I was mad at you. At least I tried to be. You hurt me when you fell short of what I wanted you to be. The thought of you withholding what I needed and sharing it with someone else made me jealous. Perhaps our late night talks, erotic exchanges, and otherwise stimulating interactions were dwindling down to something that was purely sexual and disposable. I was mad at you and I tried my best to hate you for what you have done to me. Fuck you. I’m shutting you out. Watch me fail miserably in my attempt at loathing you. Our talks about Blackness and kink became ritual. You tied me up in unexpected ways that aren't physical; you caught my mind in a whirlwind that controls me mentally. You know all the words I love and use them freely. Your vocabulary makes me shiver. Your thoughts make me wonder. Your music makes me delight in the way your mind works. Creative, mathematical, and oh so clever. So very beautiful. I selfishly wanted it all for myself. You mindfucked me, your handsome mind-mistress, all day and night for such a long time that I took it for granted. You have depth. I wanted to dive in and keep sinking - down, down, down - until the pressure of your mind took my breath away. I wanted you ritualistically. Give me life, kill me, bury me, then resurrect me continually. Perform this ritual on me over and over again and I will never ask you to stop. I need you. I wanted you to be everything and I wanted that everything all for myself. We would talk about James Baldwin and the way his Black intellectualism stimulated us both. The mutual attraction to his intellect and what that meant for us as Black people striving to be understood, loved, and existent is what drew me in. The cigarettes that hung from his mouth, the sadness in his eyes, the timbre of his voice means so much to the both of us. The two of us are mirrored emotionally, energetically, and intellectually. I saw him in you and I wanted that for myself. Selfishly. Ceremoniously. I wanted everything because I gave you my mind in exchange. My body can be held so easily but my mind cannot. The way you mindfuck is captivating. I want that. Deep in my mind, I wanted that stimulation that only you provide. I want to be that cigarette dangling from your mouth. I want to be that sadness in your eyes. I want to float down the rivers in the timbre of your voice with our mutual love of the arts and expansive thought as my only floatation device. I wanted to be a mirror for you. I wanted everything. I wanted you to complicate my thoughts and arguments. I wanted you to challenge my perspective, which hardly anyone does. Meeting your match intellectually is so underrated. The joys of meeting a fellow mindfucker who knows that words and exploring thoughts can do wonders to stroke the mind and the pussy; it makes dicks hard as rocks in ways that are so satisfying. Coming hard requires mental foreplay involving the submission to poetry and music. Stimulation requires the exploration of thoughts about systematic injustice, the freeing of minds, and the restraint of Black bodies -- under the feet of police officers and between lovers in consensual power exchanges. We both know this, so what was the cause for your presumed infidelity? I wanted everything. Selfishly. I wanted to mindfuck with you all day. I selfishly wanted all of you for myself. Every last drop. I am not wasteful. I was mad at you for six days and I didn’t want to admit why. I was angry when you told me about the others you connected with. I wondered if you cheated on me with talks about DuBois, Ndegeocello, or the gallows of white supremacy that choke out the sounds of Black frustration. I wonder if the depths of your conversations with them invalidated ours. I need your validation. Give that to me, please. I wasn’t worried that you gave them your body. I was worried that you gave our time away. I wondered if they even understood your depth the way I do. Did they feel the way about you that I feel? Do they know your love for Baldwin? Are they honest with you about their brokenness and journey to accept the shattered pieces of themselves the way I am? Do they understand your complexities? Do they fully submit to you mentally the way I do? Did they beg you to complicate their arguments and do they challenge your perspective? Did you mindfuck them harder than you did me? My frailty and insecurity became apparent, popping at the seams like shoddy hand stitches. The way you mindfuck is crazy-making.
By day two, I felt indignant. The mere thought of you mindfucking another felt offensive to me. How could you? Do you know how much I love your mind? Do they study the way your fingertips play out global perspectives? Do they even have the capacity to notice? Your existence in relation to me has become a welcomed distraction from the melodrama that is my internal life. You and your ways of thinking have become intrusive thoughts that I crave and I can’t stop pondering about. The way you brought out my softness enrages me. You flung the windows of my mind wide open and I wondered if your conversations with them were stimulating like ours, or just tawdry shows of affection and curiosities for others. Did you mindfuck them? Did you? Was it enough for you? Was my mind-lust for you masturbatory or did it hold meaning for you as well?
On day three, I angrily daydreamed about our shared intellectualism. There were so many things I wanted to share but I was hurt by you. You didn’t deserve my perspective on what I just read from Audre Lorde. You didn’t deserve the way I carefully craft my words to impress you. To make you melt. To stimulate you. You didn’t deserve anything from me. You took my mind like a pebble from the ocean, shiny and glazed from decades of the tide passing in and out over it, and put it in your pocket to take home as part of a collection of experiences you’ve had. You locked my shiny pebble of a mind into a treasure box in the back of your junk drawer. Did you ever pull it out? Did you ever stroke it to feel the smoothness? Did you wonder how many decades of tides it took to buff out the rough edges? Did you know that you were the low tide that smoothed out my jagged points? When you look into the shininess of my heart do you see your reflection? Did you miss me? I missed your gentleness. I hate you for that.
Day four. How could you? You are a fool. So smart but you couldn’t see I fell for you in ways that I couldn’t describe. You weren’t even there and were still complicating the arguments in my heart. Fuck you. You left me drowning in envy that I was too proud to admit. I knew it was my own faulty programming. The caverns of my neediness is where you can find my heart, embedded and trapped in onyx. My need to be needed beyond my physicality is so apparent. It resides beyond my gender. Beyond my parts. Beyond the kink. I submitted to the ways you became my sweetheart. I wanted to reject my attachment to you because that meant somehow you were cunning enough to get past the obstacle course to my heart. I put up fences, trap doors, boobytraps, and large walls. You can see through the illusion of my toughness. You know inside I am marshmallow soft andcaramel flavored. Sweet, delicate, delicious, buttery, and vulnerable. Like having too many sweets, I might make you sick if you overindulge in my incessant need for your attention and adoration.
Day five. I’m fucking complicated. I hate you and I hate me too. I miss you and I missed us. I refuse to check in with you. I hate wanting to greet you in the morning and I’m disgusted with my need to tell you goodnight. I hated myself for anticipating your apologies so we can engage in some makeup mindfucking. I wanted to withdraw from your grips to show you how serious I was about your transgression. The mere thought of being the object of your physical desire more than your mental yearning angered me. You’re simple for not realizing that you had something much harder to obtain, which was my mind’s full attention. To love me you must love Baldwin. You have to see me as that cigarette hanging from his lip. I needed you to understand I fell for you and toppled over myself. You tore away my smokescreens and I fell in love with you. Did I mention that I hate you for that? Did you know how long it has taken for me to pretty up my performative self? I hate that you took the time to get to know me and then once you did, you refused to leave. I let you mindfuck me. Indulgently. You delight my spirit.
Shame on me for falling for you. I love you. Is that what you wanted to know? Was this your plan? To ruin me? Expose me? There. Take that. Do what you will with it. Interlace my sorrows and longing for you into another one of your compositions and know that my soul dies when you discover its hidden melodies and play them for the world’s entertainment. I allowed you in. I hate myself for that. Intellectual intimacy. The delights of mindfucking. The way you restrain me. The ways you made me love you. How dare you. You even have the audacity to be patient as I respond to the ways you complicate the already complicated version of who I am. Did you stay up for five days thinking about me as I did for you?
You possess parts of my mind. You know how fragile I am. Will you hold and keep me safe? Am I precious to you? Will you pull my mind out of your treasure box and stroke its smoothness from time to time? Do you know I need you to mindfuck me swiftly and often? Endlessly. Sweetly. Roughly. Passionately. Forcefully. Consensually. Over and over until there are no thoughts left; just blank stares into the night’s sky until we think of more topics to cover. You uncovered me and somehow I allowed it--and I grew to love it. I hate you for that. You made me mentally come and then watched me shiver, completely exposed in my mental and emotional nakedness that few have ever seen. Why do you do this to me? When will you relent?
On day six, my guilt consumed me. I wanted everything. Selfishly. Please give me everything. Freely. You are to blame as well. It is not my fault that I need you this way. Tell me you missed me. Tell me you missed it all. Say it clearly and reassure me that you love my awkward ramblings. You made me realize that to love me you must love Baldwin. I will never stop being selfish with your mindfucking and wanting it all. I am a greedy lover. Give me everything. You know I deserve it and you want it as badly as I do.