A Toast

A parched throat makes for difficult speech… Instead of clearly communicating, you find yourself throat clearing, self jeering, eyes watering, mind wondering when this hacking will begin departing, all the while knowing that – it’s really not attractive.  You can see into souls through eye windows, the dimming glow as their response to your unintended show… It almost does not matter what you know, because like a dam, your words have lodged in your throat blocking your flow… Releasing spittle and foam at random intervals – overall damage is minimal, but the purpose in which you originally opened your mouth to complete has died all of its lives, and it’s game over – Nintendo.

But you know that it is not your fault… You needed just a bit of moisture, as some fine cuisine needs only a mere dash of salt… But without Mrs. Dash, appearance is divorced from success, like dollar signs taken off of cash… The end result being paper scraps… Tidbits, leftovers, unwanted – anything synonymous with trash… Because anything not done wholly simply will… not… last.  … And it is ironic because you can feel the tangibility of what it is you want to say deep inside your very being… Some wondrous thing – or perhaps simple – yet nevertheless unexpressed that only your eyes are seeing.  Ahhh if only you didn’t have a noose delivery!

A tendency to get choked up from the throat up when it’s something vital from your heart that needs expressing!  Vision is both a curse and a blessing… You wish that you could just pop a pill discreetly, or take a sip of some magical serum, to free you from this self induced delirium, after-all what good are above average thoughts if you must live in fear of them…?  … Looking… Searching… Waiting… Your soul knowing… That there is an answer… There is a way out of this moat… There is a cure – there is an antidote… There is a little known diner on the outskirts of town… A little further than just a ways away, but closer than too long would take… Open to any who care to pass through its doors into peace, and reverberating revelation… Who have an appetite that yields only unto satiation…

In this diner, the sparkling diamond glasses are for every occasion – for every moment in life is special.  Here – there is no such thing as wasted. No concept of the term “outdated,” no reference for existing without existence and purpose being mated… It’s not Heaven – but it surely is not earth… Just a small, easily missed diner… The menu?  Your heart’s desire.  The sign hanging over the counter only says “Higher.”  Order whatever you like, with whatever sides, anything you can think in your mind can be made manifest, for the deep recesses of thought – are who you are.

… There is but one drink served here however, and accompanies every meal… It unstops your throat, and has a rather curious feel… Smooth going down, but it can make your heart race, or your body shake… Tears may stream down your face – but tongues are always loosened, and obstacles are parted, that one may behold one’s goals… The ears become sensitive to the word “go,” ambition oblivious to the word no, and all too often the diner echoes with fearless declaration of “look out below!!!”  This – this special drink, birthed from the progression of time to meet human needs like dough… This elegant glass of shimmering power that can unblock your throat… THIS – is wine for the soul.

~The Wordsmith

Tale of a Rose: Part II

You are the rose who can’t even see the concrete it is famous for growing from.

Weary traveler bleakly pressing your way towards the mountaintop, it seems impossible that breaking through the concrete was ever deemed a victory.

Ducking the stones from the ones who once praised your bravery, dear rose… give yourself grace… you did not know.

You did not know royalty goes unnoticed when clothed in the struggles of civilians. The king makes the crown, but the crown keeps the eye of the people. That’s why the statement is so falsely regal, it’s not kneel before the king, it is kneel- before the ring of golden steeples.

Respect the crown.

A chilly revelation to match the icy sting of struggle that you never expected.

Wondering why you climb, even as you seek the next cleft in the rocks.

My friend… full blossom wasn’t the destination. In a commonly rare case of defied expectations, you the rose are being called to- elevation.

Your heart is trying to fail within you, but you must not let it.

You are no failure.

You are the Rose.

Tale of a Rose

You survived your own mutiny.

Subdued the internal revolt.

Your battle scars are resolution and confidence… but that means you’ve got no scars to show.

From the outside they slander you as arrogant, condescending, unremorseful… they don’t see you on the mountain barely clinging…

You’re just a rose.

Fierce storms rise up in you. The why dids and why didn’t you’s. And truth be told, part of you wants them, even though they don’t want you and you reason within that if they could see you want them in your struggle that they’d want you too.

Second guesses multiply like fractions of a whole attention span in a 3rd grade math classroom.

Allegiance and loyalty challenged, where growth is the only measuring rod… “Don’t you see me on this mountain?” You say. “Don’t you see this… rose?”

Mudslides and dirty petals. Scruffy lookin nerd herder blacker than the pot that mocked kettle. No reward is worth this…

But it is, my friend, it is.

There is no turned rose tail to tell of in this tale of a rose…

Dust yourself off, and look how far you’ve come.

Leash those emotions and tell them- it’s time to move on.

The Juvermeinx: The People With No Mouths

Your tongues are thick with their rhetoric… lips sewn shut by their targeted claims of bigotry… any thought you thought you once had is distilled through the mediocre philosophy of not offending or judging anybody.

Your burning desire to reduce conflict’s flame is erasing your humanity.

You gave given them permission to do ANYTHING.

They turn God to myth and make women out of our men. Females think they want to be males, tolerance is made to seem swell, but if gender gets completely deleted, psycho-emotional infantry will be mass deceased and the souls of this earth will be poisoned beneath the feet of a people who don’t know what being a person even really means.

And you’re so scared to be opposed by the big shots that you defend the ridiculous menacing vigorously. These degenerates generate religiously, using the very tactics of the Christians that crippled them initially.

Funny.

They needed to escape the manipulators of God’s name, so they could get away and express their deep struggle in a real way… and instead, they made their God their pain and their reality their struggle. They eliminated internal fight and replaced it with “normal.”  Is it really true that a few bad people have this much power over you? A few people who abused God’s truths can completely restructure your life for you? Must be, because you are now the few people forcing the many to capitulate to you.

So what are YOU going to do. Yeah you. With the thick tongue and mouth sewn shut.

It’s embarrassing to be part of a humanity that calls itself progressive when the protestors can’t speak up.

You need to do something before you’re wiped out. At least if you’re catching flak, that means you’re taking responsibility for being alive. Look at the history books- light has always had to struggle to survive. That’s why they don’t fight for their rightness, they fight for your silence.

It’s the key to our genocide.

-The Juvermeinx

Life of a Queen (Dear Maya Part II)

(Dear Maya Part I)

**

Dear Maya,

Your passing hasn’t become any easier.

Sometimes your expired life arises inside my mind and I feel deeply inclined to cry.

But I am working on moving past that. Not to forget you, but to blossom from you.

You are the butterfly who discovered angel wings mid-flight… The ray of glory from which the celestial beings receive their cue… You are the irreplaceable imprint of God’s thumbprint upon the DNA of humanity. Grandma Angelou, you are truly what it means to be inspiration.

I know we are not truly related, but Grandma is what you are to me.

I slipped and fell into deep ravines, and found out I had wolves at my back instead of sheep. I’m a lion by nature, so I bristle by trade, but true royalty doesn’t obliterate people, it pulls them back from the grave!

Oh what a friend we have… in Jesus.

Grandma Angelou I’m beginning to understand. Like the legendary rose in the concrete, I am beginning to grow. Like the orchard in a palace courtyard during spring, I am beginning… to flourish.

Your hand is upon my back.
Your voice giving shape to my throat.
Your heart teaching mine a new beat.

And your love… your love IS.

And I am a part of it.

Thank you…
I love you…
I am sad we never got to meet…
But grateful that we will.

Happy Birthday Grandma Angelou. :-)

Always Windy

The wind exists inside of me.

I can topple towers, I can uproot gardens, I can magically whisk imaginative girls to far away places.

The wind is neither predator nor prey.

It is a response. Every gust of rushing invisible power influenced by the shifting cosmos tilting the earth and reshuffling the cards across the board. Some days it feels remarkably tame, and other days it feels like unstained insanity, mentally under feet like wildebeests stampeding…

I killed Mufasa, but saved Simba.

Abandoned Vader, but empowered Luke.

The wind exists inside me, never to be conquered, vanquished, or stilled.

I am the wind.

I am intelligence.

I am creativity.

I am free.