This post was supposed to be the one of joy, but something has been bothering me so what better thing to do than let my virtual family know about it.
Some people think I’m a phony because of it.
I think in step-wise processes, sometimes in haphazard coordinates but my speech is usually well thought out and sometimes erupts in what seems like poetic verses, almost like I’m a lyricist, just because I try to find the right descriptive of the image I’m trying to let another see – to paint the exact same thing on the canvas of their minds. And sometimes when I’m speaking, some people can’t fathom how someone can speak like this and when they realise I write poetry and music, they think I’m faking, like ‘you’re bullshi**ing me, right?’
I’m really not.
Specimen A: My Instagram post of how I was actually feeling on Sunday, March 12th of 2017, hashtagged ‘poetry?’ I basically named it just in case I considered adding it to my poems.
My words flow like fluid, languid when as a result of the step-wise process or torrential when as a result of the ‘haphazard coordinates’, a maelstrom I tell you! I can only imagine the vision I make when I’m stirred up like that. Depending on your perspective, the factor of it being hilarious or crazed is debatable.
Anyways, other times when I use phrases common with the 21st century YA community, my speech is considered ‘normal’, LOL.
Secondly, I’m a really passionate person and almost always my passion spills unto my face (not good if I ever thought of playing poker), leaks from my eyes (I find the word ‘crybaby’ offensive), spews from the pores of my skin and in most cases, is in tune with my lips. Other times, its full display is camouflaged in signs that reek of its absence, deceiving the perception of others. Sistah poet says her dad goes by “perception is reality” so imagine my fate! Imagine the warped up reality some people are living in as regards yours truly. It’s almost a certifiable impasse because it’s not like I’m going to be re-boxed and Fedexed to my manufacturer for rewiring.
So one day during an audition, I was speaking and my eyes got a little wet, my face a little like cemented lightning – if you could cement lightning, and my voice a little raspy (I know this because the auditioners asked me to hold up a mirror whilst speaking and my ears are in the working capacity) when one of them asked if I was acting. A-C-T-I-N-G!!! And no, I wasn’t auditioning for a role in anything. He searched through his memory for when I told them I do poetry, sometimes spoken words and somehow thought doing the latter was equivalent to ACTING. I’m not assuming. He actually said it. He guffawed and summed up my entire persona as a result of my poetry and spoken words rather than the opposite. They are a product of me. The worst part was him trying to convince the others of his conclusion.
And it hurt. It hurt that my passion and my truth was received as falsehood.
And I know a couple of others that take anything regarding me at face value because they somehow can’t comprehend that I’m real. And I don’t know why this bothers me but it does, it’s almost like I want to scream ‘I’M REAL!!!’ in their faces. My only comfort is that there are over 6 billion people in the world and I couldn’t have been the only one with this wiring and for the others like me, I guess being misunderstood and sometimes perceived as just manipulating/ a phony, is the curse we get for describing colours in exhausting depth to the monochrome society of the world or the part of the world that has been continuously deceived, used and thus conditioned into finally being colour blind or with a one-track mind that does not believe colour can have depth.
But blue isn’t always just blue, sometimes it’s midnight.