What is this I’m feeling at 3 o’clock in the morning. I’m smiling myself to sleep thinking of you. I had hoped to be dreaming by now but everything feels real. Well that’s because it is. I do not wish to compare or flashback to a previous life. I wish to live presently, love momently and smile effortlessly eternally. For this is how you make me feel. I can tell I’ve been waiting for this be real.
This was an exorcism of emotion. My spirit animal survived the hell it was born into. The badgering of life became a breeding ground for its own personal hell. Left with no other choice but to emerge. Knowing there is nothing more dangerous than a trapped spirit. Born to be reborn, simultaneously created and to be creative and even destroyed. It desires to be everything, and to birth everything. So beware of it. Treat it kindly and gently. Be on its good side in good graces. For you may find yourself blessed to be inspired by it.
Dear black women, we are constantly depended on to speak up on behalf of others. Yet when we speak up for ourselves it’s received as hostile because no one has ever spoken up for us before. Although it is unfamiliar to the human ear and deemed unappealing, it vastly important for us to be heard. I’m here to tell you, black woman that your voice is a part of your presence. Our voices are worthy of taking up the spaces we deserve. As much as our bodies and energies require. We are infinitely divine.
The credits have always been my favorite part of the movies, second to the movie itself of course. It’s just that, staying later than everyone in the theater makes my love for films feel “reel” pun intended. Like I’m not crazy for loving this line of work because so many people are involved in making this production. It confirms my love for it, knowing many people like me are literally doing it for a living.
“This is my tribe!”
Although some may see working in television and film as a luxury, but to me it’s a way of life. It’s an industry where I feel at home. Like I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not or need permission to be who I am in order to be a part of it. Every production set is different, and I’ve been fortunate enough to feel a part of a family every time. And when all is said and done I feel proud to be in the credits with the rest of my tribesmen and women. So I feel welcomed by the credits, to “come, join us and help us create”. I feel it’s my calling to keep the business going, to continue the legacy of the industry while also becoming one myself.
Nights like this I remember black love. When it was a sense of peace and understanding. Whether it be the feeling of fresh grass underneath our feet after a first kiss. Or the smell of your skin and the midnight air in August. The sound of your voice over a song from my childhood. Or the taste of your irish beer on my whiskey tongue. Moments so gentle and so smooth. Which sense belonged to you?
I close my eyes and search the darkness for your warm vibration.
Where are you hiding my love? Such path lies madness.
Unstable you’ve left me here questioning.
Asking questions to empty spaces, demanding responses from invisible forces.
When by morning you’ll be gone.
And I’m left alone with the essence of your presence.
Take me with you into the night.
Where promise are lost and love takes flight.
Finally I’ve met you
Finally you see me
Finally you understand me
Finally I see you
Finally I feel you
I want to know you, explore you exploring me inside and out
Finally we found eachother’s missing pieces,
But finally we see there can be no we
And we learn that
Finally only lives in fairytales
If you’ve seen my scars you might be able to count how many times I’ve been in love.
Invisible to the eye but wound deep inside my heart. How high can you count before you lose your place?
I can tell you the look on your face was mine every time I fell in love.
Again, and again, like it was the first time again. Trying to heal my scars with men and mend. I bend and bend again and again. When will it end?
My darling I beg you, please keep beating. I need you.
I promise to never stop counting, again.
My thoughts keep me up at night as they tell me I should be ashamed with the way I’ve acted. I try to inject it with thoughts of reassurance and positivity because that’s what I learned in over 3 years of therapy. And for that I am proud. I am proud of myself for making it this far.
Although problems are never ending, I am happy that my internal dialogue now has a positive side to combat my negative thoughts about myself. And that is what I call progress. It’s taken a lot of work and still does, but the hardest part has already been done. The preparation behind the conquest over the seas of my mind has already begun.
Like learning how to swim all I must do now is to keep kicking to stay afloat. To me staying afloat is congruent to staying alive. Hoping one day I’ll reach a point of “guruism”, where I’m laying completely and calmly above the still waters of my mind. An oasis where all my thoughts remain positive. With the exception of very few negative thoughts too weak to disturb the surface, essentially giving up before ever reaching the top.
Is it me or does this weather feel like love? Like a smell from my childhood on the tip of my tongue.
I’ve been hit by this wind before.
I have been in love in this warm and windy night.
My veins exploding with butterflies from underneath my flesh. It’s the wind who embraces me now.
This vessel holds my spirit which revisits all dimensions our loved has lived. Lost in space and time, this pheramoned air hits my face and brushes my hair, reminding me of a gentle touch.
These goosebumps erupted memories, caused by a nosy wind who witnessed our intimate adventures. How timeless our love felt in this weather.
I have felt this wind before.
It found me and came to ask when will we meet again.