4.12.2010

Written 12.8.06 - Untitled and unfinished

Ripped by lies, I fantasized, a heart beating soul, with a no pressure to go with a flow that was kept in my mind, yet I lost it… and hard was it to find… Broken by words that cursed the very tone deaf nerves, harbored slightly in my ear, until it appeared to have been ever-present to my eyes… I just… didn’t recognize… Stomped on by what I justified as tough love, a swirling ‘feeling’ that was supposed to have been sent from above, but for a whuuuut? A fleeting form of bliss something that was love? Smacked in the face with negativity, an unwritten rule of ‘constructive’ activity, that seemed to have plummeted my blood pumping heart with red, but instead… my heart laid on the floor dead. Ran over by the wheels of impatience, faintly heard in the distance, my cry weakened as you did this, and my voice I turned in to the

Written 4.4.07 - Untitled

*** I wrote this piece 4/4/2007, after reading over it again, I decided to share it in my blog. I don't think I let anyone read this... and now you can say that you are one of the firsts. Enjoy. *** I sit back and sat as the sand ran down, the everlasting impression of time, an hour glass, where the sand fell so fast, not to even notice the shine of the glass, glares reflectant from the sun that rose this morning, as the shades of the warm illuminating sun fell on the dawn of day, the creatures that lay, beneath comforters and throws of cotton sorts, laced with pretty fly bows, blocking the air from the cool flow, of breeze that seeps through the window, and sows, at my feet, a tickley feeling waking me up to see, a new morning. last night's mist seemed to have drenched me, as i slept, cuz i woke up and and my head full of sweat, the beat of my heart still races, from the dream that held faces, of the past present and future stages, of life ever yet to come through the phases, another day, another phase what more can a young weakened-yet-i'm-trying-my-best-to-be-who-i've-been-so-i-can-stay-true-to-myself female say, when the day, begins with the stench from yesterday, nonetheless another play, in her memory book to try and reduce the days drama to none, yet the cycle of everlasting i-have-to-do-this-i-have-to-do-that's never seize to have begun, and in a one, word phrase to climb and achieve what seems to be pullin asunder, the very pieces of my being and sanity under, the roots of my foundation – my goods dispersed for the plunder, I pick up the fragile pieces of me, grabbing for the very on embodiment of my being, I strive adamantly for the time with my sis-ters of accountability to feed me word because it says that where there are two or three there you are in the midst of thee, forsake me not, I did not plot, for my life to play the way that it did, with the scorned favor of an unmatched friend, a lifestyle of all I had known to come to an end, only to find the appearance of a new and harmonious one to begin, my life is still in sin, can anyone else compare? He without sin cast your first stone over there. Dare not assemble a weapon against me, none shall prosper with the protection of an army of three – trinity. The stares that look upon me and my life, whether they see the strife, the use of a verbal sword and knife, that still cuts deep into me, from the hollowed out heart that came to be, they still will not seize to think the worst of me, yet I could care less of what is seen, of what is spoken, of what is said, none of it will matter much after I am laid dead, enemy to none I assume they could care, less about a young female presented rare, amongst the vicious cycle and breed of ticks, sucking the littlest bit of representation that we have, to stand as minorities in a world of hav-oc, oppressor and stress-ers, come quickly laid with pressure, to answer the question, where do I stand? On the other side of the white line, where I stand few but proud to be part of the ‘other’ kind, that stands strong, proud and free of the stereotype, female minority I am and can be, without a societal heavy laiden reputation to be a nobody. Sand still runs down the glass, time still to pass, a movement needed to bring my sisters up… with the help of God, we stand ready for the fill of OUR cup.