YOUR WORDS

 

Are your words like fire spit in my face to burn

Or are they like rain to quench my thirst? 

My need for softness to soothe to heal the dry places-

Will your words pierce my flesh boring holes to my core?

Tell me? Use your inside voice to reach my heart…

Are your words ignited by the flame of desire?

Or are they cold like ice making it easy to turn your back

Leaving me Misery’s company.

The name you spit in my face is not the one

Given at birth yet you swear it belongs to me

Because you say so.

Speak to me from your heart…your inside voice.

Your words reflect you, don’t they?

Each syllable reflects your character-

The gut and realness that is you…not me!

Speak to me in you inside voice…you came 

Under false pretenses to be my beloved.

Yet, your words breathed from a dark place

Scorch and burn and leave a scar where my heart once yearned for you.

Use your Inside voice and write your goodbye’s so-longs 

and make your departure as I stay here to erase 

the essay you have written in my blood. 

My need for softness out weighs your presence

Go and never return…For your inside voice is 

Raspy and off -key, rough and dry…maybe

Next time your words will sing sweet music

Written just for me just to say, “I love you.”

Fearlessly approach me even though my ear may not

Be willing to listen and be willing to speak knowing that

Your return is too late! But speak…with your inside voice

Because you simply had…something…to say!

Photo credit: Kristina Flour for Unsplash

SHE SINGS

She saw the mike. It beckoned her. She climbed the two steps and stood flat-footed, center stage and nodded ever so slightly. Her voice was like magic.

The crowd below waited in knowing expectation. She closed her eyes in a moment of prayer. 

She smiled as she turned to the band. She was ready. Her assignment was clear. Composed, transposed, deported to a place that only the Songstress knew existed. 

She sang of glory; she sang of power!

She sang hallelujah and joy!

She sang of jazz and nights at the

Cotton Club that lived in stories told

And re-told, passed down through time.

Her voice was like honey.

She sang of glory and hallelujah.

Praising the Giver of the Gift.

Her beauty dwarfed only by her voice.

She sang of blues and strange fruit,

Of how her pain had been 

Overcome by joy.

I felt chosen to sit, front row center

to witness the arrival of an angel

From heaven.

She sang jazz and I swore it was gospel,

Told stories of the movement

Of sorrow, and rising

from the dust.

Telling stories wrapped in notes.

Painting pictures with the power

to heal broken hearts.

Her voice was raw, and smooth.

My worries, and tears vanished.

 I sat mesmerized.

The music of a million ages were

held in her bosom.

She sang mending wounds with her voice

feeding souls with each note.

She sang

The lady sang

The blues

And salvation

She sang!

Of overcoming

Pain

Rejection

Brokenness

She sang

And told us

That Jesus cares

He loves

She sang...she sang...

Glory hallelujah...

SHE SANNNNG!

Photo credit: Josh Rocklage for Unsplash

I STOOD

 

I stood.

I stomped.

Hard then harder

The ground crumbled beneath my feet.

I saw the frowns on faces

as they watched with confusion.

Assuming my rant was

A temper tantrum. I chuckled.

How dare she pitch a fit

She ought to be grateful being

Allowed to exist.

But it wasn’t a tantrum or a fit.

I encouraged the onlookers to look again.

I stomped and stomped even harder. 

The walls shook too!

Making gold took work and pressure.

But oh, my it was worth it! 

I was worth it!

When God made me, He gathered and pressed

dirt and crumbs; things that others saw as worthless.

Pressing, pressure molding and shaping!

I look in the mirror and belly laugh!

I know that the moles, and bumps,

The lumps and folds mixed with a touch of melanin,

were on purpose! That purpose made me on purpose!

Like fine wine can only be handled in small sips

No one can afford to get drunk off my essence,

because I’m meant to change lives,

but I must change me first.

So, bring your glasses and your curiosity. 

Sit awhile and dine with me as I prepare

a feast and as we dance until dawn

God will be the honored guest and

Praise will be the admission!

Photo credit: Muillu for Unsplash

THANK YOU!

I thought so little of myself that I let you trespass.

Walking carelessly through the places marked, ‘sacred.’

It was easy for you; you’d done it before in other places.

I endured the pain silently; thought it was what

I was supposed to do in the name of proving myself worthy.

You didn’t see the hurt in my eyes or the pain in my tears

Because I was being strong and patient, waiting

for you to turn and see me!

Eventually you did as you wiped my heart from your

feet and packed your things to leave.

I wasn’t the woman you once fell in love with, you said.

I’d changed, and you no longer recognized me.  

I could swear I saw a tear as you told me how you

dreamt I’d be your queen, but I’d failed the test and,

so, you needed to move on.

I watched as you packed your bags and then your car.

Standing at the door I wondered if you’d at least wave goodbye.

You didn’t you were in a hurry, and she was waiting impatiently.

Her jaw dropped as she noticed our similarities and the confidence left her eyes.

I mouthed two simple words as she continued to stare and with a smile I said,

“Thank you.”

Photo Credit: Bakir Custovic

THERE IS BEAUTY IN MY SCARS (LONG STORY SHORT SERIES)

 

“There is beauty in my scars,” she said, a woman who’d done battle in wars waged against her. She didn’t deserve them, and didn’t ask for them, but she'd faced down warriors ten times her size and won.

Now, she’s facing a world who still thinks it can try her and wear her down, and it will pay dearly for its foolishness. Her wounds are healing, some covered with discolored skin. Yet her scars are medals of valor and honor and purple hearts; her silence does not mean weakness. It means she is taking notes and strategizing knowing that the best battles are won in silence.

“There is beauty in my scars,” she repeated, and there is beauty in yours too! I’m not the only one who’s done battle, you have too! I know pride can hold you in denial but you’re missing the beauty and the blessing. It’s okay to cry and wonder why me; no shame in those tears my sister, absolutely none.

Tears, and scars, lies, and questions why, while life goes on and so does the battle. I am a woman, old, new, and dealing with the consequences of both. I hurt and pretend that I don’t, I struggle with balance as I navigate and participate in my own renewal. But I am here.

No more apologies for the space and the air that I occupy, and I accept that life will bring sorrow and joy, and it will leave wounds and scars and it’s okay because, there is beauty in my scars. God made me and he sees me, and each scar is simply a brushstroke and an image of his handprint, that says, I’ve been kissed and loved by the very One who made me.

“Yes, there is beauty in my scars! Lord, I thank YOU for the scars!” Hallelujah and AMEN!

Photo credit: Actionvance for Unsplash

I AM THE ONE

 

I am the one you dreamt of and when you became a man, I am the one you prayed for.

Your pleas to the Lord spoke me into existence and I am here.

Every king desires a queen but what will he do when she comes?

I am the one conceived and birthed from my mother’s womb to birth your future.

Why do you look at me and not know me? How can you see the promise and run?

Every king must be fearless willing to do battle for what is his!

I am the one who has loved you, waited for you and cried when you called me by another’s name. I want to come home to that place in your heart that has never been lived in.

My king would receive me with open arms and a smile.

You are the One that belongs to me ordained and created but will you accept the gift?

Don’t you remember the pleas and the prayers? God heard, and he answered.

Where is your courage and where is your sword?

The demons are waiting to be slaughtered for they too need a king.

I stand before you, arms open with a smile, and you know who I am.

I am the One, a manifestation of your dreams and your prayers.

I beseech you to take my hand, greet me with a smile and welcome me home!

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GROWING OLD

Looking at the world with yesterday’s eyes

while the mirror advocates for the present.

Bones engaged in idle chatter stating their case 

for caution.

Knowledge, like stones around my neck.

Minds and ears closed to what I have to say.

The snickers of onlookers set the cadence

for their feet marking their future path

like it or not.

Curly nappy hair my crown

Deep chocolate skin not so bad after all.

Existence validated by itself.

Running weathered, boney fingers

through my glory I remember the past

 or was it just a dream?

The future and present now melded as one.

All that I ever wanted and did not receive

I now know I did not need.

Blissfully content with the wisdom of age

Fear, where is thy grip? I am what I am and 

that’s just fine.

Humored by my youthful foolishness

Resolved now to never know it all.

So much to share, to say but no one to listen

and so, the wheel will continue to be reinvented.

Knees will be scraped on the same old rocks

and life goes on.

So many yesterdays remembered amidst the clouds in my mind.

So few left that remember, and the young

have no time or desire to listen. 

The whispers and snickers are mine now

as the foolish mingle past headfirst into the

unknown.

Photo credit: Danie Franco for Unsplash

MY HEART STILL BEATS

 

MY HEART HAS TAKEN A BEATING

RAVAGED BY DEEP FISSURES OF PAIN

BUT IT KEEPS BEATING.

MY HEART HAS HOLES LEFT EMPTY

 DISCARDED AND FORGOTTEN

BUT IT KEEPS BEATING.

THROUGH THE SHRUGS AND MISSED HUGS

THE LIES AND THE CRIES

IT KEEPS BEATING.

SCARS WHERE SOFTNESS SHOULD BE

LORD HAVE MERCY ON ME!

MY HEART KEEPS BEATING.

DOES ANYONE HEAR MY DESPERATE PLEAS?

I’VE FALLEN AND I WANT TO GET UP

THROUGH IT ALL MY HEART BEATS.

THROUGH THE CALLS THAT DON’T COME

I WONDER IF I’M THE FORGOTTEN ONE.

IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR MY HEART STILL BEATS.

BRUISED ROUGH EDGES WHERE SOFTNESS SHOULD BE

DEEP CRACKS, AND VALLEYS, GOD SEES ME.

AND MY HEART, CRACKED, BRUISED STILL BEATS.

HIS LOVE IS SENT THROUGH THE KINDESS OF STRANGERS

UNEXPECTED MOMENTS OF TENDERNESS AN ELIXIR

AND SO, MY HEART STILL BEATS.

WHEN I THINK NOBODY CARES

MY HEART STILL BEATS.

ALMOST OVERCOME WITH FEARS

MY HEART STILL BEATS.

WHEN THE TEARS COME LIKE A FLOOD

MY HEART STILL BEATS.

GOD SENDS HIS ANGELS

TO CARE FOR MY HEART.

HE BREATHES LIFE IN THE DARK PLACES

AND WHISPERS HIS LOVE LIKE FRESH WIND.

AND MY HEART STILL BEATS.

IT STILL BEATS

BECAUSE HE MADE ME

IT BEATS BECAUSE HE IS NOT FINISHED WITH ME YET.

IT BEATS, ON PURPOSE

FOR A PURPOSE

HIS PURPOSE.

AND I’M GRATEFUL AND

HOPEFUL THAT WITH EACH BEAT

I AM MADE STRONGER

WISER

BOLDER

AN OVERCOMER.

EACH BEAT

MEASURED IN PERFECT SYNCHOPATION

IT BEATS

GOD’S DRUMBEAT

HIS TIME

MY HEART

STILL

BEATS.

WROTE IT

 

You wrote it, I lived it.

You took the credit,

I felt the pain.

You forgot I was here

But that’s not the worst part.

I forgot too. 

Didn’t remember that I mattered.

Instead, I bought the idea

I was an accessory.

Excessive, tossed and turned out.

About in the world alone when

I thought I had company.

Foolish I know, right?

You wrote it, I lived it,

died by it and refused to

admit the pain.

Photo credit: Louis Galvez for Unsplash

Lessons Learned

 

Lessons must be learned.

Teachers, the things, and those unexpected.

But the lessons will be learned.

Abandoned at birth.

Rejected as life grew us up.

We never knew what we didn’t know.

Lessons taught at great sacrifice.

The student unwilling, unknowing.

But the lesson was learned.

Knees bruised; hearts broken.

Life the canvas, with no erasers.

Learning through pain our value.

Lessons will be learned.

Taught, denied, ignored.

But they will be taught.

Life is lessons created.

In the dark to be taught in the light.

To be walked out, lived in.

The moment.

The miracle.

The disaster.

So, don’t stop living.

Life is a lesson, and it will be taught.

Taught whether you pay attention...

...whether you like it or not!

 

Photo Credit: Blake Cheek for Unsplash

HIGH PRAISE!

 

Out of time outs!

Time to come back to church.

Time for high ignorant praise!

I took the liberty of referencing my holy ghost Webster’s and this is what I found on the definition of High Ignorant Praise:

That high ignorant praise: (Adj. Verb and a Noun)

High Ignorant Praise is that thing that has been shut up in your bones for far too long and NOW

You are ready to let it go!

That praise where you just don’t care who’s watching or 

what anybody is thinking or how you’re looking.

High ignorant praise is that ugly cry

when your face is contorted, your mouth is open

Showing all your teeth! 

It’s that run around the church

on bad feet and bad knees praise, 

It’s the act of being willing to risk

the heels on your new shoes or the corns

squeezed into those new shoes!

It’s time for some high ignorant praise!

Let’s get ig’nant, just plum crazy for the LORD!

Just because.

Just because he woke you up (yesterday and today)

Just because you can!

Just because it’s due!

Just because it’s time!

Because he saved your life

from sin, from things...

It’s time to stop wondering if its time.

Praise Him! Ignorantly, fanatically, ugly, loud!

PRAISE HIM!

Photo Credit: Akra Hojo for Unsplash

Brand New

 

“...and then I realized that my tears did not make me weak. 

They merely watered the ground where I stood;

the place God had chosen for me to take root, 

and grow, 

and become...

new." 

-Whispers From A Brown Girl

YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE A ROCK

 

You thought you were a rock until

Life like a hammer hit you hard

and broke you to pieces.

But you weren’t destroyed, 

You were changed,

and the pieces that you

have become are possibilities,

and blessings and second chances

to start again.

Photo credit: Jachan Devol for Unsplash