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?”

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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!

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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

 

BUCKET-DIS

 

You’ve dropped your dreams in a bucket, covered them with dust, and doubt and time. Now it’s time to dig and pull them by the roots from that damp, dark place that has long been forgotten because fear has distracted you and made you forget that you had ever dreamed at all.

Photo credit: Photo by Pedro Da Silva on Unsplash

 

 

MOTHERS

 

Mothers 

We bear the burden,

take the blame and get none

of the credit.

We lose sleep,

worry and wear the wrinkles.

We fix our faces with smiles,

and cry silent tears in the dark 

when everyone else is asleep.

We are the armor bearers,

the prayer warriors, the advocates, 

the encouragers, and the secret keepers. 

We are the providers sacrificing ourselves

for the unknowing, the clueless and the ungrateful!

We’re mothers doing what we must at all costs 

not for the plaques, the mugs, or the flowers, 

but because it’s who we are, it’s our calling. 

It’s how we love-fearlessly, hard, nonsensically. 

Indescribable, unthinkable, and tirelessly! 

No, thank-you expected because we signed up for this. 

Not always knowing how or why. 

Not knowing that the bad days 

often outweigh the good.

What we did know was that our love was enough. 

It had to be enough to get us and them through 

the good, the bad, and the in between. 

Just love, it was both our superpower and our kryptonite, 

our greatest joy and our deepest pain.

But it’s who we’ve become. 

Birthing nations and futures and possibilities. 

God chose us and gave us everything needed 

to complete the assignment. 

Yes, we’re mothers a crown we wear with honor. 

We know who we are! 

We are Queens with earthly kingdoms 

located within the possibilities of our offspring. 

We are diplomats, negotiating peace 

as effortlessly as ordering pizza. 

We are doctors and lawyers without the degrees,

Fighting and slaying dragons on our knees!

We are Mothers, Slayers, and Prayers.

Leaping tall buildings and loving just because.

Knowing what others did not,

that God had chosen and equipped us.

Then breathed breath into or desires.  

Giving us the stamina to do the work 

that feels like joy and hope and 

all things good! 

Thank you, Lord for the Crown of Motherhood!

GRIEF BITES

 

Grief bites I thought you knew.

Thought you knew that leaving was not you.

Leaving without saying goodbye,

without explaining why

was unacceptable.

Grief steals taking joy leaving pain.

Leaving pain, tears like rain.

Tears raining, soaking my spirit,

a spirit that once lived for you

Is now dead,

Grief bites like rain.

Wet and then dries.

Disappearing when the sun rises

as if it was never there.

Grief bites like wine.

Leaving behind a bitter taste

and a stain like memories.

Like taunting.

Grief hurts, it leaves us bare I thought you knew.

Thought you’d never go without saying goodbye.

Grief is that last sip of Rosé or

Chardonnay. 

I drained the glass for you; my last testament

that I loved you when you were here and

I Love you more now that you’re gone.

Cheers to the memory of you!

Photo credit: Julia Kadel

THAT GIRL

 

That girl!

Who rose from the ashes because she was the fire!

God blew on the embers of her possibilities.

and combustion happened birthing life to her dreams,

and smiles that fed those places in

her eyes that had grown dark.

That girl!

Who said no... no to surrender!

No to fear. Grasping instead life and love.

Loving the woman God created.

Seeing her flaws as fabulous and

seeing her tears as rain!

I’m that girl!! That girl is me!

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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!

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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

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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

BROKEN

 

I AM BROKEN BUT NOT DESTROYED

BECAUSE AMONG THE PIECES IS MY BREAKTHROUGH.

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UNBOTHERED

 

Dear Lord,

Please give me the strength to be unbothered by the people who found it so easy to let me go, and so easy to walk away. 

Open my eyes to see the space that was freed up in the vacancy they created.

Help me to understand that the real estate was too

valuable to place in the hands of those who did not deserve to hold the deed! 

So now I can breathe without judgement and appreciate the view of what freedom and true value looks like! 

And my what a view!

Whispers From A Brown Girl 

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DON'T GET COMFORTABLE!

 

Don’t get comfortable upon hearing about the misfortunes of another as if you’ve dodged a bullet. Sighs of relief are not in order when you learn of someone’s unfavorable medical diagnosis, or exposure because of a business decision gone bad or being caught for wrongdoing or being caught up in a scandal that is now the subject of conversation around the kitchen table and late-night phone calls. “I told you so’s’” or “serves them right’s,” that fall from our lips as if we’ve done nothing wrong, are ALL heard by God. 

The truth is that we are all guilty of something. None of us are immune from bad news from our doctors or safe from prison sentences because of past or present indiscretions. The fact that we are not sick or broke or in jail or humiliated is no cause to celebrate instead it is reason to take a moment to tell God, “thank you!” Life changes from moment to moment and what seems like sunshine today can become a torrential downpour tomorrow with absolutely no warning or forecast of rain.   

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