Warrior

She looks as if she's about to stand. She looks around to make sure no one is watching. I quickly look away as not to discourage her. Slowly, she stands up and makes it to her feet. She wobbles- it's okay, she's steady. Looking down at her little toes, her facial expression turns to conviction. She's ready. With her arms out wide, like a plane ready for takeoff, she lifts her right foot off of the cool hardwood floor. First step. She looks nervous. Second step, she falls down. She doesn't cry, she just gets back up and begins to smile. She walks to me, slowly, wobbly, with a cheesy grin. With arms outstretched, I scoop her up. She gently yells, "Yay!" I concur. The true spirit of a fighter.

Proactive

Cry til I'm red in the face, hold my breath til I'm blue in the cheeks, but when it's all said and done, nothing's changed if I've done nothing to change it.

For Those Who (Don't) Know Me

How did I know you? I knew you before. But how? Maybe it’s just my inner strength that allows me to feel it more so than others. Maybe it’s the little girl inside of you that speaks to the little girl inside of me. But we cannot hear them, (they whisper). I have found those eyes before; your eyes that are not your own, your eyes which have seen more than they should have, or needed to. See, eyes remember, even when there is darkness. Eyes decipher even when the mind blocks out. But our eyes stared at each other- like they hadn’t seen each other in a long, long time. And I wondered how I knew you. How could you talk to me with such ease and I feel like I knew you before I ever knew you? It was your heart. I felt it beating next to mine. It felt heavy, your heart cried. Just like my heart cried. I saw the burden on your back. (Don’t you just want to get it off?) But that is why you talked to me because you knew me too. You just didn’t know from where. But we both thought that if we talked long enough, we would remember. I’d love to remember, even though it scares me (I’ll admit). Because I think we knew each other from a sad place; a place where they hurt us and we were afraid. That’s why we get along so easily, so freely, because somehow, we were there for one another, keeping each other strong- even when we felt like we wouldn’t make it. There’s not many of us that meet like this. It’s because we are afraid to look one another in the eyes. We’re afraid of seeing that little girl back there, all alone and afraid. We don’t want to remember. But I’ve found it’s not so bad to remember, especially if you have someone there with you, who’s been there and knows how it feels. So I know I know you. I just can’t remember from where. But just keep talking and I’ll keep listening, and I’ll keep talking, and you’ll keep listening, and sooner or later, we’ll have that “Ah, Ha!” moment and remember where we knew each other from. But it really is good seeing you again.

15

She grew up in house on 15th street and there was irony in that. Her parents were married, and got along pretty well when they weren’t belligerently drunk or intolerably high. They tried to be good parents during those times. So it was only natural that she and her older sister did as they pleased. They were never really good at confrontation, so they would often erupt in rage, as they saw their parents often do.
It just so happened to be a cool October evening when the social worker appeared at the door to take the girls away. She cried the first time, but never again. The foster homes were never cozy. The other children often teased her for her curly hair and dark skin. But mostly, she missed her sister. She missed the protection offered by her sister. So it only made sense that she ran away from foster care 15 times before they finally stopped looking for her. She was older now, her body just beginning to develop. Her best friend’s family allowed her to stay with them, but after having to wrestle Mr. Dad of Best Friend off of her almost every night, she left there too.
She looked for someone, anyone to love her- just a little bit. That’s how she met him when she was 15. He was good to her, as long as she was good to him. He gave her an STD, but more importantly, he gave her a baby. She was determined to love that baby. But as she held her in her arms for the very first time, she realized that she had no idea of how to love, or even what it meant. She became afraid, so she returned to the first place she knew as home, to the only mother she ever really had, seeking some type of advice on how to be a good mother. Her mother greeted her with a poilte smack upside the head for bringing another mouth to feed there. She didn’t cry, she only stood there, expressionless, feeling absolutely numb. And it was there that she discovered that her sister was in college- away, making a better life for herself and not ruining her life by having a baby so young. That was the first time she hated her sister. She hated her for leaving her all alone with them, she hated her for getting the chance to escape, and she hated her for not even bothering to tell her goodbye.
Some years later, she walked into the grocery store with her 3 children, all of whom were fussy and hungry. The other shoppers looked at her with disgust, looked at her children with dismay, and never even offered to help her pick up the cans of beans she accidently knocked over while trying to comfort one of the children. She heard one woman say, “Look at that girl with all of those babies. I bet she doesn’t even know who their fathers are.” The other woman shook her head as to be ashamed. She wanted to say to them, ” I do know who their fathers are, but most importantly, I know who my Father is.” But she kept quiet. She was accustomed to people judging her, like a worn book with a dirty cover. She was used to people believing that she chose her own life and had ruined it. But somewhere, between her last baby and her new job, she made a friend. Not just a friend, but a real friend. One who didn’t look at her like she was a mistake, one who never judged her for her shortcomings. Someone she could talk to about anything. And that friend taught her how to pray. She taught her what love felt like, so in turn, she was able to teach her own children how to love and be loved. It was a feeling she had never felt before.
Today, she’s somewhere around. You can find her in a grocery store, with her children in tow, at church on a Sunday morning, praising God for keeping her, at the park on a warm afternoon playing with her children, or even at 15th street, visiting her aging, but still too much the same, parents.
I see her everywhere. I became her friend a long time ago. But I too used to be like those women in the grocery store, looking with my eyes and not seeing with my heart. For to look is to gaze, but to see is to understand.

You, Just Like ME, Just Like You

Slowly... I begin to think of you- You who are just like me. The me, who I could've been if it weren't for... But no, I won't say it, because even it that were not true, I could've easily become just like you. And that is why my heart goes out to you. Because I know how it feels to be like you- to feel like nobody cares, nobody knows, they just judge you by what they see with their own clouded eyes and not what God sees with His heart. That's why when you talk to me I can feel your pain behind the soft, smiling exterior. When you look me in the eyes, I see the little girl trapped inside, desperate to escape. So what do I do? Because you are just like me, me who I could've been if I never learned how to cry, or how to be angry without rage, how to be frustrated and figure out why; if I never learned how to feel. You- the expert at numbing yourself so that when it all becomes too much, you explode, then you become me and feel a shitload of emotions, then you become yourself again because you don't know what to do with it all. So I take the pieces of you that I could've easily become and pray for those parts, more so than the others, and I accept you with a nonjudgmental heart. Because that's what God would do, and that's how it should be. Because I think, when I look into the mirror and see you, way back there, hiding behind my eyes, underneath my smile, and I remember that I could've so easily been you.
(Image by Picasso)

Insomnia

This is me lying awake in the middle of the night head full of thoughts running away from the bad ones creating fake ones that play out better in my head in hopes of falling asleep before I get the unwanted pleasure of watching the sun rise once again so here's to fake thoughts that slowly drift me to dreamland where nothing really matters and I don't exist because any thing's better than remembering that I'm here lying in bed in this dark room unable to sleep because my mind is full of restless thoughts and not even a prayer can ease my mind so I go to pretend just one more time until I fall... until I fall... fall asle... asl..............

Nel Wright

I feel like you. I go into that quiet space- trying, hoping, praying to escape all the noise. I feel just like you; waiting, wishing for a sign that will allow me to believe that I'm not going crazy and that all of everything is real. Because only if I scream, or cry, or yell or throw things or break things will it prove that I am sane because that is how sane people deal with pain. So I wait. And I wait for that little lump to form in my throat, for my stomach to start feeling all queasy, for any sign to prove my sanity. But neither tear, nor lump, nor bead of sweat ever comes. I remain calm, numb, even kill. Because I am just like you, Nel Wright. I am insane. I hit the hammer just on the top of the nail, right?

Emotional Ailments

I call it "emotional ailments." You know, the places that hurt when you're feeling... Just feeling. Like when you get nervous, how your stomach may get a little queasy, or when you're angry, your head starts to hurt. I get those emotional ailments often and they bother me something terrible. Headaches, backaches, dizziness, stomach cramps, what I have proclaimed to be mini heart palpitations- they keep me from being myself. And no medicine, no home remedy, no relaxation techniques can cure them. So me, I close my eyes really tight, get down on my knees, and recite Psalm 23 again and again and again until I can breathe, until I can untangle the thoughts that crowd my head, until I can push away the boulders of pressure weighing me down. And I question, where does it all come from? Where did it all begin? And still, I haven't a clue, well maybe I do... Emotional ailments. That's what I call them.

itallrunstogether

itallrunstogethersothereisnoreasonforpunctuationmythoughtsmydreamsmylifeallruntogetherforthecommoncauseofmiscommunicationifindthatnomatterwhoiamorwhoichoosetobethelikingsoverhumannaturewillcontinuetojudgemeisayfineyousaywhateveranditalldoesntmatterbecauseitallrunstogether

The Dream

I want to forget, want to remember, feel the pain, numb my senses, grow older and wiser, shrink inside of myself, cry a little less, laughter a little more, be more spontaneous, be less adventorous, know what I want, want something different, hide from myself, expose my thoughts to others, fall in love, all over again, and stay just there, until I fall in love again, eat pomegranates til there's no more juice, swim in the ocean til the waves take me under, ride a shooting star, make love on the moon, fly... Make my dreams a reality.

The Prayer - Amazing 7yr old Rhema Marvanne

9:11

9:11
irony in every second, in every number
heartbeat increasing, like I'm running from something
mind says, "run faster, run harder..."
heart can't keep up with my thoughts
out of breath so I drown
feels like I'm drowning in the air
under the covers
close my eyes
Ye though I walk through the valley...
YE THOUGH I WALK THROUGH THE VALLEY
all messed up inside
praying for relief
crying for release
needing a healing
so I call 9:11
open up to Luke 9:11
what's happening to me?
what has happened to me?

General Admission

I would never admit it, not in a million and one years, no way, not me, no how. But somehow, I am afraid of whatever it is that is happening to her. Every step, I notice, is different. Not as sturdy as the ones before and never, never as neat. I imagine that if she were pulled over by an officer to walk the "line of sobriety," she would most definitely be taken away, even though she hasn't had a drink in years. But I am slowly beginning to realize that I fear that disease which is taking over her system. I hate it for choosing her. Every step, every step now is different, and I pray that she doesn't fall over again. Because I am not always around to catch her, or to carry those items up and down the stairs for her because despite knowing, she is a proud woman, and she will try and fail before she will ask for help, sometimes. But that disease, I hate it. Because I never know when it will decide to take advantage of that woman whom I love so dearly. Sneaky, rotten illness that laughs as it sneaks up on her and causes her to break her beautiful things. It pushes her into hard items, bruising her delicate skin. And when she tries to fight it, it attacks her with a light sensitive migraine. Curse that disease. But I am still afraid, knowing that there is nothing yet that can be done to defeat it. For now, we can only slow down its hateful ways. Yet still, although her walk is a little more crooked and her balance often has to catch up with her, she never complains, although I can see that sadness in her eyes. She tells me, "This dreadful thing will never stop me because I have something that no doctor or medicine or money can conquer, and that's the grace of God." And that is where I get my strength. I love my mama.

Four Letter Word

(This is really old. I performed it live about 2 1/2 yrs ago, then did this recording about 1 1/2 years ago. However, still worthy of a viewing.)

All my Sins, Washed Away

TiCk ToCk

With every tick and every tock, I wonder if it's

lost forever.

If I am here and you are there, what time until

we are together?

Seconds to minutes, minutes to days,

Curse circumstances while giving praise.

A time to run, a time to deal;

Wishing time would just stand still.

Direction of Love

All confused and deceived by a mirage of what was supposed to love me
Turned inside out with no escape of what should have been real
Running towards the stretch of two hearts inclined to become one
Never getting closer, always running, body growing weary with pain
Sweat drenched sheets, tear stained cheeks, and it only gets worse
Suddenly, my knees grow weak from the continuous running
I fall to the concrete ground, soul bleeding, heart crying
I want to give up and never go after love again
Yet God reaches me just in time
He tells me that I have been running in the wrong direction all this time
Blinded by impostors only out to hurt me
Together, we turn around, hand in hand
And slowly, we walk in the direction of love

No Vacancy

Where is there room for lies when hurt and fear leave me with no vacancy? Where is there room for honesty when a thick smoke of deceit covers the air? I choke on its scent, gag at its intent, and suffocate slowly from its internal annihilation.

My Light in the Darkness

Staring into the darkness, at the edge of the water, I've never felt so small until moments like this. Away from all of the noise, escaping from my internal thunder, I surrender every piece of myself to His beautiful creation. Entering with no apprenhension, I'm reminded of the stubbornness of humankind; wanting to pull every which way except the direction of life's "waves". I chuckle. We can't control the ocean, yet we always try. God never intended for us to be so "anti-wave," lol. But here, I can feel Him all around me- from the sand between my toes to the breeze through my braids. There's nothing that I can fathom more beautiful than this moment, and I hope that when I read this years from today, I've captured it for the beauty that it's worth.