Now is our time

My dear tortured soul, our wandering spirits have crossed paths once more. My senses bewitched me when life drew you near. I felt you were ready for my patched up heart, as I was called to the warmth of yours. We never stood a chance against fate, so we quenched each other with hours of pleasure. So powerful, the sun gave us heat waves and tornadoes, as the moon created hurricanes and floods. I believe our alignment caused these tides to rise. Perhaps we’re a force of nature you and I, although peace is what you have given me. In this perplexing puzzle we call life, it’s possible you’ve been my missing piece.

The coming of patience

ReBirth of the Phoenix (101320)

You ever just feel like you’re being reborn. This painful process of growth and death happening to you and at the same time within you— then it starts to show. It shows in your attitude, in the way you move, the way you speak and even look at yourself in the mirror. You become unrecognizable to your own eyes and in the eyes of others. Those dearest to you are worried and cannot understand what’s going on with you or what’s changing inside of you— but you know. You’re becoming aware. And it’s something you need to become in order to endure what’s to come. It hurts not understanding what exactly is going on around you, to your mind or even in your spirit. But you only know that you wish you had the patience to wait it out. You can’t force this process and that’s what’s most painful of all. The waiting and seeing of what’s to come of this new version of you.

Love letter #1

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.

Retrograde Art

This piece was an exorcism of my 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 to be creative and eventually destroyed. It desires to be everything, and to birth everything. So beware of it. Treat it kindly and gently. Be on its good side and good graces. For you may find yourself blessed to be inspired by it.

Our voice is power

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 indefinitely divine.

Lover of Credits

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.

Heart of a Ghost

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?

My Moon Flower

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.

Why me?

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.


If you’ve seen my scars you might be able to count how many times I’ve suffered 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.