13

My childhood fantasy

Was to be a super hero

I remember praying to God one day

Promising to do my best to save the world

To never turn to evil

And to fight for goodness with every moment of my life.

I was ten.

13-ballThree years later I had the same dream

Had the same prayer

And it honestly seems like, I never really aged.

I still wish I had super powers

So I could make a real difference in this world

Perhaps that is why I always feel less than able

It’s hard to consistently and skillfully produce

When you’re satiated with “if onlys” and being ungrateful!

But wait a minute. I’m not a kid. Let’s examine the evidence.

13 made me wishful, but 25 made me capable.

I still cannot fly

But my words and smile take people to far away lands

I cannot move objects with my mind

But I can move souls with my hands

I cannot use the Force

But I can call upon the limitless power of hope

I cannot teleport

But there is no place on the globe that my prayers cannot reach

I can’t run at super speed

But I can be at the side of my neighbor in an eye blink

I still lack x-ray and telescopic vision…

But I can see God everywhere, in everyone and everything.

Hm.

Do not despair younger me

The Lord has answered our prayers after all.

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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 have 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. 🙂

Unlimited

There’s a hero in there… somewhere.

I know this because I can’t sleep without dreaming of people I want to inspire and I can’t be awake without seeing maxed out potential all around me. Sometimes I feel like lost poetry in motion, emotionally charging for creative assault and battery. I feel the coursing rivers of a curious strength in me, but the clouds across my mind have me feeling like my undiscovered gifts are a hidden disease.

I’m not aiming to please, but it feels like I missed the mark. If I don’t stop it quickly the ghostly burden of failure before enduring will drive me to my knees. There’s a hero inside me somewhere, but I feel like my super powers are super used to stay super sane. The picture of mediocrity in a different frame. Measurable discord in the membrane…

But in the quiet moments of my thinking… that hallowed space between one thought and the next… a mighty force deep in my soul crackles with power and vision. The voice of God pours through and I’m reminded that the battle isn’t the fight- it’s the perseverance. What? Easy to say for You Almighty God! You don’t have to deal with the doubt in my thoughts… you don’t have the burden of being blessed with something so incredible that you don’t really have words for it…

I say there’s a hero somewhere inside me, but I’m not sure I’ve earned it… the right to use that word. But then again- how can you earn the right to something you were born with? I didn’t choose this- creativity, vision, hope- I woke up with it.

It’s me.

There’s not a hero somewhere deep inside afterall… because the hero is me already.

Dear Maya

image

Dear Maya…

It pains me we never met. It was an ordinary Wednesday, til I caught wind of your death, now I’m distressed- fingers running through my hair and getting lost like broken barretts. I would never claim to be your greatest fan, but the breeze that blew through your cage as you sang, carried your scent of greatness through time and space over to me.  It was like a seed of your love DNA was reframed and painted an awkardly strange yet desirable portrait in me.  The only thing I wanted to be… was your grandson.

Not in the legal, social sense, but in that special way that sometimes happens between two people… You see, I had this fantasy- and in it… I would walk up to you. Hesitant. You would smile. I would smile back. Then you’d take my hand and I’d cover it with my other one. We would look deep into each other’s eyes and see the kindred light shining the Morse code of the poetic mind in flashes of brightness that out shined the sun and made it look like tire rubber. And then, before any words were spoken, we would just… know. I became your grandson; And you became my grandmother.

The next words will probably make people scoff at me, but the pain of your passing is the anesthetic protecting me… I never read any of your books, never memorized your classic pieces, but I was fascinated by you as a person and how you taught the believers about believin. Truth be told, in every interview and recording I never saw you as old, but as living poetry. Every word, every breath, every phrase, every inflection of imparted wisdom, was literary excellence dipped and baptized in the Heavenly Nile- I fell in love with love off of your FREESTYLE!!

But now… like a confused caterpillar trying to get out of its shell, my heart is cracked with grief. Trying to rake away the sentiment that everybody leaves right when I need the strength to stay free. I don’t know where they store the tools to shift heart gears, but when I read that you died I shed real tears… I’m not a snail in a shell, I’m a caterpillar in a broken cocoon… but I’m not sure what’s coming through. Can’t tell if it’s a butterfly or something underdeveloped… I was hoping that one day you would tell me.

Dear Maya… I love you. I never met you, but I love you… that’s what your legacy is all about isn’t it? Love. And purpose. To cradle in your arms a lost and aching generation and tell them it’s okay to walk in your footsteps, as long as we yield control of the road to God and how He paves it.  Your words… your heart… your spirit… were aMAZING… I’m praying to be like you- the hero I loved. Which is probably why this hurts so badly. I would gladly trade any of my successes for seconds to look you in the eye and tell you…

I love you Grandma Angelou.