Where do you belong? With whom do you belong?
Noah is my anchor. What does that mean? That means his irritation affects me in an outsized way.
I’m feeling all over the place but I know I shouldn’t. I should feel calm. What is my place? Where do I belong?
Thanks, y’all, for doing the equivalent of a morning nod. Y’all acknowledge that I’m part of your world.
Where does Noah belong? In Texas? God forbid.
Where do we belong?
Who are we?
White supremacy says we are something. That’s shit. We’re nothing. But what does nothing mean?
It means I’m connected to you and you are connected to me and we are all better if we work together. I should probably not be the boss–I have personality issues.
Today I saw one of my beloved students post something that basically said we will be something even if those white pieces of shit try to beat us down. I’m sure not arguing with the sentiment.
Who am I in this dynamic, though?
Should I be shot? The only good white person is a dead white person?
I would be lying if I said I wanted nothing from you. I want your acknowledgment. I want you to look at me. I want to see me in your reflection.
I love you.
I sure wish I was worthy of you loving me. I know I am not and I despair.
I am unworthy.
That does not stop me from wanting, from looking, from waiting.
I yearn and quest and I stamp out the seeds of wanting. I want.
How that word taunts me. Wanting. I want wanting.
That thing it is you want. What is it? Does it exist? Is it ephemera? Is it real? Is it tangible?
I don’t know.
But I am.