Growth

I have been very delinquent with my blogging lately but I am ok with that;  sometimes we need to be free from doing the little things in life in order to appreciate the presence of the big things and the same applies to forgetting the big things  in order to truly see the beauty of our tiniest blessings.

 The year is a few months from its end  and i sit reflecting on where i am and where Ive been this last year and to some extent i am proud ... proud of brokenness and my ability to rise above it all , my growth  but i am most proud of my  spiritual step and my growth. 

As we approach the end of yet another year i embrace the words i have been lost in , how they affected my existence and look forward to what they and their many friends will do in the years to come. My word for the year so far has been failure
 

I love the fact that the word failure doesn't speak to a finality of sorts but to the opportunity to try again. After all that's what's most important ones ability to get up dust the dirt of your shoes and dare to walk a mile further.

Blank

Having replayed some past conversations over and over in my head looking for rationality, all I've been able to come up with is a sense of nothingness, an inability to conjure true thought.  So here I struggle to break free from the prison walls of writers block  influenced by everything and nothing...somebody and nobody; and so i keep fighting for freedom. 

They thundered from his lips, cementing the coming event, breathing life into what was once a meaningless painting.

Now the plant grows, with roots buried deep within the earth,

 branches swaying to and fro revealing what was once the figment of imagination

 hidden under leaves of disgust and distrust.

‘There’s no place like home’ I keep clicking my heels

 willing my mind to keep me from the presence

of being at the foot mother’s willow tree.

Deafening silence lends to an air of desolation;

on the surface I am the Sahara desert, tumble weeds are my thoughts

rolling aimlessly across dry heated sand.

 Martian-the nationality of my mind; dry….its life giving fluid having dried up eons ago, no

scholastic mind can aid in correction.

Transformed into a painting …abstract i become,

 no definitive form…, confusing colors , bold lines,

black and blue dots jumbled to tell no story …..

but many stories at once.

As the ballad of mother’s willow tree bellows through the air,

‘there’ no place like home’, ‘there’s no place like home’…

clicking my heels I will my mind from the desolation

of stories never told.

Hidden

It hurt to be looked at with  desire and admiration but know that the look belongs to someone else;so there you are being evaluated for what's on the surface without a second thought  or genuine need to know what's hidden underneath the smiles and make up and silk ties.

There are so many of us both men and women who've been doing it for so long that it has become the new norm in our lives,  that we've lost true sight of who we are and what we want for ourselves. Some stay in these situations knowing deep down in their hearts of hearts that they will never be looked at with true admiration nor will they ever belong to that person, that youth group, that clique of friends and even if on the surface you seem to be there on the inside you are truly on the outside looking in.

The only time you are truly honest with " self" is when the world goes still and silence communicates the message of truth your words are too scared to carry and so you continue to live the lie .....the life society dictates, selling your self short and short changing the quality of life you should have - shattering yourself .

My hair hides my eyes as I look at you

My tears as I cry for you

My fears as I wonder is it her or is it...me?

Me hallucinating

Me facilitating a mental for

Cultivating the crop of stupidity?

My hair hides my eyes as I stare at you , looking blankly

Looking at me but looking at her

But looking at her but looking through me.

My hair hides my eyes looking at you looking blankly.

"What's up?" You said, like I was your buddy.....

My hair hides my fears as I look emotionless

But with emotions

As they unfold and refold

And tell of stories once untold

My hair hides my eyes the windows to my soul

My hair hides my tears as they flow

But don't flow...but wonder-

Wasn't I woman enough? Didn't I love you enough?

Wasn't I strong enough?

For you....for me...for us?

 My hair hides me from you but too from.....us.

My hair hides my eyes

Hides my truth

The anger of my heart, the anguish of my soul

My hair hides my eyes

From those who would see the true and shattered me

My hair hides me from you.

The One

I am nobody's  eighty or twenty percent, I'm a hundred percent and then some all the way. I refuse to settle for anything but the best and will not go to standards beneath me in order to have the allure of fake diamonds.

There are times when we become guilty of  doing the things we ought not to and of  compromising our standards in order to fit in. Being different and  standing for something instead of falling for everything can be so very difficult because it makes you stick out like a sore thump. But the rule and not the exception is that being different isn't a bad thing especially when being different populates good morals.

The most powerful and influential  people in the world known to man all chose to be different. Today, i dare someone to be different - i dare a teenage girl or young woman to say this is who i am and these are the standards i will not let go of , i dare someone to say i am proud and happy to be different, today i dare a woman to say I am 100% and then some and its your loss if you cant see that.

Today I dare you......

I’m not gonna be the one batting my eye lashes at you
Or the one making the homeboys whistle …'sweet honey' come through
But I’m gonna be the one who will always be true to you
Looking you dead in the eyes saying get down on your knees and pray boo.

Who while you sleep will watch over you and pray
Asking our savior to wash our sins away
Who will tell you when you are wrong and support you when you are right
Who will allow you to lead like a man
Without putting up a feminist’s fight

I’m not gonna be the one reveling in the streets
Apart of a competition of showcasing my butt cheeks
Or one of the many getting high on everything in life
From Soca Jouvert parties to dancer’s Friday nights.

But I’ll be in the temple bowed humbly before God,
Whispering my prayers and singing worship songs
Making the preparations to walk through his heavenly gates
And knowing he created you
And so for you …
I’ll wait

 

Celebrating Now

As I chatted to a friend on BBM the other day, I happened to stumble upon a picture that took me back to a  time of deep emotional asperity when I prayed for a certain level of memory loss; wanting only to remember  the happy moments – when the life I lived then, seemed whole – without cracks or other flaws.

And as I tried to force the memories back into the little black box I have now labeled their home, I listened to the love songs playing in the back ground, watching as each note floated by carrying their own message of love , pain, separation, trust and betrayal. 

The Smile doesn’t appear on my lips and the tear drops no longer leave light brown balls to run down my cheeks; slowing as they move over the speed bumps created by pimples, nor do they disappear into the craters of open pours before they fall unto my lap…. I am healing slowly in an unfamiliar way; and at that I can smile with my heart. 

We often fail to realize that the four seasons of the year are represented in our everyday lives, by those with whom we associate, fall in love, go to school, work or even live with. They have purpose (sometimes they are unaware of it) and they are only present for a season rolling along like tumble weeds at the end of their tenure… the only difference with the seasons of the year and those of our lives is that those of our lives may have an extended period.

Colours blend on delicate wings,

Pinks mixing with greens,

Oranges…delicate crimsons

Soft as a powder puff’s kiss

Beautifully arrayed like the setting sun’s sky.

Wings flutter, moving from flower to flower

intoxicated by the nectar that flows.

The sun smiles as we throw kisses at the rain

watching it give birth to greater beauty

with each droplet of water.

Northern lights play happily across the sky

And as dew makes love to every blade of grass

She revels in the mud of his glory

Celebrating their union

Knowing that of this moment alone- they are sure.

With each step you take in each day you are blessed to live, live in the moment- celebrating that minute, that second, that opportunity; to laugh out loud or giggle like a school girl, to scream at the top of your voice in exasperation, or to cry with joy or sadness appreciating each act of kindness from a stranger, each emotion felt and shared. Celebrating each moment as it is experienced lavishing only in that space and that time knowing that it will only come once.

Continuous Evolution

Walking home a few days ago I was so consumed by a sense of peace and joy that I could hardly stop smiling, and as I laughed to myself I took in the beauty of my surroundings amazed by just how lucky I was to at that moment be able to live and see and feel all I was.

I felt so care free - like I did as a child without the responsibilities associated with adulthood, like I was six years old again. I thought of the many changes that had taken place within me and changes I was still experiencing; spiritually, emotionally, physically and most importantly my creative growth.

How and what I write has changed, interestingly words have taken on a new form of awesome power. They awaken my creative senses and I approach them lustfully, wanting to possess and be possessed by them by -my words. My new found past time is decoding each word I use , finding different ways to describe one thing , one action , one  emotion with only one word .

So as my world changes so do I but my words don’t necessarily change I would want to think that they acquire new power …new purpose.

An ovary bountiful and filled …..

Filled with ova;

Ova- of ideas, thoughts…dreams of purpose

Filled and bursting

Moving rapidly -----Rushing

Rushing through the fallopian tubes

Gushing into the waiting uterus

Sheltered and warm is my uterine home

Incubated there;

I develop and grow

From embryo to fetus I am coming into being

Into my words….

My thoughts

My dreams

As lazy limbs awaken

I turn and stretch …

Pushing against stomach wall

Against skin, against flesh.

Rhythmic sounds alert me of the coming light,

And as my pen touches paper

I’ve been given sight

Our Words

I have been agonizing since my last blog, what should I write about next and how do I apply it to words and their power – that seems a little  much as we are words. How do I keep myself in the forefront of the minds of my readers who understand what I have written? And even more so how do I make people understand my interpretation of words and their meanings given the situation and  just how important a role they play in our daily lives. 

Our entire existence is built upon words- it’s how we express our emotions , it is how we share our lives; and even if one is impaired words still play an important part in the process of communication; even when there is no sound materializing from the vocal cords. As a matter of fact written words carry a different sort of punch as they become real as ink flows from the pen translating the emotions of the writer and giving them life on paper. 

There is a little saying that goes like this- sticks and stones may break my bones but words cannot hurt me. If you have ever been told that, that is a lie maybe the biggest lie you have ever been told in your life. Try to remember the last time someone spoke to you quite harshly their words must have hit like a hurricane, coming at you with full force. In contrast when spoken to in a loving manner regardless of the situation those words uplift or cushion the blows of the speaker.  

Words can assist in building you up or breaking your spirit; they boost your confidence or shatter your dreams. They breathe life or speak death. So what is the power of your words? I know the power of mine. Most importantly I know that I have the power to give my words meaning therefore determining their true power.  

As I go through this life that I have been blessed with, I try to ensure that for the most part (as I am not always in total control of my emotions- which will most likely determine how my words are used) ,  my words speak powerfully  and positively and that when the ink from my pen gives life to my words they speak truthfully of who I am and what I stand for.   

So here’s to the true power of words-cheers .

The Power of Words

All I've ever known to do without needing approval from anyone – not society, not parents or peers… not ANYONE was to write. .Writing allows me to truly face myself - how I'm feeling, what I’m feeling and how to deal with the curve balls I’m thrown or the unexpected twists this life has to offer

Funny, how though i didn’t need anyone’s permission to write or their approval for that matter- I kept it a secret for years.  Not all things in life should be kept to one’s self – some things are worth sharing because in sharing you may just leave an indelible mark on someone else's life.

So welcome to my journey with words, embracing their power and reveling in their bliss… enjoy.

The Power of Words

They come at you like a ton of bricks

crushing you like an ant under a marching soldier’s boot

or as soft and gentle as the hands of a mother

as she cradles her baby

while it suckles her breast.

They force you to see yourself without looking in a mirror,

faults becoming so clear that the you,

you knew hides like a shadow

after the sun has said good bye to another day,

intimately kissing the horizon.

Furiously they scream, red faced.

Steam pouring out, like that of a whistling kettle.

Reprimands and chastisements without ever lifting the belt.

Angry words are far worse than ‘angry birds’

they populate hatred and deceit,

they give life to betrayal and pain –

they flutter like butterflies and their sting …hmmm

that sting sometimes takes years to heal.

Or their soft whispers

tell of secret hiding places, where fairies live

frolicking in his majesty’s

glorious sunshine.

Words help to paint the picture of society’s salad bowl

how different each component is but

how very important a role each plays,

with melody

they become the songs that help

create an environment of

infatuation or love.

They tell of happy days lounging by the sea

feeling the wind kiss your skin

or describing the sand’s exfoliation of your toes.

They tell of your broken heart

mourning sorrowfully.

Words speak to your spirit and makes love to your soul

leaving you with a

new understanding of you.