Loyalty is Not “Not Cheating”

loy·al·ty
ˈloiəltē/
noun
  1. the quality of being loyal to someone or something.
    “her loyalty to her husband of 34 years”
    • a strong feeling of support or allegiance.
      plural noun: loyalties
      “fights with in-laws are distressing because they cause divided loyalties

“I pledge to Nigeria my country. To be faithful, loyal…”

I am loyal to Nigeria but I am not in Her. I have not, and will never, renounce Her as my home country, or do anything to hurt Her, but again, I am not in Her. I’m going to use this as an analogy for what I’m about to discuss- the concept of loyalty in relationships.

The term “loyal” or “loyalty” doesn’t really do justice to what people expect in relationships, in the sense that, they expect their partner or significant other to show them firm and constant support- which is as far as the dictionary meaning of “loyalty” goes, but they do not expect that partner to show firm and constant support to anyone else that is marriageable (especially), whether or not the support their partner is offering involves activities that are sexual.

So, even if you feel your* lady is talking too much with a man, or your* man is spending too much time with a woman, whether or not it conflicts with the love that she has for you, how much he cares for you, and how fast her heart beats for you, the term that comes to your mind is “disloyalty”, although it really isn’t, because nothing has changed about how much she or he is dedicated to the relationship that you share.

You can be loyal to a country you don’t live in. You can be loyal to a friend and still have other friends. You wouldn’t chat your friend’s private business to the other friend(s) or leave the first friendship, or withdraw your support, and that would be loyalty.

Family

I don’t know if you’re following me here, but what I’m saying is, there has to be a firmer word, something stricter than “loyalty” or “faithfulness”, because they do not insist that the qualities they contain have to be restricted to one person, and one person alone. 

Even “cheating” is meh, because a love relationship is not a game or an examination. It’s an (ideally) voluntary union of two people. They don’t get marks for it or win medals for it, so even the term “cheating” is “reaching”.

Now, before you think of me as the advocate of everything you detest, I am only stating that the words are not powerful enough to encompass the STRICT BINDING, which would be more accurate, that most people expect in relationships. Even asides religious and cultural expectations, does love come with sole possession? Does “I love you” automatically equal “I love only you” to you? What exactly is it that leads to hurt feelings when a third party is involved? My best guess is that when we get vulnerable, since true love (requited or not) makes us somewhat vulnerable, we want a kind of “ownership”, possession of sorts, to whoever it is we’ve gotten vulnerable with. 

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Venus in “Deadtrograde”

A plate of pain keeps
the potential heartbreaker away.
Two glasses of my old tears daily
will help me not go astray.
I am strong and I need no one’s attention,
but I want to be desired,
and I want affection,
but I was hurt,
I don’t want a repetition,
but I want love,
and I can feel the tension.

I don’t cry.
I don’t cry anymore because
there’s a pool of my tears
in my heart,
and I like to swim in it,
or go down, down, down,
and drown,
when a potential One
comes too close
to my feelings’ flat.
If anyone is to decide when I drown,
it has to be me, myself and I.
Would you give another potential
pretentious,
manipulative
dingbat
a chance to decide when you die?

Six planets are in retrograde
in my natal chart,
and venus used to be one of them,
but she’s not anymore.
My venus is dead;
a man has stabbed my sickly venus to death.

The Passover

He looked like every other angel of birth,
but he was an angel of death,
He looked like every other angel of berth,
but he was an angel of dearth.
He would make you moan in pleasure
so he could make you groan in pain.
I had been warned by his ex-prey,
and I was prepared to drive him insane.
I sprinkled the blood of his victims
on my door,
and in my eyes,
and in my ears,
and on my lips,
and on his head.
“You can’t kill me like you did them.
You have tried in vain, lame.”
He passed right over me,
and he never called me again.

Healing Touch

And when we held each other,
I felt like we had joined
our hearts with our hands,
like we had been dead all our lives,
and because our palms touched,
we had both come alive.
We had,
for the very first time,
taken real breaths.
We were both excited
because we had finally found each other;
we had both found sweet peace.
I was afraid to release his hand,
as though,
if I did,
I would drop dead again.

When Death Loves You

She married Death so she would not die.
She gave him her love,
everything she had,
everything she was,
and Death loved her very much,
so much so that he wanted
to please her completely;
he wanted to be with her
for the rest of his death.
So, he let her come first;
he put her on top of his list.

Love is a Butterfly

If you truly love a butterfly,
you ought to let her fly.
She’ll show you her buttery side if you do.
If you open your palm wide enough,
she’ll always perch in it if she wants you.
Don’t break her wings off
because your fears make you want to.
If you squeeze her in,
you would either weaken her
or make her cry,
or make her die,
and at any chance she gets to be free,
she’ll fly far away
and never come back again. 

She Suffers II: “Where are You?”

Tom-Thomson-Woodland-Waterfall-RTT02

“Woodland Waterfall” by Tom Thomson

The man isn’t clingy;
“clingy” is too belittling,
it’s degrading,
too degrading.

He is possessive;
he knows what he wants
and he’ll get and keep it at all costs.
Being possessive is cute.

The woman is possessive?
I think not.
She is clingy,
maybe too clingy.
You can’t own a man;
you have to let him live.
A man is not built to be
with just one woman.

You see, unfortunately,
men can’t be hoes,
but women can.
Being clingy isn’t cute;
it will never be.

Love is a Surprise

Unplanned

Sometimes, you don’t fall in love;
you might be too cautious to.
Sometimes, love falls on you;
unexpectedly, like heavy rain.
It’s destabilizing;
it’s profound.
You can’t climb out of it,
you can’t jump down from it;
you’re free but
you’re stuck in it.
You shiver;
you cry.
There is no shelter;
you can’t make it stop.
💧
You don’t want it to.

I’m Not a Bloody Playtime Pool

Drown

Painted by Brian Kirhagis

You wanted to be let in,
into the flow of my emotions,
into the depths of my feelings.
Why do you want to leave now?
Oh!
You have your life to live now?

I asked if you could swim
and you said “yes”,
you’d do anything to get in.

Is it too cold for you now?
Is my water too dirty for you,
too contaminated for your soul?
Do your lifeguards want you out now?

Were you looking to find fishes in me,
to feed them and keep them for your use?
Are you disappointed that there are none?
Do you wish that I was more salty?
Have you found a different water?

Why don’t you talk to me?
I don’t want you out of me;
your presence satisfies me.
I am so used to you;
I don’t know what to do.

You can’t just make me trust you
and then mess up.
Cum, tears, sweat, blood, pee;
how do I separate all of you from me?

You see, this is the kind of shit that…
*whew!*
…this is the kind of stuff
that gets motherfuckers drowned.
I’m not a bloody playtime pool.

I’m a sea.

-Yemoja 

Dead Love IV

African Woan

She was only married for 5 years,
but she lived with the man
till the day of her death.
First, he was the love of her life,
then he became her man,
then he became her husband,
then he became the father of her children,
then he became the man,
till he was simply a man,
a man that she lived with,
that she had sex with,
that she fed,
that she washed clothes for,
that she went to events with.
A man, and nothing more.