Brazy

Everything means everything to me. And apparently, that makes me crazy.

Life is a bit tricky when you’re self aware and accountable, but at times do nothing with the self awareness and nothing with the accountability. What even is the act of taking accountability anyways? The robot says taking accountability is simply owning it. The action. The decision. The conscious “that was me” choice.

And still, I’ll embody that man made, acceptable definition version of accountability. I’ll say yes, that was me. I’ll take the consequence. I’ll repent. I’ll apologize when it’s mine to apologize for. But because everything means everything to me, it stings when that still isn’t enough. Isn’t enough to stop the shock. The side eye vibes. The quiet discomfort people project onto me like I’m something unpredictable they’re trying to solve.

When I was a younger woman, it looked like concern. Now that I’m grown enough, it feels more like confusion.

Because I don’t give a fuck enough to appear polished enough to meet whoever’s ideal first impression. I know how to do it. I could perform softness in the socially acceptable way. I could make myself easier to digest. Smaller. More graceful. More agreeable. But I don’t care enough to betray myself for comfort that was never really mine to begin with. Then there’s the pretty thing. Appearing dainty while existing as fragile as a bomb.

The weight of worth constantly sits on my shoulders, that weight as delicate as a candle lit on an edge… knowing if I choose to knock all this shit over, it could become a fire bigger than anyone expected. And yet, since the beginning of me remembering, I’ve always been okay with the consequences of being myself. Not proudly. Not recklessly. Just honestly.

I take the hit. I sit with the aftermath. I beg my Creator to offer me a way of existing that’ll be more pleasing. For the trials and lessons to come in forms that don’t hurt as much. That don’t feel as heavy as everything.

Yet still, the Creator of everything decided this is how my brain will work. How my heart will work. How my flesh will look. How my voice will sound. The family I share blood with. The family my heart will choose.

And I’m grateful for it. And somehow, that gratitude means everything to me too.