The Poetry Marathon

I will be discovered in hiding
opening my eyes to brightness
A distant stranger to me
lives within my soul parts
I have not seen her
Its been some time
since we have
been one
whole

in terms of design
I describe my sadness

Skyscraper high
head into the clouds
sifting through self to feel more
besides needle prick pain
I want to feel something
now

stress spreads me thin
and my patience short
Periwinkle dreams
are the only things
keeping me afloat

Cultivating
Abundance

bearing to
toss out the old

a poem
handcrafted in
wrapped newness

love baked into meals
savoring tastes
full and packed
with the idea of a happy home

saying you were placed
here for me
and I think you are great

A presence lacking
lifetime guarantees
sit intact in living rooms

reinforcing the thought
that love resides here

Family is the only part
required
the rest is trim

There is nothing terrible
with interrupting
a catastrophic mind

Mine is a bad neighborhood

unaware of your exhale
your breaths becoming
more grounded
in the cue
your brain is signaling your lungs to breathe

There are times those who wander are lost
in anxious and worried thoughts
plunging into the same pattern
in a different place
seeking a higher vibration
but getting loss
in humbleness

a chronic wandering
leads you to the same place
in a different destination
unknown

Womanhood
always comes with duties
The black version comes with more than that

Our minds unravel when expectations are
uncontrolled
unlisted
unnamed
but
present themselves like a stress inducing button was pressed

overanalyzing both sides of my body
never caressing the thought
a soul is its center place
making us unable to rock ourselves to
sleep at night

Fixating on outside appearances
more than the clusters
of problems brewing within
while the man gets to work late
less is expected
we work overtime
til sleep does us part

We are supposed to carry on
with imaginary hugs
of support
and virtual I love you’s

I had a commonplace with her
we held hands in being unable
to perform
the ritual and roles
that make our stress spiral

Living in other people’s minds
comparing
shaming
shifting blame
competing
we were never accepted to be ourselves
we manuevered through bad energy
in rooms of aunts and uncles
that possibly cringed at the length of our hair

outside of our own cublicle
each unit was built from the same
pair
the same grandmother and grandfather
the same mother and father
yet units were shattered into
a lifelong of animosity
and pushing down
withholding truths
ashamed of your very existence
no wonder I don’t fear being abandoned
It seems I fear being loved.

I want to fall
to see where it takes me
Instead
I scurry to the next rock
and leap on faith
hoping it will contain
me for today

She had the same wishes as I
Praying over her kids
written with a pen dipped in ink
I imagine was stolen
from master

its rare but we always find a way
to learn
to grieve
to exist
to be

I imagine her nails
digging deep through soil
clumped beneath nails
in desperation
to be human
for once

to speak freely for once
this was her life line

She was amazing
beyond the laws that tore into her
existence
children ripped from wombs
natural habitats routinely
beaten from inside her
we were never meant to belong here

Somehow the tattered
outer shell
carried no light other than prayers inside

the very struggle seemed carving like

Symbolic to a world that still struggles to see light in our dark
a shell that thrives beyond outsiders comfort

carvings still seem relevant
her speech
buried in the woods behind our back yard

her prayers

her light
dug up
like bones
in a capsule that contained
crystallized writings like quartz
Fractured pores
interconnected to earth
like tree roots

it had a story to tell
inside

It follows the sun
like currency
striking the sadness
like a match
it will crawl
into your new
into places never wandered
into your blank space
quilting upon your imperfections
making you see more than
what was intended
troubling your mirrored
reflection
you search your eyes

Eyes tell the truth sometimes
but like the earth
even eyes contain secrets
compartments
chambers
holes
wounds
from a life
of pushing down

The clouds surface onto your TOTAL
lack of understanding
of who you are in this world
your presence sparks conversations
making you lose sight
like fog

what is inside of you
surfaces pavements
unseen
cloudy and drifting
suffering to truth

Who Am I, when no one is looking?
Who Am I, when I am unseen?

The earth remains beautiful
whether we take notice or not.

Now its my turn.

Watercolors, Crayons
Green or Purple over Black
I write a poem with my art and rarely look back

I was born with rhythms
Flowing through my brain
I make up tunes in my head
and flush them down the drain
its hard for me to remember things
the stress of life drives my car
Every-day I wake up
dreaming to live above my scars

Watercolors, Crayons
Green or Purple over Black
I write a poem with my art and rarely look back

The earth provided beauty
the sun, the moon, the rain
People provide hardships that reduce
you to your pain
Keep your feet moving forward
cause lack of movement wrecks your heart
disease can trickle in your home
and wreck your world apart

Watercolors, Crayons
Green or Purple over black
I write a poem with my art and rarely look back

I paint with watercolors
until the paper’s somewhat soaked
I grab a green or purple crayon
to stroke along
what was soaked

My art enters my heart space
invoking beauty that life denied
Uncaptured in most photographs
is the artist I am inside