victory

lately, there have been many battles.

it's been a long time since i've been this weary.

it's also been a long time since i've felt this strong.

i am resting. building. learning. stretching.

even through tears.

i am the tiger's daughter,
newly named for a nubian lioness.

i know how to rest in the high grass

and wait.

but hunger is a compelling force.

when the time's right
i will pounce
and feast.

expect me.

a love to last...

working my way up to openly admitting {again} that i long to be loved--not just liked--has been an interesting journey.

even more interesting is that the letter was written almost two years ago to the day...the postscript almost a year ago.

i didn't know it'd been that long.

but, in the interest of continuing to acknowledge and manifest my desires...




I want a Sunday kind of love
A love to last past Saturday night
And I’d like to know it’s more than love at first sight
And I want a Sunday kind of love

I want a a love that’s on the square
Can’t seem to find somebody
Someone to care
And I’m on a lonely road that leads to nowhere
I need a Sunday kind of love

I do my Sunday dreaming,
And all my Sunday scheming
Every minute, every hour, every day

Oh I’m hoping to discover
A certain kind of lover
Who will show me the way

And my arms need someone
Someone to enfold
To keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold
Love for all my life to have and to hold
Oh and I want a Sunday kind of love

I don’t want a Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday, or Thursday, Friday or Saturday
Oh nothing but Sunday oh yea
I want a Sunday Sunday
I want a Sunday kind of love
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday kind of love

love as battlefield

in dialogue with Maman Danto

it is never easy
being forced to see my heart

leaning in to examine
the scar tissue
band-aids
and still-bleeding wounds...

even with help,
trudging through a battlefield
is difficult.

goodbye, again

i dreamt they all came back to me: a beautiful, shining composite of the best of each of them...

we glanced, flirted, then entered into a deep kiss, overjoyed to love without the harsh details. the vision faded without a clear end or resolution.

whether or not we meet again, i'm grateful to have known you...

i have been a rover
i have walked alone
hiked a hundred highways
never found a home
still in all i'm happy
the reason is, you see
once in a while along the way
love's been good to me...
~nina simone (via rod mckuen)

a prayer to the saint of the brokenhearted...

saint mary magdalene...you heard from the loving lips of your beloved that your many challenges were forgiven because you loved much...

pour out your love on my behalf...your cleansing tears won for you the pardon of lessons learned and the vision of your risen beloved on the horizon.

surely, dear saint, whose love was refused nothing on earth, will graciously replenish us with those blessings, for which i implore your prayers.

ase.

elemental

on: rediscovering energetic flow

for most of my life, i've been content to identify with water, immersing my pisces mermaidself in deep waters at every opportunity.

but i've come to understand that i'm also filled with heat; a flame that can manifest as anything from a flickering candle to a raging wildfire. the temperature varies as well; i've felt it red hot and icy cool.

hot or cool, it embraces and consumes like flame: fully. unapologetically.

now i know the cycle:

my water communes with the spirits.
my fire propels me through the density of this existence.
my air nourishes both.


*interestingly, there's no earth in my chart.

four months ago...

...i wrote this:

some days, i still feel really ugly.

and i don't really know what to do about it.

i don't look at people much anyway, but on days like this, i don't look at all; i can't stand to see myself in their eyes. mirrors are impossible. every compliment is a lie.

i go between acute pain and consummate numbness.  neither allows me to hold my head up any higher...

i can feel the truth fighting with the lies. it makes me tired.
all i want to do is rest...stop the warring factions in my mind...

then, the light surrounds me...i lean into it, appreciating the warmth even as i feel i don't deserve it. my shoulders ache, my stomach rebels.

if i could only stop eating, fade away to nothing... a quiet, soft leaving...

but i can't. if i've gotten this far without hurting myself, i won't start now.

i may never get on the list of the world's most beautiful people, but i'm not bad. i know that. just like i know i'm not worthless.  except for days when i turn into a black hole of need...

i'll never be loved enough, held long enough, kissed deeply enough. nothing takes the emptiness away, but i'll lure you in and let you try. i'm damaged goods...not fit for a trash heap. but since you think i'm cute, come here for a minute and show me...show me...i demand to be filled. appeased. eased. shown some mercy.  i'll laugh at you for trying...but try anyway.

this isn't me all the time. or even most of the time. just sometimes....and, now, there are years between the sometimes.

still, when it comes, it floods me--the emptiness. if i can, i fill it with sweet things. but there are times the bitterness wins out.  of course there's also the bittersweet...the mish moshed yin yang of negatively positive thoughts...

i'm posting it now because while i cannot truthfully claim i'll never feel this way again, i do feel that these moments are destined to be few and even farther between.

this will serve as my reminder.

healing is always waiting to happen.

lament letter

there is nothing like the feeling of being separated from you. nothing.

it begins with mental images. then slowly, deliberately, the sensation moves into my heart, where it causes a very specific ache.

the dull throb of a cut with just a bit of dirt rubbed in.

and while i ache, the memories come...

i recently spent the better part of a day feeling like my face was buried in your chest--you know that spot my forehead touches if i'm hugging you with no shoes on? there. i was right there. your arms lingered on my waist, resting on my hips.

there is no rhyme or reason to these flashbacks. they simply visit, merciless, immune to repeated choruses of "we're not speaking anymore".

we're not speaking
any
more...
again.

so i'm left here, alone. trying to scribble and type the ache away, praying for dreams and asking them not to actually come...because i'll only miss you more if i see you there.

i can't help wanting to see you.

i know. this is messy. it's been messy between us for a long time.

what i know:

1. we are mirror images of each other, reflecting negative and positive polarities depending on varied situations and life stages.

2. we will always love each other.

3. we will seek each other out.

some days the knowing is enough.

the days i write / cry / scream / sulk are the days it isn't.

i miss you. so much.

why i write sad poems / triple tanka {napowrimo '11, #9}

in self defense, a
broken 16 year old sought
meaning in her pain;
a struggle to become whole
after the splitting apart.

later, rebelling
against misplaced love and rage,
poems became condensed
emotion; ways to speak my
soul in small, unsafe spaces.

as healing flows, the
habit remains. poems, my blue
train; slow burn jazz riffs
contrasted with life's joy. sad
poet with a blissful heart.

forge

for dae

within the pain is a small pearl of pleasure.

the defiant measure of, "you will not kill me."

the sweet, salty ache
of lemon on a paper cut;
a stinging, biting healing.

the ability to laugh.
deep, belly laughs.

the smug chuckle of the harlot after a lashing from the wife.
the snicker of the Goddess before she moved underground.
the maniacal cackle in the midst of a gut wrenching cry.

that is the jewel i am creating
deep down in the center of myself.

sustenance & starvation

currently sustaining:

the moon
sleep
this
this
and this.

i am particularly drawn to the story of golden hair...

Golden Hair was her name; a woman so beautiful of soul and so gifted of spirit, with such a lovely singing voice, that all the villagers wanted to be near her, and all wanted to be like her. No one gathered to her out of deference, but out of true love. And that was returned to them by her a thousand fold.

Whereby some in the village were always pointing fingers at whomever they thought were sinners, she gave love and encouragement to the goodness in all, including those designated by scowlers as “sinners.” Her way of being was to lead by singing of the ways of love, and by giving others time enough and reason to grow and develop and learn, through errors and through inspirations, both.

But a giant of a brute saw her lovely golden hair, heard her lovely singing, and noted her beautiful hands that wove cloth so fine it could be passed through a golden ring with ease, and he coveted her -- not just her body, but her mind, her spirit, her very soul for it was so filled with life and vision and love. In contrast, he had made his life self-important, darkened and harsh. He was given to punitive judgment, and he wanted to somehow devour the golden haired woman, as though by so doing, he could somehow take on her light inside his own dimmed self.

And so he courted her, but she refused, preferring to follow her own visions of weaving and being, of ministering to the people who flocked to her to just be near and hear her songs.

The brute became wildly jealous of the love others had so easily for this woman, for no one cared for his stern visage. He became enraged. Who did this woman think she was to turn him down, he who had pillaged gold and jewels unlawfully from others, he who lived in splendor but surrounded by a sterile land, he who was the biggest condemner, criticizer and fault finder in the valley. Shaming and blaming, blaming and shaming, those were his power madnesses.

And so, he laid in wait for her one night, and when she passed by alone on the road, he sprang out and killed her. Down to the road she fell, her blood soaking into the earth. He dragged her body into the forest and there grunting with sweat, buried her body, believing this would hide his crime.

The villagers grieved terribly, but as time went on, an uncanny event occurred: her golden hair continued to grow in the grave. It grew in the soil of the forest, a small field of golden reeds swaying in the dappled light and singing ever so softly in the wind. Upward and upward it grew until it pierced the earth overhead.

One day, along the road came women and men musicians. Upon seeing the golden reeds swaying near the road, they tramped into the forest and cut the beautiful reeds and fashioned them for pipes.

Thinking how fine a music these unusual reeds would make, they tied them together with raffia and cut their stops, but when they lifted the flutes to their lips, the oddest song came forth, the same song for each of the pipes and the only song the pipes would play, a song that told over and over again who had killed Golden Hair and why.

The brute and his horrible deed were revealed. And the villagers, now seeing the brute down to his cunning and rotten core, shut the brute away and gave away all his ill-made booty.

In our family, the old people say the only song the golden reeds would play, went something like this, my translation of a translation from the Magyar:

Here I am, woman golden hair,
killed by a brute who gave no care.

Lonely hatred is more base than lust.
And so he killed to still my holiness.

But kill me once
and 10 will rise to ring,
for I am not the singer of the song
I am the song the Singer sings.

it makes me think of how i was "killed".

how he always praised my wonders while remaining unable to hold, love or care for me properly...unconsciously draining my light, my love.

unlike golden hair, i was not content to remain alone. i wanted to love him.

he wasn't as obvious as the brute. i thought he was safe...

now, i am here.

in this moment, i am acutely aware of my bruises and scars. aware of my loss of faith.

i will never be who i was before the pain.

but i can emerge anew.

some days i know what that looks like...or at least what i want it to look like.

other days, i have no idea.

the rainbow is enuf.

there's pain on all sides.
there's drama on all sides.

we've hurt, maimed, and damaged one another in many ways.

still, we retain the power to heal, dream, love, and uplift ourselves and each other.

i am afraid we are allowing the pain to cloud true wisdom and deeper guidance.

the hoopla over for colored girls seems to be unearthing a lot of old feelings and illuminating the still-open wounds and still-wide chasms that separate us.

there is wisdom in saying we must protect our hearts,
but protection is not the same as closure.

i feel like we're swinging to extremes, aching for balance.

maybe the pendulum just has to do what it does and settle into a softer rhythm over time, finally settling into center.

if so, is patience the lesson we need to learn?

are we trying to rush a process that cannot be rushed?

we need to talk about the ugly.
but we should not turn each other into stereotypes and monoliths.
we have to resist its tendency to dominate our minds and spirits.

we need to take responsibility for our own, personal wounds.
know ourselves, deeply, halting the wheels of futile, painful cycles.

there should be no unearned, blanket support without proof of progress and growth. we cannot allow romantic, unrealistic notions to erase or underestimate the challenges that exist.

still, we can learn how to deeply support one another as we tend to our collective wounds.

it is complex.
we cannot make it simple.

there is beauty in that complexity, if we can open ourselves to it.

there is not one way to love, to be loving, to receive love, to be loved.
the ways are so plentiful we cannot count them.

who taught us there was only one way to be satisfied? to be whole?

art, analysis, psychology...these are conversation starters. light-shiners that give us frames, language, concrete foundations to build on.

a means to an end.
a way to name.

but what's your soul saying?

mine:
now that we've unearthed the pain
we have to go deeper
unearth the healing
roll in the dark, fragrant, fertile soil that feeds the world
study star-shine.

all of that is part of us.
we are part of it all.

don't let the fear win.
or the shame.

cry the tears...just don't drown in them.

i love my brothas.
but i need you to learn how to love yourselves
so you can love me back.

can you do that for me?


~~

{note: this is a pre-screening stream of consciousness. i'm sure there will be more once i've actually seen the film...but these are the vibes i'm picking up as i'm hearing/seeing folks react. i worry that there are countless, unexamined opportunities for growth, beauty, and strength beneath the surface. all my life i have heard the whisper, go deeper...i suppose i'm praying that everyone - in their way - gets that same message and gains the courage to do so.}

more scorned woman ranting...

{maybe there will be a better title eventually...}

there are days i wish to see you bleed...

when i hope
a smile never crosses your face
and you never know the warmth of another woman.

seriously.

i can't and don't always wish you well.

i am not always the "bigger" person.

sorry.

some days,
i'm still pissed
to the heights of pissivity.
and i wanna throw acid in your face
or stomp on your foot
or slap the black off you...

anything to repay you
for the redness in my eyes
and the soreness in my chest...

honestly?
i can still fking hate you sometimes.

(just being honest)

and i can just hear you saying
"that's unfortunate..."
and i want to
break
your
gotdamned
jaw...
because
you still
don't
get
it.

but
one day
i'm gonna get over this hump
recall i'm 20 feet tall
and step right over you,
crushing the fear you passed on to me
and shoveling away the bullshit
you taught me to put up with.

i'm gonna remember
the love i give
is an asset, not a liability
remember the ways
it was reflected back to me
before you...

someday
i will be presented
with your complete and utter opposite:
one who knows how to heal
instead of hurt
give
instead of take
understand
instead of deflect
take responsibility
instead of blame.

and i'll be happy again
loved from my hair follicles to my toenails
not feared
not put on pedestals
not made artificially perfect
but loved
for my own sweet self
accepted
and seen
through loving, courageous eyes.

when that happens
i'll have no need for gruesome fantasies
and you can go on your merry way...

a mere footnote
in the epic story
of the true and living love of my life.

achiness

remembering that healing is a journey...

reminding myself of what's true, shining light on fear.

my love is too magic to have thrown back on my face.

mama shange's words resonate with me today. deeply.

there is a constant effort to recall that my magic is not the problem...the lack of wizardry and reverence for the Feminine in the present male population is.

needing to reread sassafrass, cypress and indigo...retrace the steps of sassafrass' battle for her soul as she tries to snatch herself back from a no-good man whose best just ain't good enough.

remembering whose i am
who has my back
and what's been promised.

i can be loved.
it is not difficult.
i will be loved.
properly and well.

it is possible...

28th day

the blood
is speaking...

the blood
is speaking...
preaching around my shame,
exposing what i refuse to admit;
inciting me to pray
for a love i desire
but don't believe i'll ever have

because that purity is gone
forever
and
i can't unbreak my heart
can't undo
what he's done
or erase the mistakes
of the other
i am forever unlovable
irredeemable
in the eyes
of any man;
too strong
a fortress...

i don't dare
dream those drams,
voice those incantations

even when i know
can't is the worst
four letter word
stealin' my power,
untyin' my gris gris...

i know it.

the blood
pools into a garnet mirror
forcing me to face my true need,
fk what i settle for.

instructing me
to train my thoughts,
rearrange the soul-ache;
dig into my heart,
massage it with my own hands.

i know
i know

i
know
i have to stop this train
before it wrecks itself.

the blood is telling me
to let go
turn my fears into swords
pierce my heart and
let the bad blood out
so the golden light
of Her mantle can enter 
fresh from the deep, dark knowing.

mama audre told us about that knowing,
put the blood on the page

and mine,
like hers,
pulses in my ears,
understanding
my need for truth
trumps the egotistical denials
and petty concerns...

knows
i'm bigger than any fear

so,
it wades
through the bullshit
stuns me into stillness
and forces me
to listen.

epiphany #28499

the imperfect can be perfect.

contradictions can coexist & help each other thrive.

there is grace in wanton abandon and stoic control.

loving pulls it all together.


{word to mama audre}

understanding 2

realizing
i am the gentle healing,
the breeze before the hurricane;

the first answer to your cries
to the universe.

if you can learn your lessons
through sweetness,
i'm a blessing.

ignore me,
take kindness for weakness
and my affection for granted,
i remove my asé
and the fires begin to burn.

après moi,
le déluge.

i will always
move on
will always
be whole
with
or without
you.

choose wisely.

understanding

oshun mends my heart.
sango sharpens my mind.
ogun lends his machete.
olokun gives me rest.

i am grateful.

primordial {revisited / continued / expanded}

for each of us as women, there is a dark place within, where hidden and growing our true spirit rises...

these places of possibility within ourselves are dark because they are ancient and hidden; they have survived and grown strong through the darkness. within these deep places, each one of us holds an incredible reserve of creativity and power, of unexamined and unrecorded emotion and feeling. the woman's place of power within each of us is neither white nor surface; it is dark, it is ancient, and it is deep.

~audre lorde, "poetry is not a luxury"

i came face to face with this deep, dark womb-self recently.

interestingly, she is veiled, cloaked in luscious merlot red.  the occasional urge to wrap myself in gossamer scarves must come from her.

i can only sense her face...but her form is less important than her energy, her gifts.

she is sensuous, ethereal...real yet fantastic.
a lover of garnet.
a lightness possessing the gravity of eons.

and somehow,
almost unbelievably,
she is me. 

{other primordial post}

"damaged"

Dreaming comes so easily
'cause it's all that i've known
True love is a fairy tale
I'm damaged, so how would i know

I'm scared and i'm alone
I'm ashamed
And i need for you to know

I didn't say all the things that i wanted to say
And you can't take back what you've taken away
'cause i feel you, i feel you near me

I didn't say all the things that i wanted to say

And you can't take back what you've taken away
'cause i feel you, i feel you near me

Healing comes so painfully
And it chills to the bone
Will anyone get close to me?
I'm damaged, as i'm sure you know

There's mending for my soul
An ending to this fear
Forgiveness for a man who was stronger
I was just a little girl, but i can't go back