Tag Archives: Truth

I am. Fluid Imagery…..

I am a poet, I twist words to look like images, I spit lines that paint pictures. I cascade living

waters from my mouth like waterfalls…. I build not destroy. I resurrect dead imagery and call

them masterpieces.. I walk a thousand miles to pen a million poems.. to touch but one soul….

I breathe this… I write this… I live this… I love this… I hate this…

I live life outside the box. Never quite learned to color inside the lines, choosing instead to live

beyond the confines of others’ thoughts of me… you see.. .because my own.. were already

so negative.. Never quite feeling good enough, pretty enough, smart enough.. not enough of

anything to be noticed.. Living on the sidelines inside bars constructed by minutes of what will

they think of me thoughts… and so I write…. Poetry became a manifestation of my lifeline… I

breathe this…. I am this…

I am that 14 year old girl with a child.. staring down the barrel of a gun called life… stoic..

refusing to be statistically placed in glass houses with falling chandeliers.. I am superwoman

consistently conquering any semblance of weakness, now I no longer know what to do with

my emotions.At year 32 I am that 14 year old girl again.. scared… lost.. embarking upon a new

path that finds me alone….disconnected… fears resurrected and bloody… Past scars now open

wounds found bottomless pits of emotions and… I drown…

I am broken., a shattered dusty mirror forgotten. Once so beautiful, now just pieces of what used

to be.. No longer adored, now used for quick lipstick applications in smokey club restrooms

and in the living rooms and bedrooms of strange bedfellows… I am cracked and I honestly can’t

remember a time when I wasn’t….the smooth reflection and sterling silver lines were apparently

a figment of my imagination…the cracks soon turned to shards of missing glass and the rusted

silver outlines nicked all that came close…I hate this..

I am a work in contradictions.. wanting, needing, yearning to be seen yet choosing instead to

stay behind the brightest star hoping that my shadow will eclipse its right side. Wishing to hold

my thoughts deep inside yet allowing this pen to rape me over and over again only to pimp my

words out to the highest bidder…I am far from average, but to fit in I have found that brilliance

has to reside in trash bins and liquor bottles.. Prophets must spit lies turned into faraway fairy

tells and poets have to work to eat.. I am strong yet fragily walk towards the glare of mediocrity

in the guise of excellence..

I am a storyteller. Afraid to tell the story of the beauty and pain that lies deep within me…hiding

behind twisted words and painted images…hoping that the past can get past the past so now can

see the future….

I breathe this. I write this. I love this. I live this. I hate this. I am this.. I am poetry

.Image

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Write on, Right on. Write Right?

As I take this journey to find the truest me. The very essence, the quintessential form of who I am. Pleasure and purpose rolled into one I remember. I have always been a writer, a speaker and devourer of words.  I started out writing short stories to escape from the life I was living. I liked my fantasy world much more than the real world. It was too cruel, too unforgiving. I then moved on to longer stories, with more intricate characters and better details. As I got older I found my way to poetry. It is wear I told the story of my life, my love, my all. At first I only wrote to exorcise my demons. To rid me of the thoughts and words that continually found their way into my psyche. Eventually I found my way to the stage. My first experience was not so lovely. It would be 5 years before I returned. When I returned I was surrounded by love and acceptance. I was quickly rising to notoriety on the poetry scene ( or my narrow view of the scene). My poetry was even said to be transparent and relevant. Little did I know I was a VERY small fish in a VERY big pond that wasn’t so forgiving or loving or welcoming. But aren’t we all artist? Where is the love. I had come into the poetry world, not knowing that the little venues I was doing and the people I was surrounded by were not all there was to this word thang. When I hit the “REAL” scene and saw the “REAL” poets. I LOST me. I soon began to compare my poetry to those who had been doing it for years. I no longer felt relevant just transparently boring. That was almost 8 years ago and I still find myself struggling with that same demon. Why? Because I am chasing after the wrong thing. Living a LIE! Saying that I don’t want notoriety while secretly yearning to be seen, heard, known. I often say that If I touch just one person I have done my job. But do I really and truly believe that. I found myself looking for people to talk to after shows, just one person that would “confirm” that I had done a good job. That I had touched them. I was searching for all the wrong things.  If I am to call myself a Christian and say that I am doing this because I love God and because HE has gifted me I must make sure that it is the truth. I must make sure that I am not dealing in false humility, by always demeaning and knocking my gift. I would often deflect compliments or say that I wanted to be like this person or that person because I wanted to seem like I was humble. True humility can only come from Christ. So now I say “thank you” when given a compliment. Through some truly gifted, humble and loving poets I have found my voice. I am still very cautious and I still seem to get scared when I am set to go up with who I consider to be heavy hitter and I still find myself wondering if other poets are just being nice when they compliment me. But I must Write On, Right on, and I will do just that. Until all the insecurities are exorcised from me. So if you write. WRITE ON, RIGHT ON… the world deserves to hear your words!

 

Sum of my Parts. A poem, of me

cogito_ergo_sum_by_mrakoslava

I’ve never really known who I was. I have always been the sum of my parts. The baby born with meningitis and a brain tumor, who spent six months in the hospital connected to tubes and wires. I’ve never known who I was. I have always been the sum of my parts. The six-year-old that was molested by a friend of her mother’s while she was being baby sat. Though she wished it were a dream she knew it was all too real. I’ve never really known who I was. I have always been the sum of my parts. The 14-year-old that had a baby because she could never tell anyone about the 6-year-old that was molested by a friend of her mother’s  while she was being baby sat. I’ve never quite known who I was. I’ve never really known who I was. I have always been the sum of my parts. Gave up my youthful identity to the world to be a mother to the baby that I had. I’ve never quite known who I was. I have always been the sum of my parts. The 21-year-old with a 7-year-old child who had just lost the love of her life because neither one of them were bold enough to tell others that this is where they wanted to be. I’ve never known who I was. I have always  been the sum of my parts. The young lady that looked for love though she never really knew what it was. Trying to find that very thing that she had never been privy to. I’ve never really known who I was. I have always been the sum of my parts. The 30-year-old that found herself longing for a life she never knew. Dreaming of faraway places and Unfamiliar faces. I’ve never known who I was. I have always been the sum of my parts. The mother, the wife, the worker, the friend, the lover, the sister, the confidant. The Strong independent one. For so long, I let the world tell me who I should be. When they said I was loud I quieted down. When they said I was too quite. I roared like a lion. I’ve never really known who I was. I have always been the sum of my parts. I embraced the angry-ness in me. The joker. The one that always tried to brighten up the situation, but could never quite put a finger on the true essence of me. I’ve never quite known who I was. I have ALWAYS been the sum of my parts. The evangelist without a call. The child with no home. The searcher, the seeker for truth, the dream catcher. I have NEVER really known who I was. I have always been the sum of my parts. As the sum of my parts get bigger and bigger I lose myself more and more. I have always been the sum of my parts and I still can’t see who I am. Hopefully before I die, I will find who I REALLY am and the sum of my parts will make more sense.

Speaking the truth in love.

One thing I have found out in my discussion/ debates/ question with others about sensitive/hot button issues is this; the truth is not painful, but the way in which you present the truth can be. Speaking the truth in love can help others to see the error of their ways. Proverbs 15:1 tells us that a gentle/soft tongue can turn away wrath but grievous words stir up anger. I have personally found this to be true. Not that I sugarcoat anything. That is not my style, but I do gauge my audience so that I can know who I am speaking too, and in what way the truth should be delivered. I have found that a simple mental check and understanding of where they are makes a huge difference. So while you may be speaking the truth, if not done in the correct way, it STILL can be a hindrance and/or fall on deaf ears. Maybe that’s why they haven’t listened? The problem is not with the truth the problem may be in the way in which and the person from which it was delivered.

People are not often upset that you told them the truth, they are more often upset about HOW you told them. Did you do it in an accusing manner? Were you malicious in your delivery? Judgmental? Condescending? Or just plain ole rude? Maybe you should try softening it up a bit and looking at it from the other persons perspective. We too often fail to put ourselves in the other persons shoes. What sets us apart from the other person is one decision, one moment, one wrong turn. We are no better than the person we are trying to “help”.