When Church Brings Forth Scadling Tears

 

Just woke up from a dream where rage took place at what should be the unlikeliest of places:  Church.  I often sleep with my iPod playing in its stereo dock or radio playing on my iPhone (AM 1450 WWOL based in D.C. is my current station of choice).  This need for ‘noise’ while sleeping gives me something to think about in between returning to sleep.  The downside at times is whatever is playing, my subconscious will surely paint the images.

Last night, my subconscious  returned me to the church pews of a ‘mega’ church I use to attend nearly 10 years ago.  I was in the small chapel where Bible Study was usually held.  T.D. Jakes delivered a sermon, but I don’t recall the message.  As he spoke I felt surges of rage as hot tears poured from my eyes onto a white cloth I placed on my face.  At the end of his sermon, he came over to me.  He was much wider than I imagined ‘In person’ and the shirt he wore with purple roses on it with brown pants didn’t help.  Our eyes met.  Then he walked away.  That familiar feeling of dejection and invisibility crept into my core.  Or maybe he sensed my overdrawn checking account and decided to set his sights elsewhere.

I awakened to T.D. Jakes’ Sunday broadcast playing on my iPhone.

Funny how this dream coincides with my church going reality.  The emptiness and rage I felt once I got up from the pew.  The spiritual revolution I am still waiting for is my responsibility.

Amen.

I Choose Peace.

There is a certain magic that comes with Saturday nights.  One can co-create the possibilities of joy, dance, laughter, newfound ‘love’ or anger, bitterness, sadness, and violence.  You take a chance as you get dressed, hoping that your ensemble with attract to you what you’re longing  You have the bus schedule, MTA Card and just enough funds in your checking account to cover drinks and club admission  

As you stand in line, you take note that every patron has their individual story of superficiality.  Reality will resume come Monday morning, but tonight, give into the wishes that are under the guise of lies. 

But instead you stay at home in front of your laptop…nursing the newly formed pimples on your forehead  A bottle of champagne chills in the fridge and sounds grossly unappetizing because you broke through a hangover earlier that day from last night’s libations in isolation. 

Some say I need to get out more.  I believe I have mastered the skill of attending social events alone and embraced the art of unapologetically asking for a table for one.

I am terrified of being alone with myself  I’d rather escape watching endless hours of YouTube, listening to Podcasts or set sail via champagne.  While I would love to be In a committed, loving relationship, my time hasn’t come yet.  For I have much self-work to do.  I’m not yelling, crying, feeling invisible and rejected.  I refuse to go back there.

This is Peace.

 

I Hate to See that Evening Sun Go Down (Ode to Mz. Irene)

….hope she takes the Greyhound route here.  I hear she’s losing steam.  Prepared with pears, almond butter, iPod, tea light candles, water, and a sincere prayer….

s

As he took away the blue up out the clouds…..

Before the issue of reparations made headlines….

Thank God for Art.

On to Better Things Instead….

Oh, and by the way….

I may not be the most beautiful girl or the sexiest girl nor do I have a perfect body. I might not be everyone’s first choice, but I’m a great choice. I do not pretend to be someone I’m not, because I’m good at being me. I might not be proud of some of the things in my past, but I’m proud of who I am today. So take me as I am, or watch me as I walk away! ~ Author Unknown

Wrapped Up

Recently I disconnected from social media outlets Facebook and Twitter (which I’m hardly on because I find it too confining).  I had to examine the realization of why I am so wrapped up in the existence of others and disgusted with my very own.  It’s so easy to get swept up in the photographs of family and friends of others that grace their walls while the mind…my mind…conjured up stories of how wonderful their lives are.  That the Universe has its favorites and maybe in the next realm I may move up on its waiting list.  I have a friend whom I text often who confides in me about her dating sagas and my responses of what she should and shouldn’t do or just how homeboy is straight trippin’, I eerily felt validated despite the void in my heart’s center. Earlier this year, I’ve severed a friendship.  Yet months later I think maybe I did it too soon.

I feel very alone residing in a very secluded, dark space.

Yet through this pain, I know there is something far more greater waiting in the wings for me if I just cast aside my paralyzing fears.  I’ve made chock full of mistakes in my lifetime (and since I’m a human being simply being human, I will make more snafus in this Life).

My life isn’t as bad as I make it out to be.  I’m smart.  I’m creative.  I’m funny.  I’m beautiful.  I’m giving.  I’m helpful.

I’m fuckin awesome!

So cheers to taking a step forward to doing everything I can to deal with me.

Namaste.

WL

 

Damaged Goods

He is such damaged goods

Junk yard of menthol and Soco

Advocate of his desires

Will dine and dash on your heart

Leaving you with hindsight’s torment to foot the bill

He is such damaged goods

Pacifying you with liquid spirits

Cause a sober you

He don’t want to pass through

Take the morning after to regroup

He is such damaged goods

Mute ear to his mama

Child support cases and parental visits

The ‘right’ pussy could spark his life’s 180

Not the children he brought forth

Why come no one ever checked him?

He serves victimization with no rescue

Who and what is he running from?

Called each other every insult

He is such damaged goods

Yet our laughter and music

Gifts of diversional numbness

….damaged goods

So damaged…

He’s beautiful.

 

 

Murky Waters

I exist…don’t I?
Or at least I think I do
Pushed forth from mama’s womb
What happened to The Village that’s suppose to raise a child?
Feels like The Village has been taking jabs at my soul ever since
Resting their burdens on my throat chakra
Mistaking my screamin as the punch line
I just wanted you to like me
And I gave you the rawest part of me
Only to be bitten and unsatisfied
Denial to answer the aching question, “Is this not really serving me?”
I just…wanted you to like me

A Rainy Reflection

I am grateful for the rain this week.

There is something about falling water from gray skies that makes me self-reflective.  Maybe it’s Mother Earth reminding us to wash out spirits and start anew.

As I type this a major part of me wishes that I could just get paid to think and write.  No pressures, no judgment.  Just the flow of my thoughts on leaf paper.

With the rain also comes a yearning for company where I can be free to just simply be myself.  So much that I reached out to two men from my past and admitted that I missed both.  I question the authenticity of my emotions.  One guy I miss but I recognize that I have to tread very lightly around him or risk getting cut off.  Despite my apologies, despite my reaching out.  In his eyes I’ve committed a crime against him kind gesture.

The other guy…well, he prefers to see me on my back only.

Both realizations have a tinge of pain to them.

I’m far from perfect, yet I have a good heart and I want so badly for a companion to recognize this, to adore this, to cherish this.

Chaka chips at the root of my being a simply complex spirit in fallible shell.