the 6th day of the 6th cycle:
ruminations. affirmations. observations. confirmations.
my family is my sun. everything else is just a planet... some more far-flung than others. what comes from me is for them: they feed me & if need be will breathe for me. they will even help me blow things up.
my mother is my best friend. she holds my hand through everything.
my husband is my best friend. he makes me laugh through everything.
my son is my best friend. he is everything.
my brother makes me proud. he is good & pure despite all of the odds. my sisters from other mothers & fathers - Evil, Mel, Ree, Yessie - are the shit. they are the most brilliant broads i know... i'm constantly & consistently reminded of how lucky i am to always have them. my elders keep me safe. they are gone but surround me.
words. love. music. sunshine. nothing else matters.
i am centered and focused. i know what to take forward & what needs to get left behind. i know there is a reason each season has gone past. i know the best has not yet come to pass. i know that i am i still learning. i know that i am no longer yearning. i know who, what, & how i am... and i like it. I know that i am one of the few that can make that claim... and i like it.
plus... i got a black president on my birthday!
Monday, November 10, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
One Half The Story
When your lyrics swim out
Crashing upon the shores,
Feelings shattered like shells
Scattered across the sand.
Its only one half the story.
Your side your song
Washes clean with waves
Applauding the magnificent
Show of nature you are.
Its only one half the story.
No one hears the River Styx that Narcissus stickes his head in.
Water melts into a sea
Of an ocean that may, some day,
Run dry like ink
After paying the bills.
That too is only one half the story.
Crashing upon the shores,
Feelings shattered like shells
Scattered across the sand.
Its only one half the story.
Your side your song
Washes clean with waves
Applauding the magnificent
Show of nature you are.
Its only one half the story.
No one hears the River Styx that Narcissus stickes his head in.
Water melts into a sea
Of an ocean that may, some day,
Run dry like ink
After paying the bills.
That too is only one half the story.
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