Fleeting

Why is it that I can’t suffer in silence?

A blade of grass has more strength than me, stepped on all the time, defecation in steaming streams…

But no tears. No screams.

Writing is the super ability God has given to me, but fear steals my presence from the gift in me

Terrified of sounding weak, or sustaining a lyrical breach, nobody will take me seriously if I don’t Sodom and Gomorrah all performances and always kill everything 

But the pressure sometimes feels like it’s breaking me

I keep looking around, expecting to see diamonds, but my handprints are opposites of Midas, I lift them up and whoops something else is dying

I keep winning at stuff I’m not trying at, but as soon as I give it my attention it runs away from me like a grade school crush to the other side of the class

Do you know what that’s like?

My mom is sun 

My dad is night 

I’m equipped to inhabit any environment, no child left behind, but I still can’t seem to get it right

Poetry is starting to feel like my only outlet, although no power’s coming out yet, she understands that I’m a complicated love, never threatens to make me her ex…

I feel like I missed the peak I never reached, all this power quivering to be unleashed, you should see me when I spazz out and get angry, there’s a glimpse of the indomitable titan that I can be… or once was… my career took off and exploded without me…

I’m just dancing in the shower of sparks the fireworks of my dreams left behind.

Sometimes I wanna call my cousin and share my complexities, but I always second guess it, because I never wanna disappoint or discourage her

I was supposed to be the strong one

I don’t get it

Now I’m Andre three thousand

The outcast sibling

This emotional well is endless, even when this verse is over it still hasn’t ended yet

I’m still questioning, is this poetry or the cadence to reader’s digest

Can you pinpoint the tip of a flickering candle?

That word just on the edge of your tongue?

That fond memory just out of reach?

If so, then maybe…

Just maybe…

You can see me.

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Insomnia

Parallax.

Paralytic vision converter verging on the edge of mended delusion. A rose softly dropping it’s three petals like a roll of silent thunder, because you lacked the  vantage to see the lingering fourth.

Passive aggressive in its active nature, every tree refuses to violate the horizon. Dawn rebels, tired of the earth’s cyclical self, shelving the responsibilities of time management and begrudgingly nudging forever off into eternity.

It’s a cosmic rip, like the moon harpooning your mama’s ceiling and doing lunar things to her while you are sleeping, it makes me sick.

The night sky is the eternal Judas.
The march of time is the wisest clueless.

And my contrite mind stays awake to tune in.

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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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.