sometimes it’s hard to see people as they are.
with all this light, comes shadow energy
that we choose to ignore.
because love doesn’t know darkness.
despite the snakes circling around our purity,
peace is wished for them. and for me.
Be Alone
I love quarantine.
in a world led by people sickly obsessed with temporary things — having undistracted time alone is a connection with your soul.
“do you love yourself?” is not a complex question, yet it is feared. in their fearfulness, they confuse being alone with loneliness. codependency over self-reliance.
independence is self-love through mindfulness, through the mutual support received and given, through the knowledge you’re part of a greater but flawed whole.
imperfect humans needing mending from what isn’t healed is our continuous journey. anxiety manifests as a need to control.
time alone teaches you’re only in control of yourself.
release, let light in — Be Alone.
beginnings
new beginnings
wait for us to
keep an open mind.
they sit at the steps
until we squeeze past
them to the door.
singing to us these
impressive, impending
triumphs. “be brave.”
we don’t listen. we are rebel
children without strategy.
we live with anger.
pride as our dishonest guide.
black paint on our walls.
we haul buckets of burgundy
and splash all that we were
given. destroying everything
because we feel we deserve
nothing.
tainted our gifts.
we color our dark hair gold.
replicas
of those against the revolution.
the revolution is self love,
says the approaching
beginnings. they lean in.
angels disguised as ghosts.
our walls are purified.
alive.
viva the lessons.
waiting (healing)
wait for the good to come.
aren’t i worthy?
excuses that fill my head
while laying restless at 3 AM.
love in all its forms must be
strengthened. career and
creativity and all that is part of
my purpose has to expand.
but not yet.
i must heal while in stagnancy.
cannot move forward until
there is an understanding
of the mental fogginess,
and the confusion of the
muddle of my feelings.
stare and try to understand
if i see a reflection of who i am
in other people. i see blackness
where i pretend to see light.
words that mean nothing.
jokes and sneers with an
underlying layer of
disastrous
disorganization.
a good thing with purpose knocks
at the door of Hopes That Are Disappearing.
i redecorate. the door becomes Hopes That
Were Waiting. i am filled with joy marred
by an accidental allowance of bitterness.
life with anxieties because i expect more.
i learn to meditate.
i reshape what i expect of me.
content.
(still waiting.)
compliments & comparisons
west coast paid pretty,
east coast esteemed wit.
and the south with our
frizzy hair
and our humility.
boost us up as we are.
sweet tea or pressed juice.
coffee black, please.
our perception of pretty is
individualistic. we are who we
claim we are,
and that should be enough.
expect us to compare ourselves
if led to believe we are incomplete.
be like her? but she isn’t me.
our journey to acceptance
doesn’t
require your adoration.
only your understanding.
know us as we are today.
Our Darkness
share a secret with
reflections of our darkness.
“I’ve never told anyone this.”
if i fix her, maybe i can fix
the hollow parts of me. oh.
i can just fix me?
as the others were outside
being carefree, he said, staring
at the TV’s trauma unfold,
“Happened to me, too…”
not an overshare,
a reveal of what was seen
without being said.
me with a face that screams,
“Tell me your secrets!”
but a mouth unaware of how
to begin. “I understand,” say my eyes. my heart knows. my memories are still asleep.
don’t disturb her
uneasy
rest.
home
the idolization of nomads
from a potted plant, freshly
watered. peeking through the
blinds at the adventures
That Could Be.
a scent carries around
my leaves. a home I once
visited. i feel comforted.
musk, dust, and its loneliness
sneaks through when i’ve
decided to forget. no invitation
back. my home is here in the silence.
the past awaits me. i prepare for
it as the future pokes me, telling
me what it’s like to feel empowered.
i yawn and the scent of the
unwelcoming home fades. my
leaves shudder. i see tiny backpacks
spin to reveal giggling vagabonds.
they seek adventure.
i seek solace.
The Last Letter
only cry for special occasions.
here’s a clarification of my tears.
if i am not diplomatic, I am over
emotional. we can’t have that.
the thorough breakdown of the
scenario. let me explain.
just the highlighted sentences
in the book of an undeveloped
opportunity.
scurry away.
come back, blatantly detached.
i’m an essayist, not a orator.
lacking in courage when it counted.
miles away.
too close for a soul’s comfort.
said all that i could say as to not
be a bother. i’m the youngest.
what are boundaries?
the last sent letter for awhile.
be brave for new phases.
manifest for better.
i am and will be greater.
Catholic Guilt
6.27.18
A former busybody,
persistently
too involved with Others.
My selflessness, just a facade:
am I appearing kind enough?
Sincerity melting away
in the pool I am floating in.
The sun heats the top of head.
It doesn’t gleam. It taunts.
On a quest for
wisdom
from the moon.
(It hides from me.)
Whisperings among the trees,
cackling among the flowers.
A small box
in my hands
filled with all of my
gruesome guilt.
Leaking from the box,
it drips at my feet.
I smile,
throw the box, and
run from my own entrapment.
