Dear Maya Part III

(Dear Maya Part I)

(Dear Maya Part II)

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It’s been three years since we’ve spoken. Four years since you’ve… you know.

I’ve gotta say- love doesn’t work the way I thought it did. All my loved ones seem to have to suffered more from my affections than they’ve been healed by it. The family saga has a few broken lines that left some pages bent… In desperation for life, I forced a chapter in… but that’s not the way of salvation is it? That’s not how it works.

Whenever something is forced, it explodes as soon as you let up on the pressure…

Happy birthday Grandma Angelou. It’s not all darkness and regret. I’ve been practi-seeing the rainbow moonwalk through the clouds, the music hums when it doesn’t howl, I don’t have to quit. Just needed to upgrade my kit. My heart beats to the cadence of a different set and although the rhythm is unfamiliar and makes me shiver, it’s not bad. Every time I crack the snare, I get more healing.

It’s been three years since we’ve spoken. Four years since you’ve… you know.

You’d be so proud of your daughter- Auntie Oprah has dug her heels in as a world changer. Although nothing about her was ever plain like the main hangar, her walk in legacy makes her creativity unrestrained like blank paper! Some people still call her wayward- but the non way makers always have a wasteful way with words.

Poetry is a lifestyle.

Poetry is a gift.

The life is the gift which is the style…

Poetry is a slow dance with vulnerability.

Dear Grandma Angelou. It’s been three years since we’ve spoken. Four years since you’ve… you know.

In all honesty, I still feel like I’m a step behind everything I’m meant to be- but in due honor of your truth training, I’m not even close to giving up.

I still keep my head turned towards the light. ❤

Happy birthday Grandma Angelou.

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Holy Ground

As I pave the lane through my growing pains, I’ve noticed I walk differently now that my armor’s changed.

I’m a little more selective with who I expose my cracks and chinks to… a little more protective over the parts that still don’t work quite right.

My flaws are sacred.

Tongue is laden, not with seductive toxins drained from rose petals, but with the burden of bearing the shield of Goliath. There is no protection for the priests inside the tabernacle walls, they must guard themselves by what they speak, before they let anyone in at all-

And I’m the same.

So if I show you the holes in my magical perfection… the wounds where blood still leaks and hasn’t quite dried… know that I’m not interested in having to defend myself against you. Rather, I have begun the true hero’s journey of discovering what it means…

To trust you.

Frozen

I can feel the ice beneath my feet. This mountain peak tastes like the first time I ever had Christmas dinner with someone else’s family. Heels slip and my toe sinks into a frosty puddle of regret that sets me shivering.

Getting weak at the knees. 

Who knew freedom from you meant loneliness with me. 

I scream from between the falling trees of Mount Everest’s seams and I know it made a sound… there’s just nobody around to tell me what it means. I’m like the smartest person in the world- all out of degrees- but it is the two who are better than one, for when they lie down, they have heat.

Where do I climb to next, when jumping would be my greatest delight? Or maybe not. Beneath this thermal underwear is a suit of armor I built from lightning… protecting the deepest scar I ever got of being abandoned by someone I always thought would be right beside me.

I’ve been squinting into the wind chill, Jesus swag, for so long, I can’t always tell when my hallucinations are generating mirages anymore.

Are you real?

Are you just like me?

Or are you too much like me.

The rain becomes my company and the sleet my faithful lover. They never speak. They never understand a word I say. Flicks of crystallized isolation discarded from the sky coat the gnarled speed bumps along my tongue… entomb rivers of affection in glaciers at the back of my throat…

I have a friend who once told me that I’m a hopeless romantic-

Which isn’t romantic at all.

Just hopeless.

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River’s Choice

The river used to flow for me.

Tired and worn down, lips cracked with the merciless blood leaks of ambition… the dry riverbed would flow for me. Would grace me with the refreshing honor of parching my thirst and revitalizing my skin.

My invitation was open ended like the fat man’s appetite, never rescinded like glory in the afterlife, I would often make my way there after night. Hidden in shadow but spied by the discretion governed pale eye of the moon. Under cover of light and darkness I would whisper the gray of my heart out and the river would flow for me. Into my mouth, over my brain, through my eyes, across my back…

I was never ashamed to be broken because I knew the river’s affection for me began in eternity and continued on into forever.

Very often it was the weight of identity in my mind which drove me to my knees in defeat… needing the coolness of the river, but forcing myself to endure the heat. Desert sand began to define me like a dictionary written in braille with seashells in hand. I couldn’t see well enough to stand. Burden bigger than the sea whale Hancock threw off the land.

I collapsed at the river for healing again…

But that day my awareness of my neediness and spoiled gain played against me…

The river doesn’t flow for me anymore.

Chance Encounter

My mind is a maze of brainless cutaways.

Alternative alleyways of alleviating allocations. Always allowing a little leeway out of the situation. Alluringly elusive, what chance had I until now.

Touchdown.

I caught your eye in the middle of a thick crowd. You co-signed my hand sign and before we could question the equal sign, there we were making math. Adam and Eve wrapped in an animate dance while the animals watched in a trance.

Suddenly our breathing became saiyan vapors on a cloudy night. Backed by black, there rebelled the misty whisps of white. Taking a step back, shoulders still in class forming right angles like parallelograms, the question hung between us.

One step further and math wouldn’t be the only problem. One full explosion and there’d be no one left to solve it.

Beams glare, shining off of a reflective mirror. It seems there is air that’s clean here. Twenty thousand feet above Asgardian sea level. Flying high like a mountain soaring on the back of Aslan’s racing stripes, primate delight, I’m going ape with hype, this has been a close encounter of the strange kind, lowkey.

And now we’re back in line at the diner.

I open my mouth to place my order, then I smile at her. Her eyes twinkle with a knowing gleam. My hand shoves deep into my pocket, burying my phone in a grave of deadened ambition.

We’ve been down this road before.
Almost didn’t survive.
It’s a violation to receive a second chance twice.

We nodded slowly at each other.

I made my way to my table.

She rang many customers and I ate a lot of food. After the fifth refill of my drink I was like that one aunt we all have… bursting at the seams. I paid and tipped my cap to the fair lady. She smiled the fantasy I would never live. Some stories just aren’t meant to be told or revisited.

With the air of the President, I whooshed through the door without looking back.

And never…
Saw her…
Again.

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