The Prophecy

Photo by Joshua Kettle on Unsplash

It’s been a while since I’ve quoted a Taylor Swift song. My opinions on her are…complicated at best. But there is one thing I will never take away from her: The girl is a GENIUS with words. And from one writer to another, I tip my hat to her. She relates to her fans (Swifties for those who don’t know) and even those who are passing fans. I am one of those passing fans since I’m not buying an Eras Tour Ticket. But I do respect her craft as well as the kind of person that she is.

There’s way worse people young girls could look up to. She turned her pain into a billion dollar plus empire. I will slide her my number on a friendship bracelet for advice. I’m just joking, but I’m serious (Ok, I didn’t need to slide in a Kanye and Travis Kelce joke).

I had mixed feelings on The Tortured Poets Department, but after I heard “The Prophecy” — I cried like a fucking baby. Again, she relates to her fans and those who listen to her in passing.

I was listening and I started thinking about my own romantic misfortune and how it seems to follow a pathology and perhaps a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Alexa, play “The Prophecy” by Taylor Swift…

“Hand on the throttle. Thought I caught lightning in a bottle. Oh, but it’s gone again. And it was written. I got cursed like Eve, got bitten. Oh, was it punishment?”

I always felt like I wasn’t worthy of love and maybe that to a certain extent has to do with my family who you are supposed to experience unconditional love from. They weren’t the best source of love and affection. I was never told that I was pretty. Everyone else in my family was and still is. I would get shamed for a photo in a swim suit as an adult by my mother’s brother who I’ve blocked on social media but he would comment “beautiful” on other family member’s photos. Instead, I would get told that I need to put clothes on and I should be ashamed of my body.

I’d flashback to men who made me feel less than. The first man I had ever been intimate with was still sleeping with his ex-girlfriend and shared those intimate details with her. I was 18 and he was 22. She posted those details on the internet. My first actual boyfriend always compared me to white girls. Why be with me if you want to be with a white girl? Other boyfriends had been with Latinas and I’m not hispanic. Even though 8 Mile broke up with his Brazilian girlfriend to be with me, he did more things with her than he did with me which made me feel not worthy and same with his Latina girlfriends after me before we gave ourselves another shot. Same with Dimples. He had mostly Latina girlfriends, one white and one Asian girl before me. I don’t know if he had been a shitty communicator with them but I definitely know he was with me and his relationships had been fleeting since high school. Needless to say, ours was also fleeting.

I think all women deserve to be treated like queens regardless of their race. But I have come to question why when it comes to interracial dating, black women are expected to settle for less or the bare minimum? If we express displeasure at the course of the relationship or verbalize what we need in the relationship, we’re considered “difficult”, “combative” or even “ungrateful”. And it seems that we are expected to just be grateful of the attention “bestowed” upon us because we are somehow less than. It seems the white men I’ve dealt with in the past wanted the idea of me and not to actually love me. The fetishization of black women is nothing new. It’s been that way since the days of slavery.

And this segment was not to cast aspersions on all white men. I know there’s some that genuinely like black women. Gary Owen, the comedian is one. I’ve encountered black women who are doted on by the white men they are dating or are married to. I just haven’t encountered those men yet. These are my experiences and the fact that there are articles written about it, tells me that I’m not alone.

“Cards on the table. Mine play out like fools in a fable. Oh, it was sinking in. Slow is the quicksand. Poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand…”

And then when I thought I’d found someone who wanted to love me forever, it turned out to be someone who wanted to torment me because of his own pain and destroy the healing and work I’ve done on myself. He also wanted me to dilute my blackness. Hurt people, hurt people. Sometimes I feel like I’m back at square one.

“And I sound like an infant. Feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen. A greater woman stays cool. But I howl like a wolf at the moon…”

I hate to admit that I’m tearing up as I’m writing this. Flashbacks have a knack of doing that and it’s 3:26 am PST on a fucking Thursday morning and I cannot sleep. I had an aforementioned tell me I was resilient after he broke the news to me that he had impregnated his ex-girlfriend while attempting to steal my innocence.

Maybe I am resilient. Maybe that was his way of excusing his poor behavior. “She’ll be ok. She didn’t make a scene.” Why give you the satisfaction? What does it change? Does it make you want me? I fall apart in private.

“A greater woman has faith. But even statues crumble if they’re made to wait. I’m so afraid I’ve sealed my fate. No sign of soulmates. I’m just a paperweight in shades of greige. Spending my last coin so someone will tell me, it’ll be ok…”

All of the men I’ve dated have been different, but also not the right puzzle piece. Some were ok and some were god awful but none of them were right. Most wanted something else and that’s fine. I guess for now, I’m paying Bumble to tell me that there’s hope in the form of the hundreds of “likes”. I guess I have to be the greater woman who hasn’t lost hope to let love in.

Let me be the chosen one and not the placeholder just this once. But more importantly, let us choose each other.

“Please, I’ve been on my knees. Change the prophecy. Don’t want money. Just someone who wants my company. Let it once be me. Who do I have to speak to about if they can redo the prophecy?”