The Poetry Marathon

Snow was once my daughter’s cat and now she is family.

Our sassy and comforting tabby cautiously enters a room looking for a safe place to hide.

I am convinced she bares the soul of my mother, the temperament of my daughter, the talents of my son, and the intuition of my partner.

When I see her watching me, I wonder what does she see?

Like a magnet attracted to energy, when I’m being silly, she prepares for a vicious attack and when I’m feeling low, she comes by my side slowly for cuddles.

I look for her when she needs space to make sure she is ok and on early mornings we sit out on the back porch together listening to the sounds of our forest.

Snow was once my daughter’s cat and now she is family.

Breathe.

Laugh.

Play.

Dance.

Cuddle.

Sing.

Cry.

Live.

Rest.

Everything is interconnected.

If I lived under this principle, letting you go would be impossible.

The perceived inadequacies and unveiling of one’s true colors.

Once vibrant and alive as the sweetest juices fell from my lips.

Replaced with chronic fatigue, now stagnant and somber.

Dried cracked lips burning from the desert sun.

A familiar landscape now foreign territory.

Untouchable, I replace my lingerie with body armor to shield my nakedness from your hollow eyes.

I vow to hold myself in the coldest of nights.

No more rejection or unintended pain.

Everything is interconnected.

That’s the way love goes,  transferring my negative energies into a divine connection.

Sisters, you know the feeling on two occasions?

That’s day and night I’d go for broke feeling.

The weak in the knees type of love lasting long after the honeymoon.

Cause when your heart start beating triple time with thoughts of love on your mind.

I can’t figure out just what to do when the cause and cure is you.

When you no longer need to search for that real love.

After praying to God,

To send me someone real.

To caress me and to guide me towards

A love my heart can finally feel.

Lately I’ve been sleep walking, the lack of energy and emotional imbalances have led me to this

space of emptiness.

Conversations from my subconscious now merged into my waking life.

423hz frequencies playing softly through my phone trying to tame the fright, flight, and freeze

responses I navigate in this dimension.

Better sleep, all the tests say I need better sleep!

Awaiting patiently for my results, the somnologist said my legs moved more than 1,000 times

that night and mimics the results of a person being tortured.

With wide eyes I accepted the answer but where is the cure?

Once I close my tired eyes and laughter filled the room.

Another time I hear someone screaming but finally realized it was only me.

Better sleep, someone said I need better sleep, a phenomenon that escapes me.

Dear Young Hafeezah,

It was the year of 1990; you were always a quiet child with an active imagination.

I watched you walked down the halls of Dubose Middle School trying to make yourself invisible.

Each day you wanted to become someone else instead of who you were.

Your head was covered in long pigtails with different color hair clamps on the end.

You were tall and thin in statue almost equivalent to the shape of a boy.

You wondered how the same girls your age could have curves and breasts.

You secretly wanted to be like them laughing on the courtyard with their equally curvy friends.

You started the school year late because of Hugo and on top of that you were a transfer.

It was a relentless form of torture playing the game of disappearing and reappearing each day.

I often wondered how you survived, and how many times you cried not to return to school the

next day. The reality is you were simply magical waiting patiently for someone to say, “Hafeezah can you

come out and play.”

I follow a path of twists and turns while anticipating the taste of freedom.

Peaks and valleys keep the destination interesting for miles.

My divine tribe grounds my truest form of self:

“E” withstands my sarcasm and passionate outbursts.

“J” embraces my moodiness and days of self-isolation.

“R” energizes my senses, overcoming my inability to express desires of the heart.

“K” reminds me to embrace my inner child.

“T” rebuilds my strength through affirmations and brings out my sense of humor.

As my divine tribe grows, the path becomes clearer and the journey becomes graceful.

I hear the children playing in the summer heat, families cooking in the kitchen, and water cooling the thirsty plants of the earth.

The purest expressions of life, yet in this same space silence, outrage, and hatred flow freely.

Domestic terrorist protected under the same law that fails to hold sexual predators in this country accountable.

On June 17, 2015, blue waters surround the Holy City, drowning out the voices of diplomatic reasonings for the murder of nine souls praying under the eyes of God.

866 miles away

On May 14, 2022, at the head of the Niagara River, flowing around the City of Good Neighbors, blaring blue lights surround Tops Friendly Market.

1,700 miles away

On May 24, 2022, along the Leona River, waiting for turmoil to explode into desperation for answers.

Babies.

Future.

Taken.

Trauma.

Collective.

In memory of Charleston, SC; Buffalo, NY; Uvalde, TX victims and their families.

Internally the turmoil is unforgiven.

The root of the pain stems from the unknown.

Unresolved issues from my past are dormant.

A blank slate void of laughter, joy, or pain.

As night falls intuitive visions flood my mind.

As the sun rises exhaustion takes over my body.

A never-ending cycle as the third eye emerges,

a sense of clarity and higher purpose controls this insanity.