My Story My story is my own nobody can write it. Nobody can describe my heartaches nor describe my gains like I can. Nobody can shed these here tears - cold as ice as they flow warm and freeing when they disappear. My life is my legacy not house, car or land. Not the children I will raise - they will have their own story. My story cannot be bought or sold, not determined by your need to create and fix. When I tell my story you will not know where it ends or begin. You will not know how to order it. Not even I can tell you for sure all of it because words will not be enough to do the telling. My story involves countless shades of colourful greys, sprinkled with moments of silver all distinct all blended together. It's not seamless. There are moth eaten places. Holes that can never be tacked together. There are frayed section They are mini artworks not brokenness. My story is my own; no one else can take it and tell it.
Category: Poetry Corner
God is Good
May your struggles keep you near the cross and may your troubles show that you need God and may your battles end the way they should And may your bad day prove that God is good... (Jonathan McReynolds) There was nothing really to complain about really... Look, I just could, so i did because it felt good. I saw only myself my vision my dreams. my my my meeeeeeee. Look at me am I not beautiful, smart and capable. I can do anything. Yes you are, yes you can... The only thing was,,, yes? The only thing was this pain. Pain? Yes this pain, not really pain just an annoying pinch. This was bothering, I could not order it around. It stayed lingered too long. But... Yes? I could not fall, I had done it after all, all by myself, it too shall fall on its knees to me! But... Yes? Go on. Are you mocking me? No my child continue. It's getting worse, taking over. I cannot think, I can do nothing right... Now I cannot move. I cannot laugh. All I produce are salty rivers of my misery, floodgates that never seem to close completely. I look back at Me. But I cannot see how I came from her! There is nothing I can do I am helpless. I am hopeless... Now I can barely move, I am doubled over, brought low. With each halting breath I breathe, I now Know - perhaps too late... What is that my child? I now know that God is good.
Don’t rush Take it easy I know you’re tempted But don’t rush. Haste makes waste And all that – they say. Endure… Tolerate… Forbear… Three ducks in a row. Don’t rush, you’ll get there. Say a prayer from the rat race. Waiting is not a burden. Restraint saves lives. Trust, it’s a process. Being alone, is not aloneness. Constant prayer, Motivates you. Rejoice in Hope there, feels better. Be patient in tribulation – Dawn is around the corner.
Dedicated to E. Smith
How could I completely let go of what has been the better part of who I can become? The memories keep me, connected, supply the food I need to sustain me. Never goodbye. For how can I say goodbye, to the best, the best and one of the brightest stars that guided me? How can I erase the memory, of your boundless generosity? I only left for a little while. Because the world - had become too much for me. I never forgot you. But the shame of my neglect, renders me a prisoner, who struggles to break- free. So remember this; No matter how long it may be No matter how wide I search for me, Until I find my way back to you, it is never goodbye.
They are terrible bastards they pick at you until they expose your corrupted flesh careful to attack the softest and most putrid parts; a relentless nemesis, a constant friend I reach out to them if I stretch far enough I can touch them, with the tips of my fingers I almost, feel them. One floats by and it stares at me it comes to me. Coming at me. I peek around a memory wall. It becomes clearer. Just when I think I am ready, to step out of the shadows and embrace it - a searing pain pierces my heart tears at my flesh. I retreat. Not yet, not yet, too much, too soon. too much has happened too little time has passed. I thought I had done enough, not enough it seems. I had not smiled, laughed or played enough, to tear them from me. When I think of you the shape of your smile, so pure... A mole there that reveals all my secret, beauty engraved - no! Branded in my mind on my DNA. It enriches now the soil I too will one day return to. But not even there will I escape them. So here in my corner I huddle, I will content myself with watching each sliver from a far. Not yet! I cannot look too deeply in the well of my memories. But they are there, and they are my comfort.