A HBD Text Works...

Demon deals are very dangerous. They can go left at any moment. The no contact method works for me 364 days a year. Except on the demon’s born day. Another venture around the sun, yay! Great. The day forever etched, thanks to my elephant type of memory and the Google calendar alerts. Oh yeah…that’s today. Each summer, my world gets rocked for three months back to back. June, July and August all make me pause and contemplate-- send a HBD text or no?

These are the people that once brought me terror everyday. My neck- now free from the grasp of these dark people. Can someone tell me where the urge to acknowledge the day they entered the planet comes from? Does a dry, “HBD” text make me a good person? The act of goodness proves fun for who? The no contact method proves useful to clean the soul from bad demons. Then the one day of the year rolls around. A bad person says not a word, even though they remember the day, correct? My legacy won’t be that of a bad person, so here we go once more--my thumbs get to work.

The goal? To convey unbound love. Maybe? The goal could be to keep a clean name. No one can ever make me the bad guy when there's concrete examples that my heart holds space. Hello, Proof, meet…well you know the rest. Soul contracts create random ways to set traps. Traps that are so complex, they take two thousand years to decode. Why bother to uphold the good person's performance when all the demon people have not changed at all? The years have been good to me. The years have only exposed these other folks. Exposed them for exactly who my gut feels told me they are. What to do now that the masks of good church people have all been shattered? We are not down for the facade, come out of the closet monsters, and keep your hands where we can see them.

So once more, my confused self asks the rest of me, “to evolve or not to evolve?” That’s the crossroads. Why bother to draft a HBD text? What was the reason? Each year, the same exact moral back and forth. The return text on average reads, “thank you” decorated by a meme. Maybe that’s what all roads lead to--a thank you. The words on screen from people who should say thank you to me everyday all day. For the upkeep of the fake “lovey dovey” home front.

Not necessary to be thanked, but always feels good. That way, my deep moral debate can be put to bed. Resurrect old, dead demons that lay dormant for 364 days of the year just to get a thank you. Seems absurd. But hey, so many other concepts we encounter everyday are absurd.

Are my acts that of love? Maybe tender-heartedness? Throughout the years, my lukewarm heart can’t tell anymore. Could be sympathy or maybe even empathy. Only the clock on the wall can be the judge. My confused self then says, “Keep up the good work.” The best back battery to send many more years of HBD texts the same way my grandmother wrote across hallmark cards.

My Maw Maw told me to treat everybody as though they are your best compadre. For any homey, of course me as a good person, can send a HBD text. That doesn’t cost me much at all. Perhaps, the text serves as a gentle nudge that we cool, we good. We are not close, we never have been close but, your born day means enough for me to say what up.

Maybe the act has caused complex thoughts for the demons too? Doubtful, but there could be a chance. They don’t remember me all year long, then here comes another HBD text. Maybe my text serves as cruel and unusual torture. Now that we have shed beams on the many purposes that the HBD text serves, the next mystery surfaces. When do they stop? 2024 can for sure be the last year my thumbs break no contact. The reward has not proven to be worth the agony of the back pedal.

The amount of months on top of months necessary to heal from these people should be my top concern. Not on whether the lack of the HBD text makes me a bad person. Well behaved women seldom break the records. The best for me means a new boundary. A no HBD boundary. Let the damn dogs stay asleep. They are not even remotely concerned about me all year.

The web of falsehoods depended so much on my perfect performance. My performance was perfected to an art, however that’s an old me. The new me says evolve and leave all these demons where they are. They are exactly where they deserve to be. Far away from me and all the wonderful dreams that are near and dear to my heart. They have not created great moments for my memory. Therefore, why hold even the small HBD text space for them on my phone? Makes no sense.

Freedom posts up just beyond the valley of shame. My heart and eyes are set on the land of the free and the home of the brave. Bravery, are you perhaps the solve for the moral battle? Yes, just be a tad more brave to keep my thumbs far away from the HBD sympathy texts. My tendency to cozy up next to every human puts me here year after year. The thought of someone not part of my fan club burns me up to a degree.

So, now that the acknowledgement of the tendency has happened, real change can occur. My headstrong Taurus energy now accepts a new challenge. Stop the malarkey. Keep the sorry HBD texts and free myself of the dead demons once and for all. Freedom has always been the goal. Now that freedom has entered the chat, my only Black job--keep freedom around. Don’t save them, they don’t want to be saved.