I WAS SUPPOSED TO

I was supposed to crumble,

And to call it quits. But I wasn’t

Made that way. 

Crumbled, yes but

I bent down and picked up the pieces

Knowing that every piece had a purpose

Pieced back together glued together with scars.

I was supposed to tumble

And fall flat on my face. And I did,

But falling meant my viewpoint shifted.

Tumbled, to adjust, I got up with

New information that the shift provided.

I see better, with hands filled with the crumbs.

I was supposed to cry, your words held the daggers.

Designed to hurt, to tear and to rip open

You dreamt of blood, my blood.

The pain and the blood were merely

Confirmation that I was still alive

That my heart still beat and 

Not to quench your thirst.

Your design was for defeat.

But God had already armed me for victory.

Dodging arrows and patching wounds

Is my specialty. Fearless in my fear.

I was born that way. Fit to fight

Even from the ground.

A gatherer of crumbs

Covered in places you cannot reach.

Falling simply to rest and 

View the battleground from another angle.

Your design was for defeat, but

The only one who was defeated was you!

Photo credit: Humphrey M 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

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!

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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!

Photo Credit: Rikonavt for Unsplash

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

BACK HOME

Arrogant irreverence to the facts and

writing the rules with invisible ink.

Set up for the mess up and 

I have no one else to blame.

Sweeping my soul’s floor with

blasphemous strokes of irretrievable

Rhetoric, I blew it, you knew it but 

You let me fall.

You said it was for my own good-

that big knot forming on my head.

Sometimes humility is found 

in the lowest of places and

so, I visit and stay awhile.

My recovery was not what I expected. 

I healed but still bear the scars.

The lessons are etched on the lonely

places in my heart.

Humiliated I sneak back home where

things have changed but you have not.

I’m ready to clean house, make room, 

and begin again.

Photo credit: Snapavelli for Nappy.com

DO YOU LOVE ME?

 

Ripping my heart from my chest I held it out offering it, still beating to you. Reluctantly, you took it from my hand and set it on the table.

Stunned, I watched you blankly stare back at me as if to say, “And?”

I thought the gift needed no explanation yet there you were…waiting. I glanced at the beating, dying organ on the table; each beat slower than the one before. You didn’t give a shit! I wanted you to give a shit. You shrugged; it wasn’t your heart after all what did it really matter? I wanted it to matter.

My eyes fluttered because that’s what the truth does; it makes your eyes flutter. Second looks don’t change the truth. My heart was the sacrifice to prove that I loved you.

Crazy how I thought that yanking my heart from my chest was all I had to do to hear you say, “I love you,” in return. Your lips remained still; no words uttered on behalf of my dying heart.

I wanted you to love me, but you didn’t; you couldn’t. Yanking my heart from my chest was just another futile act of suicide I’d played over and over, and my heart was the victim.

Love does nothing but leave hearts on the table, the spoils of foolishness. There you stood still, standing boldly in my face waiting for the answer to the question in your eyes, “And?”

Funny, I realized that I was begging for love from someone that wouldn’t even speak. Wouldn’t part his lips to say what he really felt. My heart was on the table and there was a gaping hole in my chest and I was DYING to hear the words, “I love you.”

Even as my heart continued to slow, I waited as you watched me in silence; mocking me with your stare of, “And?”

“Do you love me” I asked tearfully?” I so desperately needed to hear the words before my heart stopped beating. I remembered not so long ago, feeling so special when you kissed me. But I wasn’t the first or the only that you had kissed, and I wanted to be I wanted to be special!

“Do you love me?” I asked again.

You took a step closer our bodies nearly touching. Simultaneously, our eyes turned toward the table watching the heart as it beat ever so slowly. I prayed silently that the sight of my heart would give you the courage to speak the words I needed to hear.

“Do you love me?” I asked, perhaps you hadn’t heard me before. Then you turned, looked deeply into my eyes and with a stern quiet voice you asked, “Do you?”

Photo credit: Mohamed Nohasi for Unsplash

AND THEN MORNING CAME

 

It was late.

The entire week had passed, and you hadn’t said a word.

You came and went as if I wasn’t there even as you grazed your shoulder against mine.

Our son was the witness…seeing how the only man he knew treated a woman.

This was your expression of love toward his mother…and mentally he took notes.

Then it was midnight on the seventh day, and you were ready to speak. 

So of course, you expected that I was too.  After all, the baby was down

the dishes done, and the laundry neatly folded in its place.

You’d mastered the art of saying a lot without really saying a thing.

You talked, I nodded and when you were finished, I noticed your bags packed and sitting in the dark corner near the door.

Your house key glistened on the table. I hadn’t noticed it before.

Perhaps the finality of your announcement made everything brighter.

“I’ll be back for the rest of my things,” You said.

I thought about the fact that you had convinced me to quit my job only days before

and we had to eat.  Your son needed diapers…milk…

It was odd that you had not mentioned those things in your ramblings.

“This time it’s you not me.” You said proudly happy to finally have the last word.

I saw you stuff the checkbook in your back pocket and the extra cash that we kept in the cabinet above the sink.

You thought of everything, except…

You forgot that I was strong. That I had been a survivor long before we’d met.

You forgot that you weren’t the beginning or the end of my world…just a part.

I knew love was never anything you understood or recognized.  

You wanted to be uncomfortable, angry, and so I was happy

that you had at last succeeded at something. 

And then it was morning. There was a knock at the door. It was Joy!

Photo credit: Sid Sun for Unsplash

DECEPTION

I stood at the sink facing the mirror terrified at the unfamiliar face looking just as terrified back at me.  It had been a long while since the two of us had spoken to one another.

Looking ahead and bending down I tried desperately to wash the taste of last night’s truths from my mouth. The bitter taste like the leftovers from a heavy meal had thickly coated my tongue and I used it as an excuse not to speak. 

I continued to look I hated what I saw had always hoped of being more still I wanted nothing to do with the truth.  What had I done to find myself here, alone, and disgusted? There was nothing to say.

Apologies seemed so vain; so futile, such a waste of time.  Yet, I needed to speak the words, I owed you that much.  I struggled to look again at you, still a stranger, still demanding answers from me.  “I’m sorry!” There just a whisper but the slight flinch told me that you’d heard.

“I’m sorry.” A little louder this time.  You didn’t believe it, neither did I since I was never one to apologize. Never one to back down or step up…it was a fact, my fact. My truth right there in front of me and I couldn’t deny it.

I’ve treated you poorly. I was supposed to be your best friend and you mine. I denied you and mistook you for the enemy shooting first and watching you fall dead at my feet. “Please forgive me!” I shouted, and my tears filled the sink before me.  Blood and tears, tears, and blood…mine, yours, ours.

I faced you the terror fading but still present. I saw the slight relief on your face too.  This had been long overdue, and it felt good to talk again.  I love you and I need you now more than ever to be my sister, my confidante, and my best friend…again.

Let’s keep in touch.

Photo credit: JD Mason for Unsplash

 

REMEMBER ME?

Hello,

I know you hear me. 

I’m the little girl who birthed your dreams.

Remember when you were invincible?

There was a time when fear was unwelcomed,

and, no, never existed. 

I need you to fight for me, the little girl,

who told you that dreams come true.

You are invincible and fearless!

Turn the no’s, into, now’s.

Wipe your tears with memories of yesterday.

Dance to the beat of my little girl’s heart.

Sing like angels dwell within you and

Dance like air is all you need to hold you up!

Photo credit: Michael Mims for Unsplash

I'M NOT PERFECT - WHISPERS FROM A BROWN GIRL

 

SO THANKFUL THAT I DON’T HAVE TO BE PERFECT 

FOR GOD TO LOVE ME.

WHISPERS FROM A BROWN GIRL

Photo credit: Wadi Lissa for Unsplash

I'M FIRE!

 

It’s not about bad hair but bad air.  I breathe fire you breathe rain.

Dousing water on my dreams sending my hopes into steam! 

What was white hot like hope now lies in a puddle at my feet. 

You stand at the mirror reflecting on your deeds. 

You’ve done good, got away with murder, so you think. 

But little did you know my thoughts were of you! 

I included you in my plans. 

Happy not nappy, you pressed your hair, 

I dared to dream. 

I dreamed a world where I mattered, we all mattered,

 where bad deeds weren’t justified at the mirror. 

I breathe fire let’s breathe fire together. 

Let’s flow like lava igniting everything we touch,

creating islands resting in the new thing we created.

It's not the hair it’s the dare! Dare to dream, dare to be different! 

Dare to be fire-breathing. Breathing life, fearlessly fabulous,

Intentional in our intent.

Fire-breathing, no rain, no tears no dousing flames of hope,

Straining to see through steam distorting the scene.

Now standing before the mirror boldly!

Declaring my wrongs, my rights to hope and breathe,

Because I am fire, white hot liquid fire...

...watch me flow!

Photo credit: Boris Rager for Pixabay

I AM A WEED

 

I am a weed. I look like a flower, but I am a weed.

I survive in the harshest conditions without water or seed.

Others would rather be flowers growing hoping I’m not seen.

Flowers have their merit, value, and are held in high esteem.

I am a weed; judged like a book cover and always wrong.

Necessary not a nuisance. I have purpose and I belong.

There are others just like me who accept the deception.

Masquerading as flowers living the norm and not the exception.

I am a weed and though I look like a flower I am still a weed.

Holding my head up because I am proud to be a weed!

But because GOD is so good, He can make this weed a flower!

Because He loves me, I have an assigned purpose and power!

For God wanted some weeds to feed the soil and protect from pests.

In Him will I trust and have no fear! I am a weed and on that I will rest!

 

Sometimes

Sometimes in darkness we see light.

Sometimes the best place to hear God’s voice

is from the ground.

In weakness we find our strength.

In pain we find healing and

sometimes in our brokenness 

we are transformed.

Courage allows us to let go.

Wisdom teaches us why and

faith gives us the strength to accept

the outcome.

So, out of my darkness, I seek the light

lifting my head to hear His voice.

It’s quiet here on the ground

sometimes.

Photo credit: Photo by Michael Starkie on Unsplash

The Strong One

 

photo credit: Louis Galvez/Unsplash

I am the strong one.

The one who worries and plans

For everyone else’s care.

The phone rings sounding the alarm

I hear the panic and my heart stands still.

No sacrifice too great.

I am the unofficial manager of lives

All accept my own. There’s no time 

You see for me, the strong one.

I listen, I pray standing in the gap.

I fret, lose sleep all in the name of love.

I am the one necessary element in everyone’s lives.

But I’m not.

Not needed for the joys, and thoughts

The parties and the jobs,

Not a factor until something goes wrong.

Then I am to blame

I’m expected to fix

Even if no one has really asked.

It’s my job any how

Besides, who else will do it?

Who else knows how?

I am the strong one.

The one no one calls just to say hi.

The last one content with being last.

It’s okay, really, I don’t need the concern

I freely show others.

I’m strong and that fact is my comfort.

I live an ugly truth no one can know.

Sometimes I am weak, I want to fold

But the calls don’t come.

There are times when I seek 

The ear, the shoulder that look.

No one wants to give me what I need.

But I’m the strong one

And because I am strong

I keep smiling, staying on my post.

I often wonder as I caress the nuzzle

Run my finger across the blade or

Toy with the safety cap…

…when will the call come and will 

it be

too 

late?

What Does Victory Look Like?

 

Photo credit: Bella Photography/Unsplash

What does victory look like?

Do the bruises and bumps

Mean more than the battle?

It’s amazing how the outcome

Tells us all we need to know.

What does victory look like?

Circumstances, trials and standing any how!

When God intercedes and covers us

When he blocks the blows, picks us up

Dusts us off...we stand because He

Fought the battle, a battle that no one or no thing

Stood a chance of winning.

What does victory look like?

It looks like blessings, and 

It looks like a smile on a baby’s face

Who has defied the odds.

It looks like rain and sunshine all in one!

What does victory look like?

It looks like God’s love painted

In the trees, and in the wind.

What does victory look like?

It looks like...ME!

Exhale

Photo credit: Clarke Sanders/Unsplash

My mind is weighted down. Confusion and smoke with smells of amber and coal, I close my eyes and sit waiting for that whisper, that kiss on the cheek the hope that things will get better.

It’s been too many years, and tears if I were to be honest, trying to fit into the skin you created.

I pulled and tugged and squeezed the hips of my dreams and the folds of my hopes and held my breath.

But what I learned, what I knew all the time was that you made this fit too tight and no one my size could wear this well. I can’t breathe! You didn’t make room for me to breathe, and I keep inhaling, and inhaling...

But what would happen if I exhaled?

To breathe I would have to exhale! To breathe I would be selfish. Thinking of myself and for once making me first. My mind is weighted, altered, muddled, but that’s what happens when you are oxygen deprived!

I exhaled emptying my lungs which cleared the confusion in my mind and the smells of amber and coal were replaced by the sweet smell of lavender and vanilla. I opened my eyes and stood for the first time on my own two feet! No more waiting for that whisper or the kiss on the cheek. I screamed as loud as my lungs could muster and then I did the unthinkable.

I ran, I ran as fast and as far toward that thing, the only thing that could make things better! I ran toward me and leaped into the arms of creation, and motivation and a daring-to-be-me space in my head and heart. 

I learned at that moment that I was enough, equipped with everything I needed and what I didn’t need was someone that only wanted to make me small and only wanted me to live in a box with no windows and no doors; a box that fit under their arm and held in place by a musty arm pit.

I am a spring rushing through a narrow valley. I am alone on a journey that needs no approval. 

I run and flow unafraid of those things that will be swept up in my current and forced to travel with me down an unknown path toward the sea or the ocean or a lake with no agenda except to rest. I yearn for rest; rest without judgment, without glances through narrow eyes punctuated by shrugged shoulders and shaking heads. Rest that makes me free, beautiful, capable of conquering my greatest fears! Capable of vanquishing the enemy within and without.

Just rest, no explanation, no judgement, no caring, and no guilt.

If I just exhaled!

The Strong One

I am the strong one.

The one who worries and plans

For everyone else’s care.

The phone rings sounding the alarm

I hear the panic and my heart stands still.

No sacrifice too great.

I am the unofficial manager of lives

All accept my own. There’s no time 

You see for me, the strong one.

I listen, I pray standing in the gap.

I fret, lose sleep all in the name of love.

I am the one necessary element in everyone’s lives.

But I’m not.

Not needed for the joys, and thoughts

The parties and the jobs,

Not a factor until something goes wrong.

Then I am to blame

I’m expected to fix

Even if no one has really asked.

It’s my job any how

Besides, who else will do it?

Who else knows how?

I am the strong one.

The one no one calls just to say hi.

The last one content with being last.

It’s okay, really, I don’t need the concern

I freely show others.

I’m strong and that fact is my comfort.

I live an ugly truth no one can know.

Sometimes I am weak, I want to fold

But the calls don’t come.

There are times when I seek 

The ear, the shoulder that look.

No one wants to give me what I need.

But I’m the strong one

And because I am strong

I keep smiling, staying on my post.

I often wonder as I caress the nuzzle

Run my finger across the blade or

Toy with the safety cap…

…when will the call come and will 

it be

too 

late?

Excerpt from:

Messages To The Woman In The Mirror Published April 2020