Two plus Too equals Four.
To plus 2 = For.

Part 14.

“A blood-y scene.”

I left the Chicago poetry scene years ago. And I’m a good poet. Not patting myself on the back or hyping myself up, but I’m really good with words. I love writing. I love helping, inspiring, motivating and entertaining others through my gift of poetry.

And again, I’m good, lol. I’m even a good guy. I’ve never betrayed anyone on the poetry scene. I’ve never argued or fought with anyone on the poetry scene. I only had sex with 2 women from “the scene” in my over 20+ years in and around it. Those are significant facts. Especially if you know the scene.
I’ve gotten amazing feedback, reviews, support, and commentary about my skill, ability, power, and presence whenever I’ve gotten on a stage, entered a room, or gave a speech. I’ve been offered tremendous opportunities and asked to do phenomenal things throughout my years performing in Chicago.

I’ve walked away, turned things down, or stopped myself from being part of any and all of it.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand, again, I AM GOOD.

But one day, almost 20 years ago, I saw a picture on MySpace that made me give up the scene, made me feel a way about a lot of the people in it, and caused me to infer that the world was really against me.

I saw a picture with someone I knew hanging with someone else that I knew.

That’s a common thing, I know.

The thing was, the someone that I knew had known my story. About my Mother’s murder, about how messed up everything was, about how I’d been abandoned, outcast, and ignored. About the lack of justice. They knew a lot of that. Because we’d talked about it. And here they were in a picture that had the person that murdered my Mother in it.

Crazy thing is, a few years back I found out that the picture I’d seen was actually taken out of context. The one person I knew didn’t even know the killer. At that time. They were familiar with her family, and the picture was taken at an event where they all were.

I didn’t see that when I saw the picture. I saw someone that I wanted to be in my life, smiling, while in the presence of someone that had ruined my life. And upon further investigation I’d found out that quite a few people from the scene were VERY good friends with the woman that murdered my Mother and her daughter, and her nephew, and some of her cousins, and some of her friends.

Now understand this: I grew up with the woman that murdered my Mother. She’s like, my cousin. She is biologically my Dad’s niece. But he’s not my biological father. He is my siblings father. He is my Dad. His family is the family that I grew up with and around, but they are not my blood family. I grew up in a house with the woman that murdered my Mother being presented to me, and most people, as family, as our cousin. I didn’t know that she and my Mother were actually in a relationship. Because that wouldn’t have made sense to me, at that time. Because she’s family. Not my blood family, but blood family to my blood family. And blood family to everyone that I grew up with as family. And blood family to the man that I believed my Mom should be with, my Dad.

This sh*t is so exhausting to explain, every time.

This is the definition of complicated.

But, back to the scene…

After my Mother’s murder, I witnessed blood family pick sides. They chose their blood relative over me. People can say all kind of things about the mistakes that were made and the controversy regarding her and my Mother’s sexuality, or the failures of so many people, but I’m telling you what a 15 year old saw, heard, and experienced. Things I saw, heard, and have experienced for more than 29 years.

Ultimately, it really is “family over everything”. My “family” that was mine by supposed “bond” rather than blood, chose their blood relative when what happened, happened.

They not only shunned me and my siblings, but they visibly and vibrantly supported the person that had destroyed us. She murdered my Mother. And they KNOW IT. Some of them have told me they know it.

That is a story for another day.

When I saw that picture, I didn’t just see one person knowing someone else that I knew. I saw the conspiracy of my Mother’s murder having connections far beyond the “family” that I’d begun to run from by then. It was bigger. The world was conspiring against me. Smiling and laughing while doing it.

That picture painted a much larger one, for me. It became a collage. It got animated. It became a show, a movie, a series, a never ending saga. It became something like The Truman Show.

I started to see everyone as capable of choosing her over me. Her story over the truth. Whatever her lies were, over the lives we’d lived.

And I panicked. I shutdown. I stopped. I ran.

I abandoned something I love.

I walked away from something I liked doing, I wanted to do, and some people might say that I was born to do.

Because I saw other pictures. And those pictures wouldn’t leave my mind.

They became triggers.

Reminders.

Memories. And flashbacks.

Then the people became part of the story.

My “friends” became monsters.

Part of the story.

Parts of the scandal.

Part of the scheme.

And in my hurt, traumatized, paranoid mind… a good reason for me to walk away.

©️2023 Cornelious “See” Flowers