Fine. If you elect to judge me by my breasts- I will cover them. Fine. If you harass me because I have legs- I will screen them. But know this. Just because you have touched me- Does not mean you have won me. I may be covered. But my heart I do wear bare. Undeterred by your terror- I still wave my long hair Why do you think you may disrespect me? Do you know not about your Genesis? How God made all us fair? Why do you think I am more Christian If I were to donate all my lace? Donate all your leather Man, stop getting in my space! You may think I’m easy To use and cast aside. Because just like a child, I still wear glitter on my eyes. You treat me ever different When a skirt or dress I wear. Fine. It matters not to me. That your obsessed with chastity. but unclean at the core. I know my heart’s identity is not determined by the dress I leave when I walk out this door! Version 2 Fine. If You Elect To Judge These Breasts We Will Cover Them. Fine. If You Harass These Legs- We May Screen Them. Covered Skin And Also Covered Hearts Undeterred By Your Terror Bare Not Our Waving Hair Leather, Lace Lack Chastity? Yet- Know This. You May Think We’re Easy: To Use And Cast Aside. Because Just Like A Child. Girls Are Easy Easy We May Wear Glitter On Our Eyes. Differential Treatment Based On Her Length Of Skirt Fine. It Matters Not To Us. That Your Obsessed With Chastity. But Unclean At The Core. We Know Our Hearts’ Identities Is Not Determined By The Dress We Leave In When We Walk Out This Door.
Accrediting Bodies
Accrediting bodies That tell us our worth Accrediting bodies that give us a grade! That give us our pay. And say who we are Who we are in this work Who we are in this world Who we are on this Earth Accrediting bodies That feed us their words That tell us our beauty That tell us our worth.
Engaged!
Engaged! Encaged! i am becoming engaged! my body and heart Are my Husbands, i’m His! i am His! For Him, only i’ll bear. The weight of His fears His body His heir i am His. i am resigned to His company, His time i have vowed to Him, my soul eternal But what of my God? my first Love? Till time and time again Death does not part. Engaged, encaged, i'm His but He . . . is not mine Engaged Encaged Where is my say?
Education Does Not Matter
EDUCATION DOES NOT MATTER those in power say but we still hear your voice at the end of the light of day. Education Does Not Matter Let Your Talents Go To Waste We’ll Fill Up The White Space With Others— We Think More Great! Education Does Not Matter When You Can’t Speak Your Mind Nor Profess Your Truths In Your Ancestral Scrib'd Rhyme Education Does Not Matter . . In A World That Only Looks At Those Who Speak Their Grammar Good. It's Here We Mitigate Our Impact With Theory Intent On Someday Doing, Gifting- Good. Education Does Matter It’s where we speak our mind It’s where we learn to put our humanity into this scrib'd rhyme Education is how we have a voice. . . In a world that only looks At those who speak the grammar good. It's here we develop the gifts given to us for good Everyone has a piece of the truth A teacher said to me But it’s how we speak it Then that gives credit So people might believe. But I don't need a fancy title Right here. I am of service Here. I am full of song Right here. I can make a difference For those who are not strong.
This is my Truthful Protest
This Is My Truthful Protest I Will Not Live A Life Undone I Will Not Live My Life Un lived I Will not Live It by their Rules The Price Is Too Much High To Pay I Will Not Live A Life Undone I Will Not With Work Put Knife And Gun To My Weary Soul I Shall Sit Within The Silence I Shall Still See The Rain I Shall Smell The Roses Incense, Oil, Rain I Refuse To Play The Winners Game No I Will Not Work For You The Price Is Quite To Much A Life Without Love and Artistry That is not a life for me
Prostitute
I am a kind of prostitute Of the body, I am chaste I sell my mind to institutions They draw measured ribbons round my waist They measure all my numbers They look inside my cells I am a prudent prostitute Of the mind I am a -waste.
Dear Singular Person
Dear singular person This is for us A song for the hurting For those who don't trust Dear singular person These poems are for you Dear singular person I think often of you Dear similar person this is for you! Do you know that we love you? So, much Yes we do! Dear singular person, I promised to help! I promised to God To leave something cleaner To help you get through! Dear singular person I pray often for you For this world is dying Impregnated with pain. . . Impermanent and seeking Most often ill gotten gain. Dear singular person. Or plentiful two I hope these poems help you! I pray this. Yes, I do! I sing, and I write and I dance and look to the skies. Try it! It will you It will help you get through! Dear singular person Or plentiful two I pray these words help you To love you Yes I do! Yes I do!
If you ever read this. If you’re ever in pain. I hope these words help you get through any and all pain. For me creative expression is holistic healing. Everything that has brought me joy has always had some form of artistry in it. Love, friendship, prayer, these all have art and magic in them too. I hope that when reading these poems—– I hope everyone who reads these— may gain some inspiration, peace, or joy from them. Sometimes they are a little silly and a little naive! I write like a child sometimes . . I know this. Yet the child is the ultimate rebel. A child is creative and imaginative in a world that no longer values this so ten my poems are sickeningly,sweet,sometimes cutesy just know that is my rebellion in a world that no longer always sees honesty and innocence as essential virtues.
Maybe we’re all amateurs
Maybe we're all amateurs At everything we do And when we get to heaven we'll all doodle doodle doodle Maybe we're all finger painting Smudging pretty pics But when we get to heaven, then we'll all’a be artists
I stole a book of poetry
I stole a book of poetry And never gave it back Maybe it has cursed me On some sleepless damn’d path
Razor Eyes
Be Careful How You Judge Yourself For With That Razor Eye That Sanguine Glass From Which You See This World Become Clouded, By And By. Be Kind To Yourself For Those Hands Can Harm More A Hurting World If Lacking Healing In Their Tendons And Their Guise. Be Sweet To Your Soul For You Need A Strong Heart To Help Those Without Hope Be Good To Yourself So That You Will Have Lighter Hands Free-Er To Hold
How you see yourself determines how you interact with your world and the realities around you. When you are chronically self-critical, overly judgmental of your own body image, grades, work, relationships— you project this onto the people around you. If you hate yourself, you must learn to walk and talk with your shadows. Otherwise, you will project unkindness into the corner of the world that you reside in.
Interest
God . . . Yes? I’ve forgiven. So then why aren’t I free? Are you still resenting? Yes and? You're charging penance: With interest, with dimes. You’re charging penance: For worth Already replaced For time Already vested For value For which I’ve made my trade. You’re charged interest For the hurt that you've felt. You’re charging interest On crimes that you've dwelt Forgiveness is freedom from debt. Of which, you do not collect But Lord! How can I ignore stolen years! Stolen goods! Stolen worth! Stolen parts? Stolen hearts? You're charging interest, And forgiveness is free. Leave it alone This money is no good to me But God! Do not charge interest. Ask instead for whom you may pray. Tithe your love Tithe your time Stop trying to charge I’ve forgiven all crimes Instead say: Yes, God Pray an’ Pay me your mind In the kindness of loving In the life that you lead If there is a debt- It is a debt that from you, I’ve freed If there is a debt . . . let it be a debt of you to be loving For you to be good For you to show sunlight to your neighbors and woods.
And the Crow Cries
When the leaves began to change to autumnal colors of crimson, And in the spring when the flowers bloom’d and the grass grew lush and the junipers blue When the sun set on the pueblos And the haunt of the blushing mountain foretold not her passion The crow cried. In the brush of the wind Nothing gave sign- But a crow in a conifer keen. The crow that quietly cried At the sect of sleep and sleepless not Only the sigh of the weight of the tree The wind that blew this banging door This palpitating heart alone on a porch Only these signs were given: The cry of a crow And the sigh of a heart That sees beyond the realm That is not yet extant. The crow cried a year To a stucco house Up in an empty nest For an empty tree At the dawn of day At the dusk and break At the tide of the moon The crow did cray And only this sign was given Swept away are the troubles of yesterday Swept away the ‘morrow And swept away the people And only the crow still cries for me At the crack of dawn At the break of day Harbinger- Of all that shall pass She, lone,in her wisdom, treacherous cries! If only they’d listen To her desolate whines! On crumpled leaves, She rests. Laden with sorrows and prayers to the ethers Incommunicable sighs. Forever she cries To those whom unbeknownst stroll Upon the fickle fleeting lanes They decipher not her omen They heed not her boding For know est not her tongue tied cries She weeps for those whom go est She, yoked with sorrows Sees forth them roam Their brevid lives Oh, thee phantasmal spirit! Thee haunt of portent! Take your tragic decree And flee from me! Thee, heavy hung With heavy doom And dire song And laments true Flee from thy barren sterile trees! Flee from this fallow ground! Flee from my mind a go from me And take thy news of plagal creed Away, Away with thee! Wings of raven, Depart from me! Bewail not, these lands of fortitude Of steel intransigence Bemoan not concrete passages Nor wail within this province! Flee thee Herald of Hadees Emblem of Thanatos Your very voice is venom Your very voice a horrid ghost. Blight of our humanity Cry not Cry not Your truth to me! Flee thee lone crow out of these terrestrial bounds Tell not your tales of misery! Tell not your profane plaint! Thou, clamor of the underworld Spectacle of hate! Messenger of necrosis Flee ever far from thee Humanity, Cares not for your monodic melodies Heed not their folly not their fate Sing not your requiem! Still the crow cries in the autumnal leaves While we forget the sight of thee And the crow cries for calamity Into oblivion Despise’d plumes of pestilence Cry not Cry not to me Reek not to me Your wretched plea Creature of portent and cacophony Born on a still blood lunar eve, The sound, the cackle, the cry of thee! Thy curs’d creature Harbinger of fatality Hail not thy cries nor heed thy static tones Din of decimation! Flee- from thy tree and summer zephyrs Leave with the draft of dusk Return not nor ever hail respite Fly from thy nest of vacancy Cast only into vagrancy Cry to the firmaments of Elohim But cry not to us, humanity. We shall not bear the sight of thee We shall not heed the sighs of thee Flee from humanity And the crow cries still to me.
Nightingale
Nightingale, Thine name est me I wake and sing with reverie Amongst the bees and humming birds Nightingale, thine call me Slumber not within thine lunar veil And grow’th eerie ivory-pale Absent infantile creature They dismiss mine weary voice Alone I call to higher order Alone I call and silence Thou sees not this awful wail In the quiet crepus’ creeping- I gather thornéd twigs and leaves To mine nested bode And while all are still a’sleeping I gather and I wail When the dawn comes, still I gather. The others, dreamy, stir from their crystal wonder I, wake, an’ return and sing my rightful tunes of day Restless while they slumber I am still awake Turning twigs, and leaves, and blunders While they dream off to some flights a once they gazed Restless whilst they slumber I gather and they thunder their torrential cantor to the glory rays. I gather now amidst the dawn time I gather as the jaded moon look’d on And for a moment, falltst to slumber . . . But then quickly, do I wake. For gather, I And gather more But to my nest, these twigs refuse to stay! And thrice I build and thrice it falls And I remember not from whence I came Starry eyed and pondering Wing by wing, I fly away Gather more and gather I But thrice mine leaves do blow astray And hence do I remember not where last the remnants of the leaves or twigs I raked Scattered lay and collect I not The corps’d silk of arboreal bygone May Hither I, a moment, in mine triumph of the day To solace in the darkness Before soon I do make haste And- Gather I, sole nightingale Whilst freckled finch, lark, and robin gay do hailst their aerie tours Gather I and gather more And still to mine nest Hold not mine soars of moonshine sowing Sow that keep’th me a’lorn My soul and wing’d psalms Sow plentiful and reap est not Do I, From dawn to dusk to dawn!
This is a poem I wrote about what it feels like to have severe ADHD. Often the intensity of work that we output does not show forth onto others, and that pain is also invisible to outward eyes as well. Though people may see the beauty that we possess (our creativity, our unique voices, our ethic) they don’t see nor hear the inner ‘wail’ that is incessantly calling us. Despite the nightingale’s ability to fly, the expectations of society keep her grounded. She seems to be almost a creature of the land, an agrarian laborer (e.g. the concept of sewing and reaping juxtaposed against her companions aerial tours). If you also suffer with ADHD, please know that your ethic of work and character do show forth. Our ‘nests’, our production value is not what defines us. Sometimes the beauty of a person is in how they face a struggle. I truly believe that those things that we most struggle with . . .our also the things in which we find our greatest strength. Vices can be virtues. A tragic flaw is also a heroic trait. The difference between a comedy, an epic, or a tragedy is how you perceive and respond to this unique area of yourself. Also, if you’re a faithful . . . or not! . . . know that God takes the weak and makes them strong. If you feel that you can not take another step in your journey forward and that you don’t have the strength to accomplish your calling. He will vitalize you, he will supply you with all that you need to overcome!
Isaiah 40:29-31 29 He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. 30 Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; 31 but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.
The Journey Begins
Thanks for joining me!
Write your own story
I Rode A Train To Union State
On A Warm Midsummer Day
And As I Rode A Friend, I Made
Of Sweet And Kindly Grace
She Was 53 Or More
Had Hiked Around The World And More
Lusting, Listening, Heart Alight
She Spoke Four Hours Of Her Flights!
Suddenly,
Her Rhythm Broke
She Stared At Me, Hard, As She Spoke-
What Have You Done Thus Far Young Girl?
You Have But One Life In This World!
Write Your Own Story!
Sing Your Own Songs!
Lest You Forever Hum Along
To Pass The Roses By The Glen
Your Words Mundane And Life Unpenned!
Will I Take Her Words To Heart?
Or By The Steel’d Tracks Depart?
Write Your Own Story
Sing Your Own Songs
Or Forever, Gaily, Hum Along . . .
She told me when you’re broken
She told me when you're broken Those pieces son meant to leave. But why would I want any part of me- Floating in the sea?
My soul has fallen silent
My soul has fallen silent As I look upon thine trees My soul has fallen silent Whilst I fall upon my knees
I thought if I kept walkn’
I thought if I kept walkn’ Until the pain did leave That I could face tomorrow That I could face this eve And sometime, whilst I was walking I simply fell to sleep And God came and car’d me or’ Somewhere happier I think.
Look!
Look at the love that grew- Within the cemented crevices of streets untrodden by! Look at all the lovely things- That came from ugly tears! Sister, God takes everything And reforms it By the passage of the years. He too will take your suffering. Then, look at all the lovely things That come from ugly tears Look at how He changes things Through the passage of these bygone years!
If the music dies within me
If the music dies within me This shall not break the chains Wherever she is I will go If music is an ocean, Let me be her silver kissing fish If music be a daffodil, Then I will be her pith. Let me near to music In any shape or form Music is my meaning God, my music That makes me strong.
Of this I am born
Roses and Thorns Of this I am born Of oil and incense and rain!
Rivers of Color
Rivers Of Color Blend In A Mind. Fragments Conjoined By The Mystics Of Song. Harmony's Swells With Their 'Lucent Sighs. Melodies Blend, And Harmonies Bloom. They Soak Us Unconscious In Their Ethereal Tunes.
Infernal Instrument
This body is an instrument Rusty, broken, snapped An out of tune guitar Or a tuba without brass These souls' strings are sound'n silently Whisper'd breathy nodes The music is inside me But somewhere between these toes Rotted base And Lead loom'd frets Wretched riddled rent Through much use and pressure Yet, oh, so little breath Chaotic crashing dissonance Produce not thy weary tones. No! Forget it all. Free to crack and bend and break Breathe on through thine brazen bones Through thine curdled nose And through this ache Let it slide And let it shake Sounds, not to be restrained Let it rumble Let it rasp Let it sound Be it good or sad. Sing on through streams of salty seas Beat on through broken breasts and obscured memories Have faith in this, thine instrument. Infernal, not to thy firmament Only to thee thorn'd eyes Sound again Mine weary instrument Rise up and sing again.
When We Sing
When We sing
Let us sing for the silent
When we heal
Let us heal all our broken
When we dance
Let us dance for the deafen'd
When we fail
Let it be for a lesson
Music,
Our gift from heaven
When we sing and we serve
Let if be for another
When we strive for a mother, a sister, a father, a brother
We never will live
Unloving, Unmoved, Ungiv'd
It’s not about singing
It's not about singing Or the way that I feel When the notes kiss the air And I fly on these heels It's not about singing Nor having a voice It's about them being heard It’s about them having a choice. Heard by the silent By those that we mourn It's about staying strong Through the solace of song It's not about singing Or wanting to be heard In a whisper or in a chorus of glorious chords It's not about singing It's about wanting to heal It's about giving a gift It's about starting to feel With a sonorous sigh Singers take the pain and joys of another inside And for a moment may give those laden heavy Respite. It's not only about singing It's about a method of thought It’s about learning to love Through polyphonic talk It’s not only singing It’s not only my heart It’s how I find meaning It’s how I do my part It’s about our community It's about bringing them joy It’s the tears that have gathered in my grandmother’s clouded eyes As her memories fades When suddenly an old melody plays Her eyes that ran dewy, awaken An' now turn alight As these harmonies flicker And she remembers a promise From some hymnal tune No longer in fear No longer in gloom She praises her Father She leaves the pain with the room It's the pain of my sister That has been their with me When nothing could bring her to peace nor to sleep But the music she held to her spine I hold within mine And I know she is strengthen’d By the rhythms and poems I know it will quiet the hell in her bones It's my way of healing And healing those around me It's not about singing It's about loving and easing The suffering of another through its sweet symphonious leanings It isn’t my voice Only a message I have That if set to pitch May pause their world for a stitch And make hers or his pain less Sig-nif-i-gant No. It's not about singing Nor these vibrations I feel When I sing with these souls in this common time sphere It's not about singing The chromatic gestures that press Nor the collisions I feel inside my innermost breast It’s not about singing, it's about the impact it has It’s not only singing It's the light that it brings It’s poetry put too wings It’s not only singing It’s my purpose It’s me It’s all about singing And the kindness it springs.
I sing and it’s not beautiful
I sing and it’s not beautiful.
I sing because of solace
I sing because of space
Because of how it’s sacred
Alters these senses with her grace
Because of the peace she gives me
Because she lends faith and hope and love
I sing
Because it heals me
I sing to my God above
I sing,
And it’s not, yet, beautiful
It's raw and unrefined.
I sing knowing it's not beautiful
Sowing seeds, knowing someday
It will be,
Beautiful!
Someday this soul will heal
Someday this voice will tell her loveliness
Someday she shall sound, withheld not by sullen fears
Creative expression!
Joy, voicing her presence!
I believe someday her love will show
She shall soon shine out
I sing knowing it's still not beautiful
But someday she will be!
Version Two (communal/depersonalized)
Sing Unbeautifully!
Dance Ungracefully
Rhyme Arrhythmically
Sing Unbeautifully
Because Of How It Brings Solace, Space And Sanctity
Because It Alters The Senses With Grace
Because Of How It Lends Faith An’ Hope An’ Place
Sing Unbeautifully
Raw And Unrefined.
Sing Knowing It's Not Beautiful
Sing And Sow Your Seeds!
Knowing Someday The Sound May Be Unbounded,
Beautiful And Sweet!
The Silent Singer 
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