.....if you can't love yourself

How can you love someone else if you don't truly love yourself? I have heard that phrase soo many times in my life. There have been times when I have truly been so annoyed by that phrase that I've wanted to throw up. But it rings true. Today I'm angry. I'm hurt. I'm lonely. I'm pissed. I'm being honest. The past few days of cloudiness has drawn out to weeks and the weeks to months and I sit here wondering-when was the last time I didn't feel this rumble of anger in my spirit? Have I really been looking and loving through cloudy eyes? Have I? Have I cheapened my relationships with new people in my life? Have I fairly given them a chance? And why, why have I been running to find new people and places to fill this whatever? I've been hurt by noone in particular but by everyone. My song is strained. My breath labored. My embrace half assed. I can't help make anyone better when I can't even make myself better. Lost. Weakened by reality. Callused by, just by life. And yet everyday I push up against it and fight to not let it affect my life. I have joy. Joy is this beautiful thing that is nonsituational. Joy is deep and can withstand so much, but it's the situations that have really, really pullled me together. In the media there is noone like me. There are not many people like me. On the outside looking in makes me scream. I won't necessarily mind being one in the crowd, instead of standing alone and the crowd forms around the spectacle. I scream. My mouth opens, my chords freeze and my eyes water. I'm saying I need help. I'm saying listen to me. I'm saying care about what I need to say...and you say(...) When you hurt it's not fair. Not fair to you, people you love, places you are...it gets to be a little too much. To heal yourself you need to get away. To sit. To be quiet. To get lost in your world of confusion, of noise, of silence, of twisted thoughts, be lost in you. Let all the pain flood the back of your eyelids. Let all the hate seep from your pores. Shake off all the negativity that is choking your heart and spitting angrily to people you love in hopefully unheard insults. And sometimes we write. We write to let people know they are not alone. That alot of people hate themselves. That alot of people are vulnerable. That alot of people feel this. We write because sometimes noone listens. And yet everyone hears....nothing. I write because I don't know how to articulate what needs to escape. i write to let me pain out. I write because I feel alone in a world surrounded by people. I write cause I'm angry, i'm hopeful, I'm lonely, I horny, I'm missunderstood, I'm seen and yet am invisible, i don't trust myself and don't believe that anyone else can love me, i write my clarity, my honesty, your truths, your weaknesses, your voice and for my own sanity. I write today to say..i don't love myself like i should but today i'm admitting it and can only grow from here. I write because my voice is that of many and my chords are lives past and present and they channell life through my fingers. I write. I'm now silent. I peacefully reflect. I thank you for your ear and your heart.

Skinny Bitch..you cold ain't you?

That's right I said it and i am not afraid! As summer sprints out of this bitch, Finter(fall+winter) is tightly on it's half clothed ass. I, a person who sometimes carry a little bit of weight about my hips and stomach, aka a big bitch, is proud to see that annoying ho leave. I am over the back sweat, the moist crotch and the constant circles of sweat underneath my arms. Just always warm. But now comes the time of year when the extra jiggle that wouldn't allow me to wear my racer back tank and my linen daisy dukes comes in handy. It keeps me warm, like a goose down comforter, like a hot sip of coffee going down your raw sore throat. Oh, my poor counterparts. You remember how you would take your tops off so slowly at the beach and I was in the corner slowly dying of heat stroke cause I had the moobies acebandaged and taped. Dear small frame, do you remember when you would rotate front to back making sure you got that all over tan and if i was brave enough that day to unleash the girls in public, i would lay on my stomach getting burnt on one side trying to front like I had it all together, creating this two toned ho-ho that was never quite right. Dear avoider of carbs, do you remember when you used to walk down the streets shirtless in basketball shorts and no drawers, well thank you for that one, hell I can't be mad at that at all. My point being, the sun is going away and now you're cold. Why are you gonna be cold? YOU HAVE NO BODY FAT!! HAHAHAHA! So if you catch a chill and you wanna snuggle up to something warm and nice, come see your boy! Theres enough love for all of us in the warmth of my embrace. The big boys are in season right now and I couldn't be happier.

Peacefully warm,
Plussize Twink

Coffee

In the sweet wintry months of 2009 I coined the term "Recessionista" for myself. You might be asking yourself, what does that mean? It means that you still live fabulously on a low to no budget budget. Still be seen at the same spots where you have been seen before....same clubs, same shows, same spots; afterall, no one needs to know that your bank account is overdrawna and your EBT card empty. Throw on a boat, a pair of shades, plaster a smile on and strut down the street somewhere.So needless to say I have spent a great deal of time thinkin of what I could do for really cheap that would still keep my face out and about and that would give me something to do....i came up with coffee. Think of this: it's cheap, it's cute, prime people watching and you can get things done. There is only one big problem with this: I'm caffeine sensitive. One drop of coffee and I literally could run up and down the Statue of Liberty in one swoop. I am what the kids call naturally hyper. As a child sugar was not allowed in my diet. AT ALL. I think to remedy my amounts of crazy energy my mother would send me outside and by send my outside I mean lock me out the house and tell me not to bring my ass back inside until dinner time. I mean i'm not mad at her. I was a nappy head chocolate ball of energy. I often used my outside times as times of discovery. Solo football games, creating operas, playing waterhose, dry humping the boys in my neighborhood...you know-innocent things. Fridays, oh Fridays were my favorite days. I got a chance to have sugar and that was the one day of the week my mother hated. I was allowed a Lipton Brisk Iced Tea and a Twix, aka a shit show in plastic. I got my treat at 5, by 630 I was passed out from sugar overload. You may laugh but in that hour and a half between joy and dispair was so much crazy YOU would have died. I'm just saying one day I woke up out of one of my sugar blackouts and a dead goat was lying beside me with it's tail dyed and braided....at least that's what I remember![insert inquisitive eyebrow raise and scary dramatic music] And you would think that as you grow older it would calm down some, not so much. I sit here now heart a fluttering because I was feeling lovely today and had two Venti drinks from Starbucks. I promise you, if it was not for me trying to be smooth in front of this extremely attractive browned eyed big booty boy sitting in front of me I would be doing cartwheels and cooterslams!!! I am T minus 15 minutes before I pass out, asleep, on the bathroom floor of Starbucks among the morning pee and your general STD's. Oh a day in the life!

love plussize twink,

p.s. coffee makes you poo!!!!

Man boobs. Summer Heat. A dream

Question: Why is the sun so angry with me today? I tiptoed out of my house today with the delicate smell of a cucumber spray on my neck, the robust smell of high endurance underneath my arms and betwixt my legs was the sensual smell of sunflower baby powder. I was ready to take on the day. Two steps out of the building the sun began it's very personal attack against me. Thus my personal summer began. It seemed like the bitch hid on top of my building and as soon as I stepped out the door, she came and sat on the bridge of my nose. The sweat happened immediately. First it started with the gentle lip sweat, then it moved down to the sweat drip that collects at the bottom of your back, top of your ass. This is where it started to get very uncomfortable. And then I felt it...the "under the tit sweat". It's so gross! Sidenote: dear women, you have bras with fabric that soak up the moist nasty that is "under the tit sweat", but us men we have to grin and bear it(sidenote finished) All the smell good that only a few minutes before was applied had gone to shit. Instead of delicate cucumber it smelled like dill pickles, my high endurance turned to no endurance and sunflower baby powder smelled like pungent toe cheese. It was...a mess. Ok, it wasn't that bad, but damn the heat makes you delusional. (See delusional me) I continued my day. Picked up a headshot. Drank an ice coffee. Contemplated life.
In my life there is this need for greatness. In my life there is this fear of my own greatness. This obnoxious strength. This beautiful vulnerability. Why am I so afraid to just be the fabulous person that I am? Why is it that when i'm home standing in front of my mirror, naked, staring at every scar, stretch mark, dimple and every perfect imperfection; I see how beautifully human I am: I am gorgeous. When I leave the comfort of my safety place, my sanctuary, I allow what others definition of beautiful affect me. I allow stupid thoughts like am I too fat, too dark, too sloppy, too feminine, too flawed penetrate my soul. I doubt myself. I dumb myself down. I allow my greatness to flow, like rainwater and pollution, down the gutter. I negate everything I stand for and yet, I allow it to happen all the time. My definition of a strong person is someone who can be as strong as need be and as vunerable within the same respect. My battle with loving and owning and respecting my greatness, will continue to be just that, a small battle in this crazy war called life and acceptance. Oh what a day.

Drunk, Love, Peace

People look at me sometimes and say Ms. Whitfield(a name a may or may not have given myself that my friends have taken libertywith and use frequently) how did you become so fabulous and I will tell you exactly how-three words: Gwenevere Diana Whitfield(the original OG)

My mother is perhaps the funniest person I have ever known in my life. Hell she was THE first person i've ever known in my life. Take all the crazy that I am and put it in a natural born woman and you have Gwenenvere Diana. My mother is brass, loving, swears like a sailor, loves a good puff of Easter Grass and cannot, I repeat, cannot live without her 40's which she enjoys in champagne glasses with neon flexi straws. I know that you are thinking that I am possibly making this up, but you can't write anything as good as this. She is also one of the most accepting, patient, loving and beautiful lambs ever. Here's a glimpse into my life.

A little background.
I grew up a little country boy in a small town in NC. Our house was always the meeting place for our family. And by family I mean birth family, neighborhood friends, the drunks from under the tree or anybody who just didn't have anybody to go home to-they were all my family. There has never been any point in my life, that I can remember, where there wasn't somebody random living on my couch. You could say that we were ghetto fabulous. I had my own barber, my drunk step-grandfather named Duck, who would give me bowl cuts with an actual bowl he placed on my head. We always had "security" at our house. There was an army of old neighborhood libation lovers who sat under a tree near my house everyday; enjoying libations. At some point in the day they would get hungry and would stop by our house and hang for hours. Strangers were only allowed to get so close my family looked out for them and they in turn looked out for us. I had a "manny" and his name was Butt-Butt. Butt-Butt lived with us for as long as I can remember. He slept on our couch and did repairs when ever they were needed. He lived with us from the time I was 6 to 15. He was an old war vet who self medicated. The worst time of day for me was when he got the shakes, he'd take a drink and be better almost instantly. I liked when he got better, I hated the time when he looked like he was in agony. He used to sit with me on the front porch and teach me old songs that he learned in the war:"Girl from Impanima", "Write Myself a Letter" and some other old standards. He was the only example of a stable man in my life. My father played the ONLY game of "now you see me, now you don't." Although I was surrounded by males he was one of the only ones who taught me what it was to be a man. I think one of my strongest gifts is that I can see people. I can see above their circumstances and the war scars that life may have given them, bypass all that is their core-the meat of their being- innocence. Underneath track marks, damaged livers, and shakey hands are the people who taught ME love and to never judge anyone else. After all, if you are seen as the bottom of the totem pole, who can you judge? Isn't it ironic that those who have "the least" are more willing to accept and see people for who they really are, ironic?
Ms Gwenevere Diana never worried with whom she left me. She knew I was in good hands. I was a free spirit who entertained himself for hours. I never bothered anybody, except my sister, and I played by myself a lot. I hung out with grownups and hung onto everyword they spoke. I miss those moments these days. I miss staring in the eyes of someone who has lived life. I miss listening to their spoken and unspoken stories and realizing that every wrinkle on their body has knowledge stored in them. I was raised by simple folk. People who didn't need to use huge words to express themselves. People whose actions spoke eloquently what their non-formally educated minds could express. A legacy of love was left to me. My life's journey is to pass it on to you.

White Peaches

Today life picked me up and whispered I love you. It gently kissed me with a breeze. It hugged me with the sun. It filled me with air fresh and calm.
Today I sit here in the park, olive oil in my pores, Jennifer Hudson in my ear, thoughts running marathons in my head.

Clarity. I feel that daily I lace up my boxing gloves and fight doubt and confusion and acceptance. I don't want to keep being a martyr. It gets to be too much for me. At what point in my life is my season of increase gonna come. I moved here to NYC with nothing but a dream, rent money and no plans. And New York, guess what? I made it! I'm still here Bitch! I've done you and i'm doing you. I will not be crushed by you and my insecurities. Today I whisper till I scream in my heart that I am here!!!! I am more than a conqueror and there is nothing that life can throw at me or has tried to throw at me that I already haven't beaten.

Love,
Plussize Twink

My passion

In my head there is a beat. One that i can't quite shake. One that makes my toes tap and one that makes my head bob. One that makes my fingertips drum and one that beats to a song unsung. It's called rhythm. It's called life. It is my life. My beat is music. Underneath my knees there is something that makes my legs jump. At the base of my spine my hips swirl. My eyes blink to a percussive force and I do nothing but let it happen. I shake and jiggle walking down the street a smile on my face, hot cement on my feet. My gift, my blessin; my dreams. Music. Dear music beat in me till my breath no longer draws and silence fills my ears for once and for all. Until then, my dear friend, pulse in me, inspire me, draw me in, endow me, allow me.