I sense myself changing,
Ebbing and flowing
Like a river,
Smoothing out the rougher patches of my being.
I feel my spirit
Stretching forth and coming through,
Like the hips of a teenager
Making themselves known.
I know what no longer serves me
Because what I’ve outgrown
Is no longer comfortable.
I notice now
The nuances I did not before;
I hear what you’re really saying
Woven slyly among your words,
And I understand
Exactly
And can no longer be fooled
By pretty-winged things
That do not fly.
Tag: poetry
The Woman I Am with You
All my life
I’ve been growing, shaping, and changing to
the woman I am
With you
My scars and wounds
small seeds
Blossoming
to the woman I am
With you
My hopes and dreams
Reaching
To the woman I am
With you
My mistakes and heartache
Teaching
To the woman I am
with you
God himself
Preaching
To the woman I am
with you.
And your heart, your growth, your path, your love, your light
Reaching out for me too.
You are my partner, my teammate
My best friend
My soul’s mate, my love, my man
And I know
That in whatever we encounter
We will grow
And be
and do
As the man you are with me
And the woman I am with you.
Words
LEMON
Briefly she
Was a part of me,
And a part of her
As an individual being;
I dreamt of her toes
As they roamed this earth
One day
On their own accord;
I imagined her teeth
Peeked through a grin
At a joke her father told;
I heard the strength of her voice
Speaking out
Against some or all of the wrongs
She’d encounter in her life;
But just briefly she
Was a part of me,
And a part of her
As an individual being
Or so I had thought,
But I’m now unsure;
I do know she craved lemons
Both sour and sweet,
Just as I do
And just as she was;
But briefly she
Was a part of me
The first thing that me consider myself as a mother;
But briefly she
Was a part of me
The first time I planned out an entire future
But so briefly she
Was a part of me
The quietest joy I had ever encountered
But so, so briefly she
Was a part of me
And a part of her
As an individual being;
That part I’m not so sure,
But I named her Lemon
Just in case.
Hawaii Poetry Slam
I have been the worst poet ever for the last four or five months. I love poetry, and there’s a special place in my heart for the live stuff. It’s raw, it’s real, it’s incredible, and pretty astounding how creative and eloquent humans can be. When I share my poems, I feel like I’m not just spewing out words or repeating something I’ve forced myself to memorize by repeating 123452345 times. I’m sharing my heart, my thoughts, and my soul. I’m going to the place and feel of what my poem is about and taking the entire audience with me. It’s a very deep, unique, inexplicable thing.
The Hawaii Poetry Slam happens once a month at a seedy little dive bar that I absolutely love. Why did I not go for five months? I have no fucking clue.
Anyways, this month I actually WENT – and I even shared a poem. A short, sweet, deep piece I’ve been sitting on for way too long.
It felt terrifying and incredible to be back on stage and so vulnerable and open. I feel as if this beautiful little poem that chose me to manifest itself in was finally off my chest and out in the world to be heard and appreciated. It’s a lot like letting a balloon disappear into the clouds; yes, it was my balloon originally, but I made the conscious choice to let it go to wherever it chose.
I’m so happy I went. I love the venue, the audience, the poets, the vibe, the love, the sharing, ALL OF IT. I will absolutely be back next month to share more of the madness that goes on inside of my writer’s head.
R.I.P. Maya Angelou
I’m so heartbroken that the wonderful, gracious Maya Angelou passed away today. She’s always been my literary idol, hero, and anchor. I read through the I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings in a mere few days – hour spent so wrapped up in her story that I cried, laughed, and felt my heart break through the pages. Reading her books and poems is like being in a dream that feels so incredibly real.
Maya Angelou is one of the bravest, strongest women in history. She made leaps and bounds in the progress of civil rights and societal status of African-American women, but did the same justices for all African-Americans and all women in general. Such a talented writer, poet, and human being with a unique, brave soul. I’m so sad to let her go that I had to write this post – at least do something – to honor her.
I posted below one of my favorite of her poems – one that emulates the strength, resilience and courage she showed throughout her lifetime. She’s a survivor, a teacher, a healer, an artist, and a woman who will be remembered for her spirit & works for the rest of time.
Still I Rise
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.
Rest in Paradise, Maya Angelou. We’ll miss you.
