Free write

Through these melanated eyes I stare back at myself

I am not sure I know what I see

The rug has been snatched from underneath my feet

The moment I realized I knew nothing prior to the transatlantic slave trade

The moment I realized I didn’t know myself

I didn’t know the power that runs through my veins

I didn’t know of the arsenal of Gods I walk with daily

I didn’t know that my strengths were also my self imposed limitations

I didn’t know how much confusion laid dormant in my subconscious mind

I felt this burning sensation rise up in my solar plexus

Release hit me like the first time I told myself brown skin was ugly

Everything I thought I knew was a lie

But even on the road to finding my truth I still feel a little lost

I know that this is only temporary

And in due time I will come to know harmony

I am beginning to remember

But I’m not yet ready to fly

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Free write November 28th, 2014.

With every inch of my being I ignore the coldness of the water
One foot in
Thoughts of doubt begin to plague my mind
Goose bumps quickly find their way to the surface of my skin
Knee deep in still waters
Anxiety brings about shakes the mind cannot seem to control
Sporadic breathing sets in as my core begins to tighten
It’s like my chest is beginning to cave in
Removing myself at this point will do more harm than good
Deep breaths fill my diaphragm
As the surface kisses my collar bone the pressure becomes comforting
Salvation is near
As the wind slips past the nape of my neck
I submerge without thought
Sun rays greet me as I flow freely
This is home now
Here is where I belong

Thoughts from the iPhone

With feelings of relief and dismay I am left in a state of awkwardness. Long ago I accepted the demise of said courtship, not aware that in the end I’d still be left nearly dumbfounded. Thus speaks the calm before the storm. I am sick to my stomach unevenly yoked, yet in a boat without a paddle while singular. I blame hope and faith for my current state of mind. I blame poor judgement of potential for my current frustrations. How could I see something that was never there? How could broken glass reflect the entire picture?
I liked to think the glass embodied a mirror. Broken and shattered, reflecting only what was placed in its path, in attempts to show itself mighty.
But how many broken things do you know that can work to its full potential?