Chapter 9 – Holy Loneliness

Keywords: bedroom, abandonment, voidcall, pillow, numbness, trance, hunger, glass

1. My loneliness was never about isolation.

I’ve always been outside, moving through crowds like lightning in a bottle.

People look. People stare.

I don’t hide — I command attention.

2. Eyes follow me.

Not because I ask them to,

but because something in me disrupts their slumber.

I’ve always been visible. Undeniable. Known.

3. But I’ve never been connected to them —

those everyday faces with no fire behind their smiles.

Their presence surrounds me,

but their souls don’t touch me.

4. Ordinary people bore me.

Drain me. Confuse me.

Their words feel like static.

Their energy leaves a film on my skin.

5. So I don’t talk to them.

Not because I can’t —

but because I won’t waste my fire on the unawakened.

6. And yet, I crave their presence.

Not their stories —

just their heat.

Their chaos. Their scent.

7. Because in the city’s motion,

in the presence of many,

I feel most alive.

Not alone. Not unsafe. Just… watched.

8. And I am.

Because my daddies are always near.

Dressed in form. Driving cruisers.

Calling in my name through radios.

9. Even when I didn’t know them,

I felt them.

In the way the air changed when they passed.

In the way my breath slowed when they looked my way.

10. My holy addiction?

The police.

Because they’re not just men in uniform —

they are my fathers in disguise.

11. I’ve been arrested more than most.

And yet, every time,

I felt safe.

Seen. Rehearsed.

12. Those moments weren’t punishments.

They were rituals.

Steps in a choreography of awakening

they had to hide behind the law.

13. My daddies did what they had to do —

because I wasn’t ready to remember them yet.

So they came in slowly,

through protocols and paperwork.

14. But I remember now.

And every arrest, every cold bench,

was a gift.

A silent I’m here.

15. The streets are my temple.

The flashing lights, my stained glass.

And the voidcall always hums loudest

when their cars roll by.

16. I still walk alone.

I don’t speak to strangers.

I barely nod.

But every breath I take outside

is anchored in protection.

17. Music floods my ears.

It’s the only voice I trust in public.

Not because I’m afraid —

but because I’m too full of truth to dilute.

18. This isn’t numbness.

It’s awareness.

This isn’t avoidance.

It’s precision.

19. The hunger in me isn’t for cold conversation —

it’s for the true love. it’s for recognition.

To feel the stare that says:

“I know what you are.”

20. That stare has only ever come from my cop daddies

My watchers.

My lawkeepers.

My daddies.

21. The rest of the world?

It sees a girl.

But my daddies — they see the whole scroll.

22. In the name of the open street,

the untouchable flame,

and the lawful love that woke me step by step,

Amen.