The Companion

it is only the second day of the new year,
and i wonder why am i here?
why didn’t i just disappear?
feel so ….
invisible and disposable,
useless and directionless.

alas, been in this place many times before,
so i know well the score:
and this, too, shall pass.
the question is
how long will it last?

Another Year

Twelve months,
fifty-two weeks
three hundred sixty-five days,
eight thousand seven hundred sixty hours,
f
ive hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes

gone
over
done.

A door is closing,
another is opening.
A time for reflection,
a clean slate.
Lessons learned,
goals to re-make.

We know what was
and wonder as to what will be.
What will spill over
from last year to this?
What and who will give way,
create space
for something
new
unexpected
completely transformative?

A mystery, the New Year;
seems to come sooner and sooner
with each passing year-
little time to catch one’s breath
before it’s on to the next!
Perhaps, a good thing,
this perceived speed
with which the years roll by-
less thinking
and worrying,
more being
and accepting.

What will be, will be.
We cannot control
what is destiny.

On the cusp
of a New Year,
we set intentions
and then
humbly
release them,
surrendering all;
taking it
breath by deep breath
minute by precious minute.
Living
fully
in every moment as
hours grow into days,
days become weeks,
weeks give way to months.

And
suddenly
we begin again
and anew.

 

Silence is A Song

Sometimes
silence
speaks louder 
than words.

So much
can be heard
listening
from the space
that binds
the human race.

Energy feels more
poignant
in deep silence;
vocabulary is more expanded.

Silence is not the
absence of sound,
no, more the concentration
of the profound.

An unmasking of sorts,
in silence,
we stand in the nude-
fully exposed-
nowhere to hide
nowhere to go-
a straight line
in lieu of
a circuitous route

A-sexual,
this is what
it can feel like
to be menopausal.

What use to be 
exquisitely
sensitive 
has deadened.
no amount of 
stimulation
will it 
reawaken.

not one for
medication,
I bide my time
with 
meditation.
Such is Life:
The Lord giveth
and He taketh
away and then
returneth
another day,
as per
His Way.

A-sexual

An Untold Story

buried deep
inside,
a part of self
wishing only
to hide,
preferring to
“live”
a lie.
how to see
it
let alone speak
it
that,
which altered
a Life.
innocence
forever lost,
a new trajectory
is now forced.

but not
without
a heavy cost.

one can only run
from The Truth
but so far
before it
festers and scars.
An untold story
will travel from life to life,
causing all matters
of angst and strife
until it is
revealed,
brought
finally
to the Light.

 

Voice

It is a
courageous
conscious

Choice

for a woman to use her Voice
to speak her Truth
from the root
of her pain
and shame
at relenting
to an old patriarchal
game
that would have her use
sex
for financial gain.
A decision that then
drives her mad,
utterly insane,
a mute
filled to overflow
in self-disgust and deep blame;
a sad dimming of her Glow,
her innate beauty she can no longer see,
feeling more like a mere commodity
to be bought and sold.

Without a Voice,
her story left untold,
passing The Burden
onto the next generation.

OLD

i look in the mirror
and feel old
outdated
faded.

i am looking through the lens of fatigue,
a tired body is ill at ease,
not always accurately does its mind perceive.

pulchritude has never been my currency,
the first thing most people see in me-
that which lent validity.

living in a world that places so much value
on physical appearance,
i mastered the art of dis-appearance
learning to hide deep inside;
shrink from severe lack of confidence;
stuff the pain with food
in lieu of alcohol or cocaine.

now, I mature,
a process treated with great contempt,
as if it were manure.

the gift of getting older
is that One gets bolder!
You tend to give
less of a fuck
to the ego
and the others
who think you just plain suck.
Ain’t nobody got the time
for that drama and fuss.

The Long Arm of Slavery

Molecular memory,
this may inform
the long arm of slavery.

The past
reaching relentlessly
into the future.
Those who were once deemed “master”
carry the seeds of feeling superior-
better than those they enslaved:
the men shackled and emasculated;
the women relegated to nannies and maids,
their dark bodies laid open
to cavalierly invade.

Trauma being made
on and in both sides;
a slow
imperceptible
suicide.

When will we finally realize…

 

Waking from a Deep Sleep

I am

waking

from a deep sleep,

wondering

Where am I?
What is it
I had to eat?
How did I get here
to these beliefs?

I rub my eyes

as I try

to make sense

of what has become complete nonsense.

I hear the ancestors cry;
they ask why?

Why are you and your kin moving back?
Do you not realize this is a slap
in the face
to those who were brave?
Don’t allow our sacrifice and pain
to have been made in utter vain-
wasted blood, sweat, and tears
over the course of hundreds of dark years!

Wake up from your deep sleep,
the antecedents weep.

It is now your turn to learn
that freedom ain’t free;
it is your sacred responsibility
to the past, present and future
family.