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Taking Back Control
It has been awhile since I have done some self-reflection. Allowing myself to really take a good look at myself. My insecurities, my triumphs, my pitfalls, my flaws, my gifts, my being as a whole. I have spent too long existing in this world complaining or being frustrated about my own uniqueness. Trying to fit my thoughts, passions, and ideas into the box of others narrow-mindedness. For too long I have been conditioned to 'dumb down' my opinion and to avoid being passionate about my personal pursuits. For what? All to stay within the status quo of sameness. I realize now that no one will share my visions because my visions are not for them to share. The things God has shown me are for me to deal with alone. No matter how vivid and scary and powerful and uncomfortable these visions are I will embrace them with both arms. Running away from what God has called me to do only causes more stress for me. He has already revealed his plans for me, now all I have to do is walk. New things are coming for the new year. A new season in my life. Old things are passed away, it is time to do a new thing.
The Perfect Poem (Final Version)
I want a poem I can connect with
Not a typical systematic lifeless one
It must physically reach out of the page
Grasp my heart and infuse it with life
I want a poem specifically crafted for me
From the potter’s hand
An exquisite piece of art
Beauty personified in front of my own eyes
I want a poem to rescue me from danger
As I approach the edge of oblivion
It whispers “I’m here to save you”
Grabbing my hand, leading me to safety
I want a poem to comfort my fears
Be my light in total darkness
My personal security from evil
An escape when none is apparent
I want a poem to convict my wrongdoings
Cast out my demons like an exorcist
Preaching them out like a reverend
Until I submit and confess my sins
I want a poem to motivate me
Give me hope like Martin Luther King, Jr.
Help me achieve my goals and soar
Effortlessly above the clouds like an eagle
I want a poem to teach me
Challenge my mind to be more than mediocre
Inform me of the unfamiliar
Give me new insights of myself
I want a poem to cure me
Like a salve for a wound
The vaccine for all my ills
Medicine for my sick soul
I want a poem to give me power
Reclaiming what is rightfully mine
Towering over problems with grandiosity
Annihilating everything in my path
I want a poem like this
I need a poem like this
Lost Ones (Final Version)
The worn path
The bridge to nowhere
Millions of nameless, aimless children walk
With no end in sight
In a daze
Caused by relentless subjection
To the Sun’s rays
Walking dead
Comparable to the terminally ill
In need of a transfusion of something
With substance
Ears have become deaf to instruction or guidance
Altered by years of consistent, unproductive noise
Some may call to them
Attempting to save them from the path
Only to see them continue on
This is what they know
Like a scene from a post-apocalyptic movie
They walk with tattered clothing, disheveled appearance
Every step causes pain
Their faces wince and contort
Inching farther from rescue
Is this their fate?
Ask their parents
In other words life donors
Parents who are walking themselves
On a path without their children
Behind the cold steel bars of jail
Lured into the haze of crack houses
Content with choosing more important things
Than their own seeds
Children disposed like trash
Without a care
Hand prints mark across innocent faces
Fingerprints linger in hidden places
Beaten, broken, violated, forgotten
These are the unwanted
Do not judge as they walk by
You do not know their story
They walk not by choice
By necessity
The past is too hard to face
Wings (Final Version)
Wings
that extend across the sky
above the cloud tops
that extend across the sky
above the cloud tops
angelic
heavenly feathers
sing hymns that uplift
as the light crests
heavenly feathers
sing hymns that uplift
as the light crests
across my face
bathed in glorious warmth
flapping my wings
effortlessly
seeing a majestic view
effortlessly
seeing a majestic view
of the world below
with no need to walk
nor run
why should I?
when I have
Wings
with no need to walk
nor run
why should I?
when I have
Wings
The King's Eyes (Final Version)
Through these eyes
Many days of struggle
Seen
Blood-shot red
Red from the heat of inequality
Crowds of disenfranchised people
Marching
Serving as their guide
Boycott
Demanding change
Pavement worn from thousands of feet
Walking
Endurance is necessary
For success
Clenching worn prison bars
Words transcribed in letter form
Birmingham
Persecuted, not broken
Knowing this is God’s will
White hooded faces
Burn crosses outside my window
TV screen
Water hoses beat like slave whips
Nooses dangle people like Christmas ornaments
Objects
Aggressive actions from their fearful eyes
Watchful
Scared of me
My plan of action
Act non-aggressively
Responsibly
Non-violently
Podium
Faces awaiting a new Moses
To part the sea of segregation
My words taste of power
Feeding them vital sustenance
Giving them strength to endure
In times of rest I dream
Of a world that could be
Memphis
Balcony
Chrome flashes
Bullet
Eyes close
Resting until my dream comes true
Hurt No More (Final Version)
Countless things are done in the name of love
Some beautiful, some dangerous, some illogical
Still each one lovely
Love tells you to stay
When you know you should leave
Enduring excruciating pain
To reply
I know he/she still loves me
Staying with someone
That cares nothing about your struggles
When their petty issues always come first
All in the name of love
Trapped in a slow dance with love
Loving when love is good
Seemingly inescapable when love turns bad
Circling and circling in the middle of life’s dance floor
Dizzy from its motion
Punch drunk love
Woozy with affection
Good advice falls on deaf ears
Because others “don’t understand our love”
Obvious pitfalls in others eyes
Are oblivious to us
Shielded by love’s brilliance
Blinded by the hope that one day
Love will make everything right
That the hurt endured will be worth it
Nights of tear soaked pillows
Attached to hurtful words that still remain
Just to maintain love
Clutching with all our might
Until nothing is left
Running From the Past (Final Version)
Running with reckless abandon
arms desperately pumping up and down
like rabid dogs dangerously close behind
nipping at the heels.
Beads of sweat fall in a constant flow
leaving a trail of fear
each breath pounds against the chest
hard and loud.
Gravel slows forward progression
making each step futile
close to exhaustion
glancing at what’s behind.
Scared the past will eventually emerge
with a ferocious bite
not noticing the scars
that it has already produced.
Running from unchangeable events
lingering dark as shadows
an ever present reminder
no shoes can outrun the past.
Slowing to face
the mental picture of ravenous dogs
that fades into the mirror of
self reflection.
Emotional Hoarder
Behind an anxious door
waits lofty waste. Impenetrable
by foot, stacked beyond
recognition. Paperweighted promises
and heartbroken hopes hang
among depressed dirtiness.
Aged dreams wither into
unrecognizable forms underneath
security blanketed eyes .
Clinging to clutter for perpetual
companionship that never
embraces. Pushing true affection
away for a shiny new
bitterness, anxiety, or
fear. Incessantly collecting
emotions and storing them
away with their
locations forgotten. Replaced
by more clutter. Engulfed
in excess, hoarding
the pain.
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