Closed for Repairs

Closed for repairs
My ass is closed for repairs. You see I had to do it because it was damaged and not running the way it’s supposed to run. But first let me admit it’s my fault that it got in the condition that it did. I knew it as juicy and as they say, junk in the trunk, but I let those titles let it get in the way and it started to define who I was. Nothing but a piece of meat. An objectification for someone’s unspoken fantasy. For a while I knew it wasn’t acting right but I was in denial. I was thinking that everything was fine. But the shit was broke like a bad joke.
 I started to let it…lose its way. Like a hooptie running on a spare tire, you know the wheel needs fixing but you figure since it’s still rolling you can let it get by. Pushing my luck on whispered dreams. Yet somehow it came from behind, no pun intended and it started to take over. So people stopped seeing me but they noticed that ass.
“Damn boy you packin!!” “Back that shit up!” “Let me hit that papi.” “Yo my nigga let me holla at you.” It was encouraging languages of strangers whose names even today I couldn’t tell you and my identity was morphing into what my ass wanted others to be.
I’m telling you it was doing strange shit. Shit it never did before. It was taking pictures of itself and placing it on the internet, you know, the sex site where you can either order in or have it delivered. There my ass was with no discretion, “HarlemAssforit”. Get it? Yeah it took me awhile also. But I’ll be damned if it didn’t it work. And to show how selfish my ass had become, it never allowed the face to be seen because it didn’t feel the face had no value. The online mailbox started to become filled with other’s caught in my ass web. It started to put out offers to strangers and just strange people. When I was in control it was selective but when it gained power he didn’t care who came over…I’m being politically correct, I meant came in him.
It was becoming reckless and didn’t care what the other person had swimming in their ocean. He didn’t care that sometimes the waters were dirty. He didn’t care if he was getting dirty. He cared for the instant satisfaction. You can call me an absentee landlord as I was hoping my heart would have kept an eye on things, but my heart, had its own issues. It had placed a wall around itself so it couldn’t see what was going on. There is none so blind that refuses to see.
Unchecked.
That’s what my ass was, unchecked. And the many dirty waters it let flow into him started to contaminate everything else. My eyes, my sense of touch, my feelings. My belief in love. My trust eventually my health. It grew in me a bitterness that the only reason anyone was interested in me was not for me but for what was behind me. I was drowning and it seemed I was sinking faster than I could swim. I eventually asked him what the fuck he was doing and he told me
“Yo I’m a power bottom. I got control of all these fools. I got it.”
 Control.
I’m the one who was supposed to have control. How can you have control when someone asks, “Who’ is it and you say “It’s yours”. How can you give your stuff up to someone who treats you as if you’re a multipack. You know those choices of cereals where they can get what they want without committing. One day it’s Cocoa Puffs and the next day it’s Frosted Flakes. A city filled with choices and no reason to choose just one. I was trying to tell him that the only difference between a hooker and a hoe was the fee. Is that what I was letting it turn me into, a hoe? Because I never got a dollar for all those rides. Sometimes I didn’t even get a thank you.
The only thing it was getting was empty satisfaction and an anonymous gratification that resulted in unreturned texts and unanswered phone calls to the heart.
I let it take over everything but when it went for my soul that’s when I had to step in. Hell naw I wasn’t letting you take that over. My soul was my center. It was the thing that gave me peace when all this out there was fucked up. My soul was my identity which I was slowly losing. It was the one thing that let me look in the mirror and see a reflection. It was the only thing that woke me up and gave me the 411 on what was happening. It woke me up and told me I was walking around, damaged.
Closed for repairs.
A broken piece of precious china that I had to glue back together again, one by one. Waking myself up and placing my ass in solitary.  Not as punishment but to help it find out the connection it had with me. Helping it know the difference between love and lust and lost.
It took awhile but I repaired it and now if I’m ever in a situation where someone wants to get to know it, they have to introduce themselves to my heart which also in the process tore its walls down. And if it ever comes to a case of someone asking me, “Whose is it” I’m going to tell them. It’s mine.
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About Aundaray

Aundaray is currently receiving his Masters in Public Relation and Communications at New York University. He has blogged for Huffington Post and various magazines. His interest is in discovering the effects of social media within business and cultures and the impact it has.
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2 Responses to Closed for Repairs

  1. Anonymous says:

    I cried after I read your blog. I too built a wall aroung my heart to protect myself from the abuse I experienced as a child. Lack of trust is part of the elements of my wall. Age has helped with my life process and healing continues. May your inner peace and self-love continue to grow. You are LOVED!

  2. I'm happy for you. I'm happy for all that you can shout that you have HIV and you are free. I'm glad. Unfortunately not everyone can do that.

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