Black Girl: As Is

Writer. Creator. Shapeshifter.

Invisible Ink

“How are you feeling?”…a question I’ve heard no less than 982 times this year.   Each time a wince and each time a lie of omission. Each day, I stack myself brick by brick and forge a presentable foundation. Presentable enough so that others might feel comfortable coming in to take a seat at my table.  The home is lush but not lavish and the party is engaging enough that you forget you haven't seen the host in….20…30…Where’d she go?


It’s that moment when you see ‘what happened to her’ stream across someone’s face and they say “You look great”! When looking in the mirror feels like the twilight zone.  Like, you know it's really you and you see your face in there and you hear your thoughts in there but is anyone in there?  Anyone?

It’s the time you wake up to oversee someone’s wedding and you have a mustache and your hair falls out right in front and a toenail fails off and you’ve been awake less than an hour and when you get there everyone will say ‘Don’t you look pretty’?!   And you want to know what they’re looking at and you want to know what they see…and then you remember you’ve known them for months but they’ve never met you before.  

It’s feeling like you deserve that chicken sandwich and those fries because they are fucking delicious and you work hard and you’re a good person and later blaming that chicken sandwich and those fries for the shit you’ve gotten yourself into.  Because even though they say it’s idiopathic and they don’t know where it came from and there’s nothing you did, how can that be so?  What’s a horror without a villain?  You drank that Mountain Dew in high school.  You ate those Funyuns. You got high yesterday and ate that whole Chimichanga.  That was you, bro.  And now you’re surrounded by wonderful people who thrive on delicious food and imbibe with the best and you hate them.  Seriously.

“God is in control” is a thing people like to say.  But, what happens when you know that already?  God has been in control this whole time…so what’s he playing at?  Folks will say he has a plan and you have to trust him…funny, because I have all kinds of plans and I can’t even trust me! Hand it over to him they say…and I’m thinking..,he’s had the ball the whole damn time and what’s he doing with it?   Faith, they’ll say…you must listen and receive…but my own heartbeat is thundering in my ears.  My flame has become a flicker and I’m getting wispy around the edges.  Like a journal left out in the rain. Depth soaked through and washed out.  How am I feeling?  Like, invisible ink.