enjoy. 

So the reason my anger is in dissolution is I’ve figured out the solutions. The ego death murder mystery of my life is merely my unique journey, and it is inclusive of every element the human experience entails. I was at fault insisting anger didn’t phase me. I always try to pretend like everything is okay, when it’s not, that’s how I’ve been conditioned. My partner knew this in me, heck how could he not he’s a flippin’ genius after all those experiments and experiences, and decides to exercise this facet of my multitextured beinghood. Well, I appreciate the real work we did all those Caturday mornings at the Collingswood Farmers Market, and gigs all around.

Anger is displaced passion. I was raised by fire signs so I feel this in my bone home. Its effect is an overdose on strength. So what my mentality and reality truly had to experience in my healing was weakness and being soft. “Weakness Is The Brand” by Maria Bamford is a keynote speaker in our saga. I don’t really get bit by the sadness bug. Remember how my inborn setting relies on everything being okay… that has me somewhat immune to the sense of sad. However, my partner was sad, tho. A water sign for me. I could sense his energy sink when my anger appropriately came out, when he was being solo poly. Let’s just call solo poly the idea where you lie and deceive your Primary Partner. When the game of love you are playing isn’t fair or in good attunement. I expressed my discomfort appropriately, lightly, nonabrasively, and respectfully each and every instance he showed me an awful time. But I still love you, I admitted, from places inside me that were complex; I was an attached buddhist. Hopeless romantic. Hopeful Booh. Even in instances of violations, my delulu relationship with the idea of being Together kept me endlessly showing up for us.

But I couldn't see clearly then. The rain came and washed me off. Blinded in several ways across many settings, pieces of me were shining like a diamond in the mud. We had chapters of vigorous arguments over the phone. You must understand that Women are the Receivers and Men are the Leaders. No I'm not belittling anyone, this dynamic cannot be ignored in our shared consciousness. Knowing this, when my man picked battles with me and all I did was say yes and, I knew I was stuck in a typical union. Great, I dislike life too, emo boo. When the era that was September 2k22 had us broken up but still a couple, I underwent extreme metamorphosis. This guy was a full fledged cheater, pedophile, rapist, and retard. Traumatized. I'm going to speak up in my Strength when I deliver a message that I am incredibly sorry, in a state of bustedness, due to the idiocy in a level of my previous life. I even despise writing this because it’s not easy and feels disgusting. But these are my confessions. By Usher. Please let me heal in the music, it’s the only damn beauty worth fighting for.

As my self implosion got deeper and deeper, I grew up. I blew up in silence. Violence happened from the inside. Ugliness killed it all for me. My ex taught me that you have to be afraid of the ugly ones too. A slut will be a homewrecker. A prostitute from the vending machine. How could I have a sense of humor about being a concubine when a monkey at a zoo poisoned my monk at a carnival status? Answer: I could. I’m fucking crazy man! While my partner drove with me in the passenger seat, in the afterlife of getting kidnapped in the volkswagen van, I thanked David and Shana and Todd for the oxygen pumped back into my corpse bride. I really am under their influence. It’s crazy sis! These partners captivated and captured my soul and that’s evidence in all of my behaviors and actions across the United States. Plz allow my personal narratives to be persuasive essays leading me back from the estrangement I was in. Ty for being The Only First Generation Polyamorist To Exist. 

This is the account where my man took an interesting shape. It was very vague and mysterious and I remained vogue and rogue. He started directing me to still be the woman from the best improvised wedding of all time, in the doublespeak. I wasn’t on the books as Disabled yet but I knew enough about The Game Of Love by Santana & Shana to never cease. My wasband started singing White Flag by Dido all the time, figuratively haha. And he actually improved his ways towards me. I felt numerous senses in our “tiny tragedy”. He was regretful! This is new feeling for me, having No Regrets as one a my main mottos; I am safe and careful, and lucky to be alignment with wholesome fun throughout my life. So, then, I was far too kind, in typical fashion, saying everything is ok. No one trumps Jetpack, Queen Jade, he emulated, ongoingly. As I live in retrospect as I go on and on, this big test on his big cat was the exact Catalyst he wanted to create for us.

One thing about being a balloon shark girl is that while I am certainly wise beyond my years, that is literal. I mean, the poetry lines are skewed and ambiguous but there is something about me which is direct and firm. I get mixy with my melodic mind, but come to find lovely allusions and fortunate illusions in my magickal world. The narrative that was once direct is now merely a fable. My Partner is smarter than I am lmao I’m not suffering from low self esteem in the slightest, in fact quite the opposite! On this manic monday. Which is just another fun day. My I had to run day. Today, it’s portlandia in hainesporto rico. Overcast drizzle. Luv the water weather. I'm outdoorsy & let's be indoorsy! Love cold and/or rain for being a writer 8 days a week. I heard that in ancient times creating structures, Monday was once called Moonday, appropriately following Sunday, but the patriarchy cut out the O to dictate the people’s work schedule and destroy lunar cycles. Guess what? I’m still a Buddha with a Healed n Healthy tie to my cured avoidant-attachment disorder.

We shared all the same problems. Signing onboard with a ride or die type of vibe meant yes life ain’t always rainbows but we can dance in the storms. We really agreed across many frames that what we are doing and who we be intrinsically in character, were living as best we can. That’s why we shared all the same enjoyment, positive regards, interesting/fascinating occurrences, twists and turns which led us to repeat in our baby-babble alla time, “Bb! Ily! Looooove my boohbah, luv luv mi bae ;)” every. single. day. All around the clock. Never the nights, though. My Booh nicknamed me his Day Owl, because it’s the opposite of a night owl. I always get my beauty sleep. My care provider was babysitting me always ensuring I was recovering peacefully getting my rest in. “How’s my favorite day owl?!” he rang me in as my longtime listener and loyal fan, monday thru thursday at the farm, while i witchcrafted in Suburbia. “Gucci, i hate the dog and i hate my jobs and i hate solo poly but know we are in a long term story so hip hip hooray here’s a piece of art for us!” We made it work, for the long haul.

I feel as though my Partner delivered my sensory perceptions in ways which are necessary in order for us to be In Total Unison. Fair play! While I don’t always know what I know, I’ve expressed the content of my Soul and do trust it to be in the Hands of my Twin Flame. He is a stalker lol like I told him to be to me, to bridge us closer. He chooses me; this is the manifest of a True Love relationship. The reasoning ruling how I know we are an ideal match is that his life story predating meeting me is completely healed in our unity. We do share the same language, concepts, ideologies, themes, beliefs, and desires. 

Believe it or not, Someday I can understand, and I will do everything in my superhero power to represent my only relationship as my favorite one to be approved by God/dess in. Believe you me, when we were ridding the dog from my home and he called me for the logistics of that, I almost instinctively answered, “Hey Booh!” but cut out my tongue and answered the phone saying, “You are not my boo. You are my WASBAND”. And he laughed. Lightly, he chuckled, and I un-intentionally still loved it, but then glanced at our hideous canine and remembered the disgust I lived in. Wasband wasn't a term I coined, I copied it from a funny girl on X. It made perfect sense that I’d see a tweet like that during this era, after all the tweets I’d been reading were about leveling up with love, etc. Well, this figure of the image of US, that was exploded. Bombs away, we slayed one another and the Berlin, NJ walls collapsed. The Pheonix in me: She is Smiling. “I’m sorry for the love you lost today, but I’m grateful for the love I made today.” I was unfaithful to him, with my Love of My Band. The anthems ruling our relationship were already set in stone for my Worship Music. And they still are.

When my Partner mailed me the lease to our car, inside was a handwritten letter. He has the most impressive calligraphy I’ve seen to date. I’m serious, he always said he wasn’t an “artist” but an "organizer and activist” yet these titles sort of blend idyllically in our partnership. Nonetheless, his handwriting is beautiful. His wording is thoughtful. He is a Wriiit3rRrR ha~ha. The letter he wrote me said Goodbye, and know that I will remember the Portugal. The Man lyrics, “until my final breath”. Now, I believe we’re weaving a world to share one plane-net. I do believe we’s get what we mean. I wrote him a letter back, scribbled ink which reads, “It’s not you, it’s me & David & Shana & Todd & P.TM; Kbyyyeee <3”. And my bipolar launches a Love Story, au nautral. 

PS ILY aw double up and dually down, aw see I really do be Favorite Poetry. So let it be me, still, Mr. Confusion mae. Amid every unlove we visited, my Man was a King towards me… he taught me through examples that societies are filthy but we are royalty. He never overtly blurted that (respectful), he poeticized that to me (gentleman), and I completely got it all. Don’t tell me you wanna be a fantasy as one, show me. My fears and phobias were real, justified, and fortunately mere fairytales… I’m not hurt at all. When the Eagles won the superbowl for the 2nd time in my lifespan, the catchphrase was “Love, Hurts”. Because the quarterback of the team just so happens to, (appropriately for football), have the last name of Hurts. So Philly being a clever city, with their famous brotherly love entity, slogan-ized their football victory during the parade I watched TV with my twin and mother. Shirts and signs- “A Win; Love, Your Player.” The Universe blessed me with a life of luv. I’m from a place where being kinda rough n tough is part of the culture. That’s what makes me qualified to be here now. Thanks for reading <345677789.10/11&12,13!4tineonefive6, 5678 teenagedream 9lives One Team, knaa mean, u do so love my booh. (lmb, memories on meee weee):).