Love Me Right

I followed through on what I promised myself I would do on my birthday. I tattooed part of my mantra onto my chest. "Love me right," a simple, yet effective command, a disclaimer of sorts for anyone I deem worthy enough to view it.

Since our body is often metaphorically described as a temple, what better way to mark my space than with a sign that's  appropriately placed on my chest for one to take heed before being fully allowed accesses to me...mind, body, and soul, whether friend, family, or lover.

I feel that I've experienced a good bit so far to know how I want to be loved, but there's room for new thoughts and experiences for my feelings to evolve. Also, what I've determined to be loved "right" is subject to evolve. We're never fully complete. Neither is my tat.

There's a flip side to my mantra which evolved from my primary command, "...or don't love me not at all." I reckon it completes the overall mantra. It's concise enough, and hopefully understood by those who may see it, or even those who are reading this entry.

I'm not asking for anyone's approval. That feeling manifested itself the night I couldn't go through with my suicide. I need no validation for existing or needs for acceptance. That conclusion was drawn after I opened up and accepted my sexuality.

Years trying to fit a standard so that I'd feel normal or accepted by others. Even within various communities, I'm labeled as being something I'm not, sexual identity questioned, looks judged, intelligence demeaned, emotions neglected, the list goes on.This is my life. I was born an individual original. The moment I began to speak at 8 months old, I set my standard. The first time I nervously recited a poem to a group of strangers, I set my standard. The first kiss I shared with another male, I set my standard. The night I came out to my mother, I set my standard. The moment I finally opened my heart to a guy and allowed myself to love him completely for two years because it felt right, I set my standard.

The fact is, we set our own standards. We are the standard, so why to try to fit another individual's standards? It makes no sense. The past month, along with the last two blog entries, gave me that attitude back because I almost forgot who I was in this entire process of maturation...I am myself. I am black, gay, self aware, kind, intelligent, loving, and stern. I am not a model, but I embrace my stocky sexiness and Paul Bunyan'esque beard, although I am nowhere near his height, and in most cases, other guys' height. I'm average in every aspect, but phenomenal at the same time. Although I love hard, the aftermath of my love affects many who didn't know how to deal with me at the time, so I leave impacts and imprints in many lives. I am me, and that's the most beautiful thing I can possibly be.

So, I need no one's pity, approval, or judgement. I do wish to be respected, and if at all possible, loved right, whatever "right" may be. I'm still evolving.