The Damsel Rescued Herself.

I remember vividly what it was like...
...waiting on someone to realize that I am worth more than the treatment I settled for. Anxious for the day to come when he'd look me in eyes and realize that I could do so much better than he. I deserved more.

To be awakened to the fact that Love is more than being an ornament on his arm. More than the cost of dinner, movies, and a new dress. More than the physical spasms and shivers that he felt was crucial to a shared happiness with me.

I slowly felt less and less beautiful, and he didn't seem to notice. I knew because he began to interrupt me more during conversations. I guess he really didn't care what I had to say. I was no longer the mysterious and beautiful young woman who he knew very little about. Now that we'd covered the important issues: religion, family, music, and politics...there was no need to pursue my mind. And now that he could count on me to greet him happily at the door, there was no need for him to linger when he held me.

So I waited.
Stood next to him and dug deeper into his heart.
Always finding something different and something more to love.
...yet he waded in the shallow ends of my soul, content...and possibly, bored.

Soon. The lazy, lukewarm feeling of his touch pushed me away.
And, in the end, his infidelity didn't seem to break my heart, really...

I had freed it some time before.

How I Feel...

R. E. S. P. E. C. T

I've read two posts by two extremely wise & witty women today [Honesty and Lionness].

They really got me thinking about men and women relations, and both had a common theme:

Women's Self-Respect.

It's been in short supply lately, and [unmarried] women are going to desperate measures to get and keep a man. This is not, in any shape or form, my way of wagging a finger, but I would like to set a couple of things straight that may help any woman secretly struggling.

I've been there. And it's a trap that I skillfully dodge.

I wrote a piece back in 2007 called "Performance Oriented"...

he swore to me
that he loved me.

i would have gone to the four corners of
the world
...and the four corners of
his bed
if he'd ask it of me.

i would have reformed my style to his liking
suitable to please his palette.
Corporate Sophisticate.
Slick-tongued ghetto chick.
Subservient Housewife.
[or all of the above.]

I carry around my box of hats
from the last man to him...
...and now to the next.

I am. SICK. of packing.

There are many things that are wonderful about having a man in your life. His mere presence provides a strange sense of social security. And we are built to withstand physical and emotional suffering (Praise Jesus...). But an occupational hazard that comes with being a woman is that we don't know how to say "You know what? It's either me or you...Enough is enough."

Including me. Instead I'd say,

"We can work this through."

"Things will get better. I just know it."

"He's just ___________. I just need to ______________ him more/less."

Sound familiar?

Compromise is essential in any successful relationship, but we need to establish BEFORE-HAND what treatment we will and will not be subjected to. We've gotten so used to fighting for gender independance and social liberties, that we've thrown away the basic chivalry that women are owed. And the lack of respect is a huge causualty.

It's funny to me that single women sometimes walk into clubs, malls, and restaurants with an air that demands respect. We play the game very well. However, once we lock down one particular man, suddenly we become 1/2 a person. Where did the other half of you go?

I have met many men who are strikingly similiar to peacocks, because they will always [eventually] show their true colors. Men and women alike live their lives like this; in a constant stage of "first impressions". Sally's Beauty Supply and Covergirl will make millions this year because women are afraid to be who they really are [Note: I am NOT speaking negatively of cosmetics.]. Why?

Because they do not want to scare away a man.

But somewhere between 21 and 22 I made a heart choice. I was going to be myself everywhere I went, and not be afraid of that. No more hoops. Because I am Beautiful. Corny. Clumsy. Wise. Kind. Sexy. Fly. Moody. Sophisticated. Street. Brilliant. BOSS. (smile)

And I can say that without an ounce of arrogance; consciously bowing my heart to God for being my Creator. And He does not make anything slopply.

So, I can't continue to sacrifice for a man who doesn't know the meaning of selflessness. If he is dead set on looking out for himself, then it would be an injustice to him to give him something he isn't ready for.

Shared.Blindness.

I just finished watching the movie Blindness, and it drove me to the point of tears.

A sudden "white blindness" disease spread across the US, and those infected were forcibly confined to a quarrantined community. The conditions were seemingly adequate at first, but as more and more people were incarcerated there, the worse the conditions became. Eventually, the people were divided into smaller communities, "wards". Each one established its own leader, with their own by-laws.

Outside the wards were men with guns; heavily guarding the surroundig perimeter so that no one could escape to infect anyone from the outside. They provide no aide (save the large bulk of food that they dropped off at the back of the community grounds) and supplied only brutality.

One leader of the wards (Ward 12) soon took over the food distrubition; requiring everyone to give their valuable possessions in order to recieve food. Soon...there were no more valuables left. So, he then required uninhibited sexual use of the wards' women.

[I won't give away too many details for those of you who want to see it.]

Watching this made me angry.

Blindness (and other movies such as Stephen King's The Mist) successfully reveals the most animalistic and hedonistic attributes of man that occur in the most debase situations. I recognized that even though we are all suffering from the same basic needs (they were ALL blind -- except one, actually), goods/services within their community were not given based on what was needed, but based on who owned/controlled the use of the goods/services. The men leaders of Ward 12 took the goods by force, but were not wise with them. They took advantage of the people at their mercy. At first, the women of Ward 1 were unwilling to be currency, but they did what was "best" for the good of the community.

However, anarcy lead to war...which lead to chaos.

This is what happens when the mindset of a community/country/nation is based on what is deserved, and not on what is just. Giving the wicked ample room to prey on the weak. Centuries ago, people's land could be taken from, or people could be taken/sold from their own land (slavery)...simply by force. What is sad to me is that in a nation where opportunity is preached, little is said about humanitarianism. Competitiveness over the depreciating dollar and the declining business arena drift us further away from the notion that we are meant to take care of each other.

And in the face of crisis or death, we are all flesh and bone. And it won't matter how much money you have in your account, or what corner office you hold uptown.

We are all the same. We are all humans. All blind.

To My Sis-stars (Original Piece by N.Steven)

The Underground: To My Sis-stars


Location: Liberty University (My Alma Mater)
Poet: N.Steven (My Homie/Partner in Rhymes -- haha)


Click here if you would like to read more from N.Steven. (Quick plug -- He's got three books out, including "Just Some Stuff I Wrote Down", which debuted this past spring.)

Shout out to N.Steven. Much Love.
Enjoy!!!!

A Black Man Invented Music...and I Bet He's Turning Over in His Grave.

June is Black Music Month.

Proclaimed [ironically] during Bush's administration back in 2002, Black Music Month is meant to establish that Black Americans, more than any other race, have made the most innovative contributions to Music. The very notion of rhythm can be traced back to ancient tribal practices of the early people; largely Africans.

During the slavery period, music kept the slaves' spirits high above their current mistreatment. If you are knowledgable about the Negro Spirituals, though we may sing them today in memorandum, you'd know that most were actually code (I bet you remember that fact from an episode of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, right?). Slave music was actually the foundation for what became known as "American Music": blues, jazz, and [yes] rock n' roll.

However, the invention of American Music was attributed to Whites once it was formulated, packaged, and sold to the consumers of mainstream. Though many Blacks were recognized [solely] for their talent in these genres, they were never given the props that was certaintly deserved.

Example: The supposed King of Rock n' Roll is none other than the late, great Elvis Pressley. However, he had a predecessor and pioneer: the grandaddy of rock n' roll, Chuck Berry. But when you think early Rock n' Roll, the mind automatically goes to Elvis.

Blacks continued to stir up their creative juices by breaking new ground, with the creation of three new genres of music:

Gospel
R&B
Hip-Hop

Other sub-genres were created by combining genres: (Ex: Soul is combined gospel and R&B -- i.e. Ray Charles). Pop music (a lighter form of rock) even has a Black man as its top contributor: Michael Jackson -- and his 42,537,000 albums sold makes him the highest selling artist OF ALL TIME.

Blacks used to use music ONLY as a way to escape oppression. However, the current state of Black music is attempting to undo what has been accomplished since the late 1800's. I'll target Hip Hop music, specifically....Here are a few personal reasons why:

1. Sean "P. Diddy" Combs is currently one of the most savvy, highest paid music moguls in the music industry, but is secretly thought of as a JOKE.

2. In 2007, 50 Cent became the highest selling hip hop artist ever.

3. Hip Hop is referenced as being a "business".

4. The Source [Awards & the magazine] (They lost my complete respect when both the Roots & Juvenile got 4 mics in the same issue.)

5. B.E.T. (period)

6. People will illegally download Lupe Fiasco's The Cool, but will spend $5.99 a month on a "Stanky Leg" ringtone.

7. The formula for selling records is based on invisible gimmicks. (I.e. Swagga)

8. Rap artists, who claim to have great free-styling skills, having ghostwriters.

9. Too much sampling, which leads to an decrease of innovation.

10. My nephew can quote the lyrics of Soldja Boy, but couldn't tell you who Pharoahe Monch or Little Brother are.

I'm not naive. It's up to the people to make Black Music as productive as it once was.The cliche awards show speech holds true:
"I'd like to thank the fans, because without you, we wouldn't be here."

...Chuck Berry, Sam Cooke, and Ella Fitzgerald knew one thing for certain: Black music reflects the people. Our people. Somewhere along the line, we've forgotten that.

Thank you to those who've paved the way.

Happy Black Music Month

How I Feel...

My Jam for the Moment...

Mos Def - "Casa Bey" - The Ecstatic - 6.9.09


My heart beats to this man's lyrics. I'm so excited for the album's drop on the 9th.

Since When?...(June Edition)

Since when are females, especially white females, excluding from having beat-boxing skills? Watch and be amazed. (Not sure how old this is, but I stumbled upon this a few minutes ago...)

How I Feel...

Gay Rights vs. Civil Rights Movement

It confuses me when advocates of Gay Rights try and use the credibility of the Civil Rights Movement. The mistreatment of Blacks for centuries still continues to be a sore spot for citizens in America; as well it should be. However, the struggle for Gays (I.e. currently with Prop 8) is completely different.

I will sadly admit that Gays undergo severe scrutiny and prejudice. A blog I frequent expressed that the Rodney King beating and the Matthew Shepard beating are both hate crimes. I whole-heartedly agree. However, there are many other types of people that recieve horrible mistreatment because of one thing or the other (I.e. the obese). A hate crime is a hate crime. But staying on topic, Gays did not have to fight for voting rights, or educational rights. No one has ever denied them the right to read or pee in a clean bathroom with heterosexuals.

I would never compare Slavery to the Holocaust; referencing it to make Slavery seem more horrendous. It is irrelevant and disrespectful. So, as a Black woman, I would respectfully appreciate it if those advocating for Gay Rights would cease using my history as a way to bend the arms and pull on the heart strings of the citizens of this country.

I symphatize, but I do not agree. My allegiance is not automatically applied because we may or may not face the same enemy.

The #s List (2009 Version)

10 Things you wish you could say to ten different people:
1. "You know what? Man up, already..."
2. "You may be good at a lot of things, but there is one thing that you do extremely well...and that's hurt my feelings."
3. "What did I do to make you feel like you had to delete me out of your life?"
4. "Thank you. I appreciate you and your wife more than you'll ever know."
5. "I know he's your close friend...but remember...I still love him...and he loves me. So, please do not give me a reason to dislike you."
6. "Thank you for always being my best friend...on top of everything else. I love you."
7. "You are growing into a beautiful young woman that I love more and more. I hope you're in my life always."
8. "Thank you for just being there. You're my best friend, no matter how far a part we are."
9. "You have issues. And you need to deal with your anger...because you're hurting her, and it's hurting me."
10. "I love you more than I was prepared for. But I hope that time and space doesn't push me further from you. I hope it doesn't hurt us more than it helps us. I'm not afraid of what we represent. Just be here. Don't leave me."

9 Things about yourself:
1. I like plastic flowers.
2. I enjoy giving things away.
3. Purses are my new secret fetish.
4. I want to paint just one original piece of art.
5. I love connecting with people.
6. I enjoy rummaging through old bookstores.
7. Scrapbooking = <3
8. If I had no choice...I wouldn't mind going without make-up for the rest of my life.
9. I could be a movie critic...and be good at it.

8 Ways to win my heart:
1. Genuinely love children.
2. Possess people-smarts.
3. Know your 90s trivia.
4. Love taking pictures (and being in them).
5. Blog
6. Regularly read others' blogs.
7. Say something politically incorrect with conviction.
8. Give others hope.

7 Things that cross my mind a lot:
1. My parent's health.
2. My relationship/friendship with him.
3. My walk with God.
4. Poetry/writing (what could I write next)
5. Money
6. Grad school
7. The Future

6 Things I do before I go to sleep:
1. Eat a snack.
2. Bathe/change into pjs.
3. Talk to parents.
4. Check email/FB/Myspace/Blogs
5. Text/call him.
6. Listen to music.

5 People I couldn’t live without (Other than God):
1. My mom
2. My step-dad
3. My father
4. My nephew
5. My papa

4 Things I am wearing right now:
1. shorts
2. gray wifebeater
3. underwear
4. silk hair scarf

3 Songs that fit my life perfectly(right now):
1. "Surrender Saved My Life" by The Beautiful Republic
2. "Falling in Love in a Coffee Shop" by Landon Pigg
3. "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill" by Lauryn Hill

2 Things I want to do before I die:
1. Have a family.
2. Write a best-seller.

1 Confession:
He loves me....but I'm afraid that my best friend and I won't ever get back together. I have no basis for this fear...but that's where it is.

Be.Still. (Part Five -- Disappointment)

I'd never been on a real date before.

The Senior Prom doesn't count, because EVERYONE has a date for the Prom. If I'd gone with my older cousin, I wouldn't count that as a date, right?

It was the summer after high school. I'd just gotten back from Mexico, where I'd done street ministry to some of the poorest children in the small town of Morelia. My friend of 12 years had become my boyfriend by the time we took our final exams. I had gone out of the country for the first time in my life...so I figured I was ready to go on a date.

At the time, I was enrolled in this year-long church program for post high-school grads. I'd moved out of my parents' home, and into a host house with the pastor's older, single daughter. I was under rules and regulations, but dating was not one of them. I was very, very excited to be able to hang out with my guy alone. He'd come to church events, and my parents knew him, for the most part.

I remember that Sunday very well. I invited him to a church event that was held at a school in my hometown. There was entertainment put on by some of the members, and PLENTY of food. The plan was, that he and I were going to go to the movies after the event was over. I'd cleared it with the pastor and his wife two weeks before.

Coming out of the bathroom at the school (I'd changed into jeans and a tshirt), my guy stood near the front doors waiting for me. I suddenly remembered to go say bye to my parents before I left for my date. They replied that I couldn't go on the date, because no one knew about it before hand. I said that my pastor and his wife knew. Clearly upset, my parents confronted them.

And much to my surprise, they replied (with me standing there) that they knew nothing about me going out on a date...at any time...and especially not that day. My head started to spin. With all eyes on me, I simply stood there; speechless. I didn't know what I was more disappointed in: my parents' anger or my church leaders' dishonesty. I turned to look back at the guy...and signaled for him to go on without me.

My mind swam with confusion and hurt. After proving to be an responsible, well-rounded young adult, I was still unafforded the basic pleasure of hanging out with a friend. And I was a 17 year old high school graduate.

This disappointment swelled in the pit of my gut. And it only grew.

This occurance flooded into an array of conversations and lectures. My parents were furious at me for my lack of sound judgement. My pastors declared that I was being drawn down the wrong path, and that I was too carnal for wanting to go out on my very first date.
Finally, a conference was scheduled between my pastors, my parents, and I...

...where I was strongly advised to stop dating this boy. And there was a unified voice in that room, and it spoke that I was going down the wrong path. What I felt was wrong.

There is a vivid memory that continues to haunt my dreams.

And it happened as soon as the meeting was over...

I remember going into the empty bathroom of my church and crying my eyes out. I held my hands tightly across my mouth and weeped sour, broken tears into the floor. I asked God for clarity. I wanted to know why this was happening to me, and why I did not see it coming. I could physically feel a battle going on inside of me. It wasn't that I felt I could not live without this guy. That wasn't it at all. It was that I had absolutely no clue what is truly righteous and good. Somehow, I'd lacked the spiritual fortitude to see the darkness (or the light, for that matter) inside of my own soul. I wanted to possess my own faith. Have it to be MINE.

But it didn't belong to me, it belonged to those who felt they knew better than I did.

And that belief was lorded over me. Making me dizzy with disappointment.

I was in an unsound place. A place where a hope was dangled in front of my eyes, but then snatched away...where I am then told that this hope wasn't really mine to begin with.

The notion of hope deferred still tends to trip me up. My mind immediately goes back to a picture of me: confused and decieved. But I shake that lie out of my mind...remembering that I contain the potential to grasp growth, beauty, wisdom, and true grace, as well as the evidence that points towards my own personal relationship with God. I should only be still and tap into it...

So, disappointment teaches me this:
Fear no man, only God. Because He is the only one who can change the direction of the wind. Trust Him.

All.

I took a Psychology of Religion course a couple of semesters ago; where we surveyed each major world religion. It was incredibly informative and I left with not only a knowledge of other faiths, but a confirmed foundation of my own Faith. I know most people are wary of the topic "religion", but I wanted to explain its role in my life.

I grew up in church, basically. Knew the stories of Noah, Abraham, and Jesus before I mastered my times tables. By 17, I could quote scripture, and even taught lessons for youth and prison inmates. At some point in my late adolescence, I finally mentally understood that there was something to religion that surpassed deeds. I felt something tugging at the strings of my heart.

I thought, mind you, that I was doing okay. I'd overcome depression, suicidal thoughts, a broken home, and the death of my brother...all without the depth of spirituality. Right? Why would a young woman, coming into her own and realizing her identity, need to grow closer to the God of her faith? I mean, I was a good, well-mannered teen. I volunteered places, didn't curse, smoke, or drink, and I was a virgin. I'd done all I could to be a good person, so what else is there?

As soon as I graduated high school, things started to happen. In me and around me.

Example:
I watched the church that I grew up in become more and more occultish and spiritually manipulative. Disunity ensued and people begin to stop attending. Families were broken a part. Those who stayed either began to take on the attitude of the leadership (by demonizing or shunning those who left), or became helplessly subjected to the others. My family was the latter. I struggled in my faith, but stayed and served on many ministries at the church. Saw/heard things that rocked me to my core. Witnessed ungodly, unethical, and illegal practices that made me question the sovereignty of the God of my faith. My life became like clay to my church leaders, and decisions that I made were guided by their counsel. Those church splits and that ministry as a whole has deeply wounded many people. Some of which have completely seperated themselves from Christianity. I considered it.

I remember numerous dark nights where I yelled and screamed at God; asking Him where was He when all of this was happening...or when my parents' marriage was crumbling...or while my brother lay on the side of the road dying...

Instead of getting an explanation from God, I recieved understanding. Now usually, an explanation or a reason for an event will give us understanding. But this time, I gained understanding (not right away) without getting a literal answer. But I had to be willing to want the understanding...

I could not be the same teenager who looked at my faith as a classification. Or a check-box on a job application. Because there is more. It is more.
It wasn't enough to give a percentage of my heart to God. Or my mental understanding. He wanted more. But how much exactly?

All.

This has been the test of my entire life. And it continues to be.
Every trial and circumstance has been to make me stronger, better, and wiser...but also to draw my heart closer to His.

I am only 23 years old...so there isn't much that I know for sure about love and life. But there is one thing that I am absolutely sure of: God loves me.

This is my testimonial. Of what it is meant by "Not a religion, but a relationship."

Bloggin from My Cell...

Lying awake & thinking of him. Just when I feel like I'm getting the hang of this summer adventure on my own, I realize how much happier I'd be with him here...

Brave.New.Voices.

Caught wind of this show right before the first episode premiered.
Check it.

Let it Go.

I've figured out that the worst thing I can do for any circumstance or issue in my life, is to try and fix it myself. Normally, I'll go through a trecherous cycle of:

Step 1: Analyzing it
Step 2: Mapping out possible results
Step 2b: Rehashing on the worse-case-scenario
Step 3: Worrying
Step 4: Asking people not involved to pray for me
Step 5: Acting based on my certainty of the issue's outcome
It usually goes like this. But I usually either overthink it, or mess the whole thing up by the time I get to Step #5. And it's odd because I know that there's a better way.

Especially in relationships. There is a certain level of control that I'd like to maintain if I am going to be in a relationship with a guy. I'll exercise the tendency to keep a close eye on where the relationship is headed...and if need be, steer it myself. I don't let heartache catch me off guard.

But my current love is completely different. I am involved in the most unique "friendlationship" of my whole life. [I use "friendlationship" because we're on a break...if you're a follower of my blog then you're already aware of this.] We are colleagues in an art (Spoken word/poetry) that is becoming like a campus ministry, we graduated with the same major, we have the same passions and pursuits in life, etc. When I realized that I loved him...my mind dashed to the alter. Today, we are close friends concentrating on our individual lives; away from the daily distractions that being in a serious relationship can bring.

Whenever I feel myself becoming too occupied with the state of this friendship...I can feel God reminding me to give it to Him. Step #4 involves me asking for others to pray for me, but I usually don't need prayer -- simply the strength to obey. It's like He has to consistantly pry my firm grip off of this beautifully wrapped box labeled "The Future". (God has taught me patience in these 4 months.)

I've recently had to deal with some issues about me, the guy, and another girl that is closer to him than I'd like. I'd become unsure about how she really feels about him, and that made me uneasy. So, after being backed into an emotional corner early yesterday, I finally said,

"Okay, Lord. I give up. I'm letting it go..."

About 8 hours later: I recieved a text from the boy (he's away working at a summer camp); telling me exactly what I needed to hear. The fear that was I trying to maneuver myself; went away.

And it happened when I decided to let it go.

Likes & Dislikes (Edition for May)

Dislikes:
Rehashing an old argument
Accidentally chipping off fresh nail polish
Scratches on touch phones
Laugh tracks on sitcoms
Indecisiveness
Folk overly involved in politics and not nearly involved in people
The amount of gossip blogs on the net

Likes:
A throwback song coming on when my iTunes is on shuffle play
Q-tips
a random text from a friend
peach cobbler
the endless amount of pictures I own
getting an heirloom from an older family member
my favorite graphic tee
clarity
recalling a scripture that applies to a current situation
blogging ;)

Random photo of how I feel right now:

Undergrad. Done. (The 100th Post)

Conservative.

I had a dream that conservatives
were hanging blacks and beating up homosexuals.
Well-to-do Christians committing atrocities
In the name of their Lord and Savior.
Advocates of the Moral Majority
in crisp suits and cold hands.
Establishing organizations to ensure
The freedom of "private citizens" above
The goodwill of "all mankind".

I saw them disappear into corporate buildings,
but never darkening the gateways of ghettos, prisons,
and homeless shelters.
I dared to look into the eyes of my brothers and sisters
And I saw them look back at me with eyes of disdain.
I represent a potential enemy.
A liability unless I move to the right neighborhood.

One of them opened his palm to me.
Showed me a bar of gold and said,
"See here? This is America. Land Where God dwells."
My eyes sparkled and saw opportunity.
"We could use one of you" he said, eying me carefully.
I smiled and felt the chains tangled around my ankle loosen...
...but stay put.

I walked with him.
And he showed me
the amber waves of grain,
and purple mountain majesties.
He took me to observe the beauty of
America's land.
He waved his hand dramatically;
a tear formed and fell from his eyes.
I wanted to see it. I did.
But all I saw was soil drenched with
the color red.
Vivid to my eyes,
So the pride that swelled in his chest
confused me.
Yet, the more I dwell on these thoughts
I could see the color on his face growing more pale...
and the chain on my ankle grow tighter.
So, I dare not speak.

I bravely continued to walk at his side.
As we trekked across the landscape...
He proceeded to share his gospel with me,
While I clenched the tarnished cross that my
great-grandmother gave me in my quivering black fist....

Be.Still. (Part Four -- Weariness)

Worse than a lazy man, is a weary one who has lost motivation.
Many times I have confused the two...
I've looked at a homeless man sitting on the side of the road and jumped to the conclusion that this must be a man who would rather someone else do his work for him. But that may not be the case...
...what if, in fact, this is a broken man? Who at one point ran the race with endurance, but then somehow got weary and gave up?

Now, I look into the eyes of that homeless man and I'm suddenly struck with empathy.
How close am I to matching his demeanor/mindset?

I am tired.
Well-rested, nourished, and active,
but weary. Running full speed on a full stomach and an empty tank.
I have not lost heart....because it has been trained though years of experiencing trials, but my MIND is revolting against me.

There is SO MUCH to think about, consider, worry over, plan, configure, and engage into.

...with 24 days until graduation, four months until graduate school, and a million other deadlines in between, I hear these words echoing inside my head:

"I don't know how much more I can take".

If I'm not engrossed in academic pursuits, then I am mulling over summer plans and money woes. Or the billion details concerning being an RA again next year. Or thinking about my mother's health/recovery. Or people that I need to meet and talk to. Or the state of my friendships. Etc. I try to pray over the clamor, but they all rush back into place once I utter "Amen". Why? Because no one else should carry my load but me. Right?

My arms and legs, though ripped from bearing my responsibilities, are fatigued and failing me.
I feel pieces of my academics slipping out from their neatly-arranged places; falling to the ground. Bit by bit, my well-guarded thought life drifts out of its alignment; no longer a safe haven.
Hope, piece by piece, slips away and shatters to the ground.

Just as I am about to completely give way, I drop to my knees and lay each burden. Every responsibility. All of my concerns, worries, and obligations. And lay them at the feet of Jesus.
I do not move, save the quivering of my shoulders as I weep from exhaustion.
Without one word spoken, I am swept up into the arms of my Savior. Closer to Him than I've been in a while. Close enough to see the scars on His hands and the stripes on His upper back and shoulders. The empathy in His eyes.

Weariness taught me something:
....when I am weak, He is strong. Christ bore it all. All of it. So He's strong enough. He really is enough.

Likes & Dislikes (April Version)

Dislikes:
homework with 30 days of school left
cheap flat irons
cold wind
people who lack integrity looking to help you
stinky feet
people who stare
getting to know a severely socially awkward person


Likes:
intimate conversations
texting
photography at the park
making a wise decision
hearing about an answered prayer
laughing until tears
discovering a new music genre

Be.Still. (Part Three -- Grief)

I had just seen him no more than 6 hours prior.
Playfully hugged him and
tugged at one of his locks while he sat on our couch talking to my mother.

And now.
He was gone.

That night still haunts my dreams...
...there were too many people in my room at once:
some gazing back and forth from my mother to me,
while others simply lowered their eyes to the floor.
My mother was struggling to explain something to me, but all I heard was:
"Mike"..."gone"..."he's gone".

I cannot put into words my initial feeling, but I do remember being confused.
It was if all of the logic and reasoning that I had was no help to me...
All sensibility and understanding that a 14 year old usually possesses did not come through for me in that moment.
All I know, is that I felt alone. Abandoned. And wherever my brother was...I wanted to join him.
I could not bear the thought of being left alone here.
Left to contend with the process of loss and mourning.
And having to watch those closest to me endure insurmountable pain.
I knew it the moment my mother's words escaped her lips that pain was promised.
So, in my head...I ran.
Full speed...away from the pain that pursued my soul.

The following year of my life...I lived in a personal hell where the flames could not reach me.
They scorched my family clean. Especially my mother.
I helplessly watched her cry and scream. Her grief hit her in spasms; at unexpected moments. In such sporadic succession that I walked on eggshells in my home.

I did not smile.
I did not speak.
...and I dared not cry.

I had to keep running.
Until...

February 28, 2000.
372 days after my brother died.

I sat on my bed, distracted with something that I was drawing.
I happened to gaze over at the picture of him on my nightstand.
I quickly looked away, but felt a throbbing in my chest.
I opened my mouth, and said to my empty room:
"I miss you Mike."

Tears followed the release of my words.
Many...so many tears.
I cannot remember how long I sat mourning on my bed.
Quiet sobs turned into loud, angry wailing.

When I could cry no more...I wiped my face and saw my pencil and notepad lying on my bed.
The silence in my room was peaceful, and the words in my head gathered and aligned.
I picked up both the pencil and notepad. Wrote my very first poem.

About him.
About my brother.

So grief taught me a very personal lesson:
Running from death preoccupies you from living.

Be.Still. (Part Two -- Anger)

I hated him for what he did to me.
To my mother.

I remember nights as a small girl,
gazing at his kind, black eyes with my bed's sheer pink canopy
outlining the safety in his expression. "Good night, my baby", he would say.
And I believed him...
...after all, he was the only father I'd ever known as a girl.
He let me prop my tiny feet on his and dance across the living room to the Temptations.
He bought me beautiful, Black barbie dolls for Christmas
and
made heartfelt, awful attempts at braiding my hair while my mom worked double shifts.

But soon after I had to learn how to master the side ponytail on my own.
And my mother's role became unisex.

He left.

And I'd never known hatred until that afternoon
when I saw him raise that strong hand above my brother's head.
That same hand that I usually felt open-palmed to swat my behind after misbehaving...
...now clenched to form a fist.
My mother's shrill cry preceded
I sat at the end of the hallway feeling a lump form in my chest.
I hated him.
My world started to speed up; progressing in a spinning motion.
Circling past moments where I was content and safe...
...ending up right back where I sat at the end of my hallway.

I danced with anger.
A slow, simple grind
entrancing.
Switching back and forth from waltz to tango.
...and my world moved with us.

It wasn't until I saw him 13 years later that
my world stopped spinning.
His father had died and my mother wanted to pay respects to his family.
I wasn't expecting to see him that day, but the moment I looked up
and saw him: older, shorter, and more docile...
I froze. Swallowed. and felt no lump there.

Stillness taught me another lesson:
Forgiveness is the gate that leads to the path of Freedom.

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Be.Still. (Part One--Love)

He and I.

We are both seniors in college.
Steps away from cap -n- gowns, and a summer's length from graduate school.
So.
we are both (individually) doing this...dance.
Like a running back does as he is yards away from the endzone.
We take stance on tiptoes, avoiding and desperately dodging the things that
doesn't want he or I to achieve the goal.
(i.e. "Senioritis")
In the midst of all this...we go nowhere.
Friends...and nothing more.
Not regrettably, I mean. I do not say this with the slightest hint of remorse.
Because of one tremendous fact: we are still.

I've thought so many times about running away (metaphorically) with him.
Snatching the potential with swift hands and taking off directly for the future.
Towards the center of my heart wherein lies the desire to be with him.

Yet,
there are blessed moments where I am sitting near him...and no words are spoken.
It could be because one or both of us are tackling academics. Or cleaning.
Contentedly writing/ or nodding along to Mos Def or Little Brother.
Then.
I feel the world halt.
The chaos of life, the bright colors of the finish line's ribbon, and the encouragement of the crowd
All in an instant configure themselves,
And get in line according to priority.

And it suddenly makes sense.
Stillness gently reminds me:

God has me exactly where I need to be.