Waxing poetic on thoughts, theory & the times
What magick did I make as a child;
Undercovers imaging the future?
Let me remember this art,
To manifest a future in which I
Am loved, by one I can trust,
A romantic and life partner who will never hurt me.
Beautiful life with cracks
Where the light gets in
And out.
May it be so.
(Post relocated from my Thepurplepaintedbutterfly.wordpress.com blog)
There is beauty
In acknowledging and thereby experiencing
Another’s happiness;
I am happy,
Because you are,
May we find this truth
Whether our joys of origin
Be synchronized,
Or not.
Blessed be.
(Post relocated from my Thepurplepaintedbutterfly.wordpress.com blog)
I wrote a letter yesterday
To say
I could “not,”
Simply because
My body said “No, ”
And that was enough.
No worlds ended;
No feelings hurt,
This was me –vulnerable,
Back turned as I worked:
Erected and set boundaries,
To now rest
With peace
I anticipated a winding road
For that is how my story often goes,
But something tells me
The next chapters
Are short and sweet,
But not lacking in their depth or content;
On a few pages more
There will be new revelations to find,
Hopes becoming truths,
And not just speculation
Nor just wishful thinking,
But manifestations of positive energy
Of karmic flow spiraling out
And being received,
By open hands
And open hearts,
To then be paid forward,
In this my tale,
Moving swiftly,
With the turning of pages
Toward a happy ending.
Bravery
Is something I nie run short on
Unless it comes down
To my own sake,
I will be first to support,
To voice, to rise,
To link arms with another,
For another;
But may I remember
Being brave,
In support of self
Is being brave for us all,
Too.
As a child
Kids tauntingly called me,
for reasons I could not see,
“Tina Turner”.
I balked at the comparison
That I could not understand
Because
That
Was not my name.
I scoffed
Because I was just a child,
And not, however old the singer was then;
I hated it.
I hated it because
I couldn’t understand
What being black and beautiful
Even as a child meant
And yes, often
It meant gazes of judgment from foreign eyes
About who and what I was
It mean negative perceptions
But it also meant the good.
And now I appreciate my mother’s response
That the tears of this child could not fathom then.
“They called me Tina Turner, again”
“Yes”,
And I was reminded that I had just been
awarded,
an unintentional compliment;
Of comparison to one of the
Greatest of all time:
The astonishing gorgeous,
Talented,
Resilient,
Powerhouse
Who is
Tina Turner.
“Why not be proud?”
She of Letters 