Our fears only chase us
in our dreams…
And so we call them nightmares,
beasts of the dark
that gallop along craggy shores
of wasteland with no end…
And us, believing we can’t escape,
not realizing our captivity
lives only in our brilliant minds.
Yet still, we run –
Chasing the freedom we’re running from.
Hoofbeats of shadow
fade into new day’s dawn…
And still,
their thunder
clouds the brazen horizon
of our visions of day.
Our terrors only torture us
from our nightmares.
I am poetry.
I am curves and swirls
letters and words and sentences
and action…
I am language
of both the unspoken
and the talk told.
I am stories
and I am legend.
I am writer
but also reader,
I am traveler
and also vehicle.
I am fact
in all its fable,
I am craft
I am creator.
I am versamilitude
I am intangible
enigma.
But I’m not ready to come down yet –
and I’m not ready to launch this next rocket, either…
I just need a transitional lift,
one that elevates me to the space where
I can’t tell up from down,
and light feels heavy…
Where I’m just meandering
and solitude is a friend.
Floating peaceably along;
reality’s edges soft and glowing,
and me just a wisp
of smoke, and warmth, and knowing.
I sometimes visualize life
as the spaces between raindrops
that we often overlook
in our haste to get out of the rain.
Space is eternal,
infinitesimal opportunity in its existence.
We forget to realize
that storms cleanse our inner lens
so that the sunlight in our future
shines more brilliantly.
I don’t search for failings in people,
those make themselves evident without prompting…
No, what I look for
are the hidden attributes
that make them unique,
humanly imperfect.
Flaws are attractive,
only in that
they refuse to hide themselves from others,
and so they force their owners
to accept them rather than trying
to change them.
It is in this acceptance of different,
this admonition of ego,
that I find the soul of a person.
It is where courageous change lives.
Those that embrace their personal truths,
no matter how painful,
are powerfully secure
in their understanding of self.
And it is in these people
I search for the elusive fragments
of the mirrors
that echo the reflections
of my soul.
Hard tracks
driven into gentle surfaces
scratching, etching, imprinting
its angst into permanent grooves
that pool with spilled ink –
tainted purity.
We always press too hard
when pulling ourselves up
takes more strength
than simply pushing forward,
Wisps of soul memory
flicker through flames of indigo.
Frequencies elevate;
Echoes of wavelength
heighten the potentiality hidden
within,
that shine through persona
like the fiery hues
of my unique pigment
immersed in the sun’s rays.
Threads of old soul
lace through the fiber of my new being.
My royalty is humble,
its raiment a bejeweled aura
adorning my crown;
Upon a quiet eye without sight
opened by its own perceived vision –
my dreams never let me forget
who my ancestry was…
My state of being
thrumming with the kindred awareness
of matrilineal Nubian vibrations.
I am flavor,
and color –
of spice, and of fire…
Me, always the epitome
of my heart’s truest desires.
I’m not myself right now,
and that’s okay…
I can’t be “normal,” or “happy”
every single day.
I mean, I could try, but then on the flip –
you’d only ask me why.
I’m not me, currently –
But I’ll be fine.
I’m just warning you
not to waste my time.
The truth is,
I’m in a bad mood.
Because I’m entitled to those,
everything can’t always be hunky-dory,
I suppose.
I guess that today
is just one of those days
where I can’t get it right
no matter what anyone says.
And I don’t really care,
that feeling just isn’t “there”…
That pretending to feel something I don’t –
I’ve never been a good liar,
so I won’t.
I won’t smile, or laugh, or joke,
because I don’t have the desire to invoke
the mirth of those around me – how can I,
When [presently] I’m not even happy?
I’m not trying to be rude,
I just need time to brood.
I guess what I’m really trying to say,
is that I’m having a bad day.
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