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. ūüôā


Dear Maya


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.


It was to the queen that I turned to when the tide rose.  Accustomed to the bland kings and their drab prose I poked my nose in the direction of sympathetic winds and unlikely hypotheticals.

To the queen.

“Not I,” she said ever so gently. ¬†“Not I. Not today. For it is not my time, and this is not time’s way.” Of course I knew what she meant. ¬†I was a man and it was to men that I was heaven sent, but men are so stupid when you need something real- visceral miserable amidst this system nonsensical. ¬†And now nobody understands what I’m saying.

Let me try again.

To the queen I turned… and she gently turned me away… To the ground my eyes burned… but it too pushed me away…

So I cried to my God. “Lord… please fix this.” ¬†I’m still not quite sure if He listened, but my interactions within the ranks of my own gender have been laced with more tolerance. I don’t write people off as quick. ¬†I don’t sneer my nose at the perceived lack of intelligence. ¬†I work hard to give the gift I was given.


The ultimate source of inspiration.

My Idea

We all know how this goes.

The rose flows its petals upon the worthy, and the rest of us minorities reap the thorns.  Minorly lamenting in a minor key, our hearts skip a beat, throwing off the rhythm of our internal equilibrium.

What does life look like when peace was never an option…?

Star Wars sky stalking, walking the length of dreams jettisoned into space, following a hyperlink to someone else’s page, and envying their life.¬† It’s like, we’re locked in a closet, and the cracks along the edges of the door are our only connection to outside.¬† That’s not life- that’s survival.¬† Previously considered the fittest, because I fit in, but now my accomplishments are full of buts like old trousers with split ends…

This is not the me I had in mind to become.

Instead of feet gleaming in splendor, my shoes have holes in em.¬† In place of my swirling purple¬†robes, and gilded royal attire, I’m in last week’s undershirt and jeans from five years ago.¬† And my crown… my crown¬†has been replaced with a tangled encampment of warring hair strands that in¬†no way resembles dignity.

I was dream destined to be a king, and now my inner vision of me matches my outer reality- pauper.¬† An expendable pawn in the poverty paved arena of a capitalistic society.¬†My idea of me rendered my identity a casualty… because I no longer wanted to be me.

… but what if- what if that idea changed?¬† If the rain became a parade, and I saw light even in the¬†dark?¬† If my view of myself wasn’t dwindling flame, but kindling spark?¬† Healing remarks… what might happen?¬† If my¬†less was simply the prelude to more, strokes across a vast sea¬†of purpose that I was incapable of truly comprehending, but had the conscious choice to either continue surrendering to¬†or swimming through… A bruise is a reminder that I can endure pain, and a broken leg teaches me that I make what I am- incessantly able,¬†even with¬†a cane.

Scared.¬† Nervous.¬† Hesitant.¬† Concerned that I’m absolutely out of my mind.

Humanity embraces the human concept because it is ordinary, but what if I had found a different kind?  The truly evolved, not from King Kong to King James, but from unstable to internally amazed!  Eternally in faith!  A poem without metaphor or shine to it, just the expression of truth as I have discovered it today!

All birthed from an idea…

Change the idea of myself, and change becomes an idea- a force I can manipulate for my ultimate gain.

This,¬†is¬†my light bulb moment as I sit pondering, homeless, on a corner…

This, is my revolutionary inspiration…

This is me… in more ways than one- My new¬†idea.

World Changer

My whisper carries the power of a gale force hurricane… With my very words I can either incite, or be still, the rain.¬† With the things that I say, I can create a whole day, bake it fresh like an apple pie, look nice – Olay!¬† Or I can kill it… and lay it in the grave.¬† Rot every second with my cavities of negativity, and generate life decay…¬† My normal voice stirs a noise so violent, that it erupts into tornadoes halfway around the world.¬† My words, like missiles, are everywhere like thistles, and wherever someone bristles, the force of my verbs screams like a police chief whistle.¬† My shout… Ah you don’t want to hear my shout.¬† I crash mountains into the ground.¬† I get too loud for sound.¬† The splendor of my candor out-glorifies the most glamorous crown…. Watch out.

My slight inklings alter the very fabric of reality.¬† From simply having a minor fraction of thought on the tiniest subject, I have introduced the power of my mind into the earth.¬† My intuition is a sledgehammer.¬† My daydreams, a club and mace… A fully formed thought in my head, indicates dread, for whatever exists in this realm as its opposite, because it must opt to sit, in my presence because I never quit.¬† I am literally dangerous.¬† The conscious stream of cohesive thought known as imagination takes me out of this world and places me on my Heavenly throne.¬† The raw potency of my unfurled imagination prevents me from making the earth my home.¬† I’m gone.¬† Beyond space.¬† Beyond taste.¬† Beyond hate.¬† My imagination creates a continuum where the ethereal dictates, and the foundations of the earth shake, and God smiles because I’ve tapped into my inherited ability to create – If you’re looking for me… I’m in that place.

The longer I live, the more I find this to be true… I don’t ever need to brag – merely tell the truth.¬† The truth will get in, and weed out, polish and leave a nice seal, and change me for the better when it comes out my mouth.¬† Reality is really the realness you really allow yourself to partake in… It is a flowing river connecting all men.¬† Dip in.¬† Surrender.¬† … How can real be real if I gotta keep faking…? ¬† A cup full of reality in an ocean full of fake, is about as effective as trying to raise the water levels by spitting into a lake.¬† Work?¬† It cain’t.¬† Behave.¬† Obey.¬† Push beyond your limitations, accept you for you, know you for you, and live in nothing but love and truth… Try something else, and I guarantee you will always come back to those two.¬† In other words… To thine own self be true… In all that you do.¬† Think about it.

… I am changing the world.


~The Wordsmith