At one point in time, some years back, I was homeless. I was homeless for almost 3 years. No one knew. I had a gym membership to make sure I could shower everyday. I had a P.O. Box so that I had an address. I had a storage unit that served as my closet and where I kept all of my belongings.

In that period I had a job cutting hair, and I had a girlfriend. I was performing poetry and speaking at schools. I was living. To the best knowledge of the people that were around me, I was good.

You’re probably asking, why didn’t I just get my own place?

Fear.
I didn’t want to be alone.
Emotionally, and probably a little bit mentally, I was this 15 year old reaching for a past that was stolen.

Being homeless allowed for moments of being taken in by people that seemed to care. For moments. At least for a moment. It presented opportunities that gave me different places to be. It was an adventure at times. An adrenaline rush, for sure. Even as it was stressful and depressing and sad.

Sometimes I’d spend the night at someone’s house. I house sat for quite a few people. Friends going out of town and needed someone to watch the pets, or even the kids, I was there. I spent a lot of time sleeping in my car. I’d tell one person that I was staying with another person so that I didn’t have to get the questions and investigations that came with the curiosity surrounding what was really going on with me. But I was living in my car.

Most of the time that I was homeless I lived in Atlanta.

And I wasn’t homeless because I had no place to go. I was homeless because I had nowhere to go that I felt wanted. Nowhere was comfortable. By that time I had spent more than 15 years dealing with the aftermath of what my Mother’s murder had done and continued doing to me. I was in this headspace that was so frustrating and confusing.

It was weird. I didn’t trust anyone. No one. New people were paying the price for what the old people had done, or not done. And the old people, well there was this feeling, this vibe, this energy that I used to feel that I could not put my finger on. I would talk about it. I’d tell people that I wasn’t welcomed around “my” people. I always felt like an outcast or not really part of the family. Thing with that is that most of the “family” that I am talking about was not all my blood family. It was the family that I’d grown up with and were familiar with as family. Family related to the person that murdered my Mother. As far as my blood family, there was a similar feeling that I sensed and I couldn’t not figure it out. But it was there and I felt it and it had an effect on me. I fought through so many emotional crowds of feelings, to get to a manageable place to perform the most simple of tasks. Like focus, consistency, growth.

I couldn’t maintain any of that. I was such an oxymoron. On one hand, I was “SEE the Poet”, this multitalented writer, performer, with so much potential and opportunity at the tips of his fingers. And yet I was also Cornelious, or Corn, the barber, the shadow, the hurting child, the desperate soul. Boy, did they clash! Frequently. And when they did, all I could do was shutdown.

I’d been doing that for almost 20 years.

Then, in 2010, I moved back to Illinois. I moved back because God told me to come back. I’ve told the story before, but if you’d like to read it, it’s included as the shared post in “Part 7”, when you get some time.

Since moving back to Illinois, I’ve done a lot of work “healing”. Silently. But within me was this loud cry out and demand for answers, clarity, justice, peace, consistency. I’ve been doing that part without much fanfare, outside of the fact that I post much of what I’m dealing with. I’ve always been able to communicate. I’m not even sure why so many people say they couldn’t “hear” me. I promise it’s all been here.

Anyway.

Over the last few years, in particular, I’ve experienced some breakthrough events. These things have been incredibly transformative. They’ve gotten me to this point. I am grateful for all of it. All of it’s gotten me to this point.

Story time…

(Cont’d…)

©️2023 Cornelious “See” Flowers