Reflections of a Lost Little Girl

Daddy said he'd be here and Mommy said she wasn't going to miss it. I wonder where the misinterpretation filled the gap which now divides us. I let them slip through my fingers... I was 11 then and I'm 18 now. This load on my back hasn't lightened, in many ways I feel it's gotten heavier. I persist and move forward, despite the difficulties I may encounter. I can't run and hide anymore, I have to face my fears and If I get hurt along the way... then I'll take it as a lesson learned and interpret the hidden messages, which lie in between the lines and cracks in the surface. I know I'm imperfect and not without sin, but now that I'm older, all my childish things are put to an end. "When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a WOman, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known". Perchance, I was never a normal child or maybe not even child at that. Normal is relative, and I'm far from comparative. In ways I believe I'm an old soul, with a young heart, caught between reality and the dream-like state which I'd rather live in. I was never able to live in the moment as a child, always concerned with what was going to happen next. I walked on egg shells, alert to my surroundings... there was no room for fault. I was "mookie", "toot fruit", "tootie fruitie", and "slim" back then. 

I was daddy's little girl, his princess. What a cliche, is probably what you're thinking... but believe what you want, I know the truth. He named me Jasmin Alexandria for a reason... Jasmin is Persian, it means "gift from God" and Alexandria is Arabic, I was named after the 2nd largest city in Egypt, mostly known for its ancient library. Daddy always had success on his brain. That's why there's $$ in the bank and my GPA is a 3.6... success was on the brain. There was no room for fault. Though money doesn't speak for me, I speak for me... with or without it, I'm still Jasmin. I'd give it all back to hear his voice again, to hold his hand and to tell them that I do love him and I forgive him for what he did... I'm his little girl, his princess. 

Mommy was beautiful, crazy, emotional, extravagant, shameless, fearless, smart, strong and real. Mommy was the truth and I was her shadow. She would call me "Mama" whenever she was teaching or showing me something important. I listened vehemently, for she was- she is, everything in my eyes. She taught me the ways of being a woman, from the physical to the emotion and mental elements. Mommy never held her tongue, I'll be damned if I ever hold mine. She said what she meant and meant what she said. She was an artist and perfection was what she was known for. I strive for perfection, though my imperfections are what make me beautiful. And I wonder what she'd say to me now... she'd probably raise hell for all the visible scars on my body and she'd probably talk me senseless for cutting off my hair, which back then was known to be ropes. Would she be proud? Would she find me beautiful? Would she accept my eccentric sexuality? Would she tolerate my gentle lace and combat boots? Mommy was the truth and I was her shadow. Does she forgive me? 

I was diagonosed with PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) at age 11. my years before that, are scattered memories, of some that i hold dear, and others are of that i don't want to recall at all. I have grey hairs on my head, which is a visual representation that i am far beyong my years. my elders like to say "she's been here before". 

I am the definition of a contradiction. An unrealized dream, unborn. I walk this Earth searching for a purpose beyond me. Down for the unbeatable, unwinnable cause known as "Love lost". I write with no ends , filling my notebook of life's lessons learned or not yet discovered, I stain pages with pain and release stress through my pen. Some nights I let go of this excess baggage and take a deep breath and actually breathe. I am different kind of Woman, a different type of  human being. I love first, learn later and laugh through it all. I'm strong-willed, bull-headed and at times can be hard to bare. You can't swallow me whole, I'm entirely to much to digest. Take me as I am or go through your life wondering what we could have been. Love and Pain consume me simultaneously. I realize in the eyes of the public my exotic appearance intrigues thee, understand I'm far more then what your eyes can see, what your mind can visually perceive. Trying to explain every assembled piece in place or misplaced, doesn't suffice. These are reflections of a lost little girl, in search of a home... thoughts of a woman born, yet growing, learning, loving and living endlessly. 

"she realized 

she wasn't one of life's winners. when she wasn't sure, life to her was some dark dirty secret that, like some unwanted child too late for an abortion... was to be born alone"

I've come entirely too far, to go back now.

I persist, moving forward.

press for more time, I wait

upon your arrival

I awake to find a reflection glaring back at me

reminding me that time ceases to stop.

No longer a child.

If i can't do 

what i want to do 

then my job is to not 

do what i don't want 

to do

It's not the same thing 

but it's the best i can 

do

If i can't have 

what i want . . . then 

my job is to want 

what i've got 

and be satisfied 

that at least there 

is something more to want

Since i can't go 

where i need 

to go . . . then i must . . . go 

where the signs point 

through always understanding 

parallel movement 

isn't lateral

When i can't express 

what i really feel 

i practice feeling 

what i can express 

and none of it is equal

I know.

but that's why mankind 

 among the animals 

learns to cry.

i'm trying to say something about the human condition.

Maybe I should try again... 

February 7,1991. It's a celebration of Life.