A Very Brief Love Letter.
Prince Rogers Nelson,
As a child, I was supposed to hate you and everything you represented. The gender fluidity, the provoking sexuality, the antithesis of everything I was taught to be. My family clung to Michael and rejected you, so naturally, I was drawn.
You had the glitter, the extravagance, everything I wanted to be but could not be out of my own internalized fear. I know little pieces of your spirit are living within me; I’m sorry for not allowing them to thrive the way you would have wanted me to. I am exploding with untapped potential.
Admittedly, so much of me is tied to my value to others and how I am perceived. Part of me wonders how many of your years were spent for others, if you scrapped Purple Rain seven times before finally relinquishing doubt and releasing it. I cling to imaginary narratives of your doubt to convince myself that your self-assuredness is still a real possibility in my life. More than anything, I am wishing these particles of you will blossom within me and remind me that it’s not too late.
I love and fear my voice simultaneously and recognize that because of your existence.
Prince, I am queer and navigating. You and Audre Lorde were my manuals, but I tiptoed around Zami and Darling Nikki like a motherfucker. There has always been a fear of the unknown, of stepping into unpaved territory and not being able to find my way back. I’ve always had a love and appreciation of my body, but a fear of the sensual energy it possesses. To understand the multiplicity of my tongue. I am aiming to find out exactly which twenty-three positions you were referring to, and feeling no shame in the process. Thank you for building and re-affirming my beliefs about pleasure and why I deserve it.
You were transforming, always transforming in ways unimaginable even near your death/ascension. I struggle with change but your transformations are a reminder that I will not be the same person tomorrow and there is so much room to embrace that.
To say that no one taught me how to be myself would be a lie because you were always there in your velvety glory, a walking symbol of what unfiltered self-love looked like. Flawed, but the most perfect and authentic version of yourself is what you always presented, and is what I continue to strive for.
Prince, I have never wanted to adopt a spirit more than I have wanted yours.
Prince, I love you.
Thank you for pushing me into the pursuit of greatness.
This post is part of Write Your Ass Off April, a Twenties Unscripted 10-Day Writing Challenge #WYAOApril. I am responding to the “Ascend” prompt. Check out the challenge here.