If I Could Tell Her

growing pains

If I could tell her…

The groans in her stomach would echo the hunger in her soul.

If I could tell her…

The defiance in her eyes would unmask the trembling in her heart.

If I could tell her…

The recoil in her posture would betray the chinks in her armor.

If I could tell her…

The frailty in her bones would match the decay in her facade.

If I could tell her…

The sinews in her limbs would expose the tangles in her mind.

If I could tell her…

The hollows in her cheeks would mirror the artifice in her smile.

If I could tell her…

The quiver in her chin would reveal the aching in her marrow.

If I could tell her…

The rashness in her actions would belie the apathy in her voice.

If I could tell her…

The catch in her breath would confess the panting in her spirit.

If I could tell her…

That it doesn’t need to be like this.

That her body,

Her life,

Her purpose,

Her self,

They are destined for something more.

For wholeness, abundance, freedom, revival.

If I could tell her…

Then maybe she’d grasp what is real and tactile, human and true.

Maybe she’d know that integrity breeds identity,

That conscience molds character.

Maybe she’d extend love in the face of her wildest imperfections.

Maybe she’d exude light in the face of her toughest oppositions.

Maybe this culture would get no vote in her value.

And maybe her story would be different than mine.

That is what I’d tell her.

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I Hope We Never Stop Saying “Me Too.”

me too

I hope we never stop saying, “Me Too.”

I hope we never stop believing in the force we are together. I hope we never stop defending the love that keeps us tethered.

I hope we never stop combatting the fears which threaten us apart. I hope we never stop feeling the strength of linked arms and the warmth of cleaved hearts.

I hope we never stop mending the severs and schisms this world fights to harden. I hope we never stop hearing the groans of those downcast, exploited, forgotten on the margins.

I hope we never stop raising the banner of justice, the emblem of truth, the pennant of courage. I hope we never stop exposing the bedrock of kindness where a culture can flourish.

I hope we never stop handing off the megaphone to voices muted in the uproar. I hope we never stop receiving the words from each mouth that broken systems dare to speak for.

I hope we never stop gazing at the faces a shade darker, the eyes tinged with fire and sorrow. I hope we never stop sensing the might of their stories from our bones to our marrow.

I hope we never stop braving the tension of what is and our faith in what could be. I hope we never stop declaring this shared humanity.

I hope we never stop knowing that united as one is the course we are given to see this life through…

And I hope we never ever stop saying, “Me Too.”

The Breakthrough.

flight

I am the raven orbiting in aerospace

Above the earth, above the human race.

My shadow smeared upon the mountain peak

Like a feathered kiss on that snow-white cheek.

Sometimes I wander too close to the sunrise

Enough to feel that fire in its eyes.

Singed by the heat but lost in my reverie

Heedless to pain until it consumes me.

I freefall alone at the edge of the world

Wings thrash the air—wild, frantic, unfurled.

It’s a desperate, feral, impassioned last stand

But solo flights are doomed for a crash-land.

The wind chokes out my voice and strangles my soul

All that remains is a fleck of the whole.

A body deprived of its essence within

A counterfeit creature of bone and skin.

I comb the horizon for my saving grace

Some foothold to grasp, some faith to embrace.

I roam the hinterlands with compass unclear

Direction obscured, sight darkened by fear.

The summit ahead and the valley behind

Keep me hemmed in their resounding divide.

One urges me forward on two broken wings

The other croons, “pause…rest…heal your heartstrings.

The summit proclaims a hero’s arrival

But from the valley dawns a revival.

A hurried ascent leaves you panting for breath

But stillness draws strength from innermost depth.”

So I’m just an arrow in the archer’s hand

Ready to soar at his trusted command.

My feathers catch daylight, my aim flashes true

First comes the waiting—and then the breakthrough.

 

 

 

And then You Feel Alive

Sometimes it seems this wound might never heal. Sometimes it feels this pain could last an eternity and more.

Then other times, you find yourself barefoot and lounging in the bed of a rusted ’99 pickup truck, gazing at the infinite expanse of black, losing count of all the stars. There’s a warm breeze on your face, a pulse in your chest, a world at your fingertips.

It’s those quiet moments—strung together like beads of rain, prisms of light or fractals of snow—that remind you life isn’t over.

While your lungs still draw their treasured breath, while your heart still drums its velvet cadence, you realize there’s a purpose to the cosmos. You sense it’s not through random occurrence or chance encounter that you exist in one minuscule fissure of it all.

And then, you feel alive.

When It Starts to Feel Dark, I Need to Create. So, Here’s a Poem.

This Soul

 this soul of mine.

                                          blinded by the sun.

                                             curtained by the moon.

               this soul of mine.

                                          pierced by tongues.

                                battered by lies.

               this soul of mine.

                                          silenced by fear.

                                    mocked by regret.

               this soul of mine.

                                          drenched by the rain.

                                          hurled by the wind.

               this soul of mine.

                                          roped by the siren.

                                          enticed by the wolf.

               this soul of mine.

                                          taunted by danger.

                                              abandoned by refuge.

               this soul of mine.

                                          scorched by the desert.

                                              jarred by the current.

               this soul of mine.

                                          grazed by the rocks.

                                                  shadowed by the peaks.

               this soul of mine.

                                          inspired by strength.

                                               haunted by weakness.

               this soul of mine.

                                          bewitched by the skies.

                                           upheld by the earth.

               this soul of mine.

                                           pursued by the wilds.

                                                 anointed by renegades.

                 this soul of mine.

                                            compelled by true north.

                                                  urged on by the waves.

                 this soul of mine.

                                             refined by the fire.

                                               baptized by the tears.

                 this soul of mine.

                                              sustained by courage.

                                                    anchored by endurance.

                 this soul of mine.

                                              created by mess.

                                        unfettered by art.

                 this soul of mine.

                                              toughened by the pain.

                                                  softened by the beauty.

                 this soul is mine.

inner peace

 

 

The Gorgeous Contradiction

human heart

Dear Humans,

Let’s talk.

Let’s talk matters of the heart.

A striking paradox. A gorgeous contradiction.

Hard and Soft.

Dark and Light.

Fragile and Strong.

Timid and Brave.

Leaden and Lithe.

Tethered and Wild.

Each a fractal. Mosaic. Part of a whole.

A force resolute with the spunk of a rebel.

So let’s acknowledge the shadows and summon the flames.

The murk and the mess. The gleam and the grace.

They all beat together. They all have a place.

There’s beauty. Creativity. And transparency too.

It lives just inside, gasping for a breakthrough.

Let’s feel it. Not fear it. Let’s uncage it for flight.

The heart pants for freedom. Clamors for the heights.

It wasn’t meant to be fettered and snared.

The heart is wired to cavort in midair.

It’s poetic but doesn’t rhyme.

It’s musical but sings off-key.

It’s artistic but smears the canvas.

And within that enigma, you’ll forever find magic.

So accept the absurdities. Don’t scorn the complexities.

Because the heart was made fearless. Stamped for eternity.

Rawness Is My Jam.

rawness

I can’t resist a person who exposes the jagged edges, broken fragments, delicate trimmings and fiery sparks of their own chaotic soul.

Rawness is my jam.

I’m drawn to the eight-year-old who’s emotive eyes aren’t afraid to shed tears, who’s expressive smile is on the constant verge of laughter.

Rawness is my jam.

I’m enchanted by the teenager in monochromatic clothing and a mane of wild dreadlocks who’s razor blade scars are inked over in art.

Rawness is my jam.

I’m enamored with the girl persisting under the weight of social stigmas, feminine ideals and media labels, who’s inner voice refuses to accept that she’s other…unequal…subpar.

Rawness is my jam.

I’m wonderstruck from the coffee shop romantic who’s suffocated words become poetry, who’s suppressed pain is funneled into creativity.

Rawness is my jam.

I notice them. I stare. They are fearlessly authentic. I watch them reclaim the windswept debris of their spirits. Undaunted. Unshaken. Making sense of the rubble, affirming beauty in the fallout.

Rawness is my jam.

I hear them testing out their vocal chords, tuning up their heartstrings, rehearsing for the anthem to rouse our weary culture.

Rawness is my jam.

I feel them pressing into the secret, sacred fissures they’ve been warned to squelch inside, peeling off the artifice to reveal a human underneath.

Rawness is my jam.

I observe. I listen. I fall true…mad…deep in love with the quiet strength, fierce honesty, unabashed resolve and soft intensity mirrored on their faces, etched upon their hearts.

Rawness is my jam.

I learn from the example and derive meaning from the narrative. I muse over the artless candor, the radical abandon. And feel my own sidelined passion stir within.

Rawness is my jam.

I abruptly grasp the message now. In a sudden burst, I know. It’s more real than anything I’ve touched before. It’s bold and loud and new. I sense their heads all nodding. There is no place for shame. Together, we march forward into truth…and mess…and free.

Rawness is our jam.