The Glass Ceiling of Fear

"You can't "prop up" a person that refuses to stand."-me

Recently, I asked one of my "homeboys" to read a few of my blog posts and help "plug the gap" where my feet often stumbled.

He didn't read one, but he read all of them!

After a gut-wrenching, "throat punch of truth," he unleashed the dragon.

I was knee-deep in the swamp of hot ashes.

Needless to say, I had allowed fear to become my glass ceiling!

Each time, I took off running for the hills, I looked back to the valley for "familiar hands."

The "child within" had learned to go without the things needed most; so as an adult,

I counseled my fears.

I nursed my vulnerabilities.

I coached my failures.

However, my hands kept reaching for the "mentor within" that the younger version of me survived without.

Let's face it! Kids learn what they live, even inherited dysfunction.

Grown-up habits can resurface as future hurdles.
Childhood denials can become adult superhighways of constant delays.
Lack breeds superficial lust.
Past avoidance can manifest as future addictions.

Over the years, I kept a "trigger finger" on my pain.
I had a love-hate relationship with my process.

My "healing" wasn't a linear race that I could just sprint to without:

the highs and lows,
bumps and bruises,
wins and failures.

Therefore, my frustration unraveled each time I placed my insecurities on the altar for public display.

They say the highest form of rejection is choosing something/someone that doesn't choose you in return; so don't let the relationship that you neglect, be the one from within.

Offer love.
Offer hope.
Offer patience.

Don't sit in the pit of your pain, nursing a passive aggressive bandage, because the enemy within has convinced you that evolution is selfish.

You can either be passive in pity or productive at healing!

Kick the crutch of superficial validations from underneath the surface of your foundation.

Heal at your pace.
Grow in His grace.          

Maybe you were created to help ease the pain by ushering the broken-hearted to the Divine Healer.

Such A Time As This

"Don't let doubt make you a slave to fear"

My friends keep trying to talk me off the ledge...B-U-T...

Some days, I am afraid to jump!

Some days, I give a slight pivot but retreat!

Some days, pitiful outweighs powerful.

However today, I am "crip walking" blindly on faith.

I am out here in "these streets" without:

life support,

a respirator,

mechanical ventilator,

or back up plan.

Don't bother asking for further clarification, cause I can't explain what I don't understand. (inserts nervous laugh).

All I know (for certain) is my 2020 vision got downsized by the "survival of settling" and I had been sulking in bondage every since.

This morning, I intentionally crawled out of my "woman cave of darkness" and declared that I'm not "finna" waste one more tear on anything left behind.

I refused to yell to the masses that refused to acknowledge my worth and
I refuted the weeds of rejection regurgitated by the enemy within.

I opened my eyes to a different reality and a fresh coat of paint.

What if God created "such a time as this" to:  

My passion has always been social work.

renew the commitment,
revisit the vision,
reaffirm the "empathetic social advocate,"
refresh the goals,
and reclaim the victory.

What if the only baby in Philly with a black crib learned to stand on her own two feet and take the first step to destiny?  

What if she threw away the soaked pillow of excuses and got busy?

What if this was the "appointed hour" that she shook off the shackles of codependency and lived free?

What if she started dreaming out loud again?









What if she closed her eyes to the clouds of pain and opened her heart to the power of prayer?

Examine your own heart....

What if the worrier woke up the warrior?

What if the passion collided with purpose?

What if the impossible was made possible?

Let the power of his promises restore your vision, resurrect the death of shattered dreams, and reclaim your faith.

You have the God given provision to

 protect justice for all, 

promote love from within,

and produce necessary change.

This is US

Sometimes the "pain of remembering" is just way too overwhelming...  

I opted out of the traditional Father's Day this year.

I did not make my annual graveside visit.

I did not make a social media post honoring my dad.

I did not celebrate the legacy seeds that he deposited on the inside of me.

I did not share the memories.

Sunday, June 21st popped up (on me) like spam with a virus attached--my dad was not physically present!

So, I could either cram my face with carbs, cry my eyeballs out, or retreat to the confines of my bed.

Somehow, I  mustered up enough strength to step out of the pain and into a garment of praise.

I met my responsibility with accountability, because I had "eyes on me."

My grandson was starting to show signs of distress, due to the overwhelming nature of surrounding events and I could not allow my grief to take root in his heart.

I knew dad would want me to take care of him...

to be bold,
courageous,
and loving.

to smile the frowns away,
to paint the skies with rainbows,
and to nurture the king in him.

I also knew that "our dad" would want me to make space for new memories.

I am so grateful for our father's undying love and God's continuous grace.

I am blessed with an amazing "tribe of family" that

 translate my love language,

comprehend my silence,

and offer me space to grow.

Even with a lump of sorrow in my throat, I offer a heartfelt  "Happy Father's Day" to the memories of yesterday and a "Happy Father's Day" to the memories underway.

This is U-S...  

God's love dipped in the "Powell blood".      

Happy Father's Day to my amazing brother.

Happy Father's Day to our dad.

The Watering Hole of Grief

"Grief is love unfinished." -author unknown

Yesterday, I intentionally chose to ignore the cardboard trail of boxes that disrupted my path of productivity. I snoozed on the to-do-list! I really didn't care to entertain the emotions of "unpacking;" because then, "moving" would become an immediate reality.

Somehow, I just knew that God was about to flip my world upside down, but I watered the "adrenaline rush" down with a cocktail of hesitation and insisted on a splash of doubt.

What if things went left?

What if my ambition was "overstepping" God's plans?

What if my expectations exceeded what was available (for me)?

As my eyes scanned the piles of excess, tension erupted into an aggressive, fire blazing migraine.

I felt flushed and consumed by the ashes of despair.

However, my agitation was interrupted by a quote from Alphonse Karr, "The more things change, the more they remain the same."

Geez! It had just dawned on me. I had been standing in this valley before. I always managed to camouflage in the shadows of darkness to conceal the light of the truth. I had become a prisoner of war---an internal war!

In my natural habitation, I stockpiled doubt for rainy days and frequented the "watering hole of grief" to pacify the "void" of unfulfillment.

I reluctantly inhibited God's healing abilities, because I draped my wounds with "superficial" fillers.

It was a feeble attempt to dress the ruins of what was dying on the inside--dreams, visions, & goals.

I drank from the well of grief.

I ate from the plate of fear.

I stood on the unstable  pillar of unfinished love.

Survival had claimed my abundance, because I insisted on forfeiting my inheritance.

Don't get stuck in a season of the wilderness of wishing, wanting, and waiting.

Your "purpose" is contingent upon your willingness to surrender to your Higher Power.

Come up out the pit of sorrow, drown your excuses, and let God's will prevail.

Don't let your L-O-V-E lay "unfinished" in the tomb of grief.

In Due Season

In due season, you shall reap a harvest...

Over the past weekend, my family and friends cleared their hectic schedules and helped empty my cluttered apartment.

According to the 2020 vision, my time had expired in that temporary space, but closing doors ALWAYS created a veil of doubt, anxiety, and FEAR.

My lack of formal planning had unintentionally created all sorts of challenges for my help and the future uncertainty of those cardboard boxes flooded my heart with waves of uneasiness.

I had buried my head in the sand of chaos for months and "my indecision" had become a landfill of never-ending complaints that sheltered my inconspicuous agitation and heaviness.

Sadly enough, I had perfected "good-bye's" a long time ago. (Leaving was familiar). It was like breathing--necessary for survival and required little effort on my part. In fact, I was ALWAYS the first to Q-U-I-T, because staying required the courage to ENDURE unwelcomed rejection!

However, my mental capacity had already collapsed against the war of unfairness, inequality, and injustices.

Therefore, I surrendered my flag and extended my formal resignation (without peace).

I found myself "spinning wheels" in the mud of repetition.

Even though my feet were ALWAYS moving, I wasn't gaining traction.

I kept ending up on the "back side" of hope. The man made barriers impeded my bridges of optimism.

Yesterday, I picked up, packed a bag, and pulled up to an oceanfront view.

The beach had become my....                     

                         
safe haven,
therapy, and
"calm" in the middle of a storm.

It was in the ripples of change that I found new direction.

Do you trust God for the "provisions" to live, laugh, and love, (even when your feet are buried in the sand)?

Do you have "the faith" to receive the blessings on the way?

Do you have the courage to "wait" in expectation of the BEST?

Chasing Butterflies

Seems like the "outside world" had finally caught up to the unfiltered chaos that had been churning in my belly for months.

In the midst of all the madness, COVID-19 came like a "thief in the night" and interrupted my trajectory.

My optimism faded into the backdrop of forest fires caused by consuming racial tensions.

My faith wavered on the mountains of constant criticism of the "judge & jury" trying my every move.

My hope became overshadowed in the valley of contagious helplessness.

Social injustices claimed my attention: on the news, in the workplace, and even in my own backyard.

The roses wilted.
The gardenias lost their fragrance.
The lilies surrendered their petals.

Everything that I had prayed for last season became an eyesore in this season.

I missed the "calm in the storm" days of:

watching my grandson, stand up on the couch and play in my grandmother's silky, black tresses.

having morning coffee with the Tuckers.

book club discussions with my tribe.

trail walks and bike rides.

Most days by 6pm...

I drew the blinds on the outside interference,
closed the curtains to the current realities,
heavily sedated with carbohydrates (by default),
and escaped to the confines of the little gray couch for comfort.

I chased the "butterflies of familiar faces" that made me feel safe, secure, warm, and loved.

I replaced the clouds with the Son.

I nursed the infirmary of insecurities with the word of God.

Don't let the darkness of the world dispute your faith in the Father.

Turn on the LIGHT in the middle of the storm.

Sail your ship...until all of those 2020 visions manifest.           

Unraveling

Every "ending" has a new beginning...

COVID-19 hijacked my 2020 vision.

Doubt silenced the explosive dreams (in my belly) with a sporadic, Diabetic comatose oblivion.

Racism robbed every radical hair of optimism from the roots of my graying head.

Most days, the alarm clock was the only morning reminder of the faint pulse that surprisingly existed after the reservoir of sorrows dried up from the night before.

I had been suffocating under the collapsed bridges of failed attempts.

I had been forced into a shelter of introverted isolation.

I had been confined by self-imposed limitations.

Somehow, "answered prayers" resembled unopened mail, postmarked, "return to sender."

My "hands" kept coming up short!

Days became nights.

Nights became prisons.

Real became fake.

Love became hate.

When I discreetly unveiled "daily vulnerabilities" from underneath the protective mask of the COVID madness, I couldn't tell if my heart was still under subjection of the merciful God that my grandma once prayed to or had I been illegitimately tossed in the wrath of vengeance for any overlooked unrepentant sins.

I was always a day late and a dollar short in man's eyes.

And with each step forward, there were always broken cracks on my sidewalk.

The cracks were the visible signs of unhealed trauma from the brutal, harsh realities of my brown skin, because I was suffocating long before George Floyd's face hit the concrete.

Society stepped on my neck when:

- the fight of good faith was somehow misconstrued into having to turn the other cheek and walk away with our wounds licked, our scars tucked, and our pride misplaced.

- privilege trumps freedom, equality, and justice {for all men}.

- our resistance to comply in silence is deemed as insubordinate to authority.

- our refusal to be bullied into submission makes us appear incoherent and uncivilized.

-my allegiance to my sister and brothers is perceived as a communicated threat and deems me a deviant.

Pardon me, if it seems that we are all "unraveling" in the face of such global adversity.

Pardon me, if we seem a little traumatized by the unhealed attacks of lingering racism.

Pardon me, if you can't feel the depth of pain inflicted by my "dark skin" daily reality.

We are crushed.

We are perplexed.

But we will NOT wave our flags  and  "surrender" to defeat.

We will endure the backlash.

We will continue to fight for freedom.

We will overcome.

We will WIN the war.

We will NOT be moved to the back of the bus.

Becoming

One of the hardest truths to face is--being in a space that no longer serves you.

Recently, I made a long, overdue decision to "disconnect" from the social media platform, Facebook. It seemed useless to work diligently to produce in a space that refused to acknowledge my efforts as a noticeable contribution. Showing up as a creative, in a world that pretends not to see you, reaffirms the wounds of "unhealed trauma" that remains undergirded by the scars of rejection.

The "lack of engagement" sustained unwelcomed insecurities and prematurely wilted the petals of potential from forming full blooms.

It reinforced the concrete walls of abandonment that lined the cracks of subconscious childhood memories.

 It forced me into the isolated corners of desperation, trying to remain relevant in times of emotional uncertainty.

My distress seemed oblivious to the masses that were drowning in their own pain. Help was like foreign aid, unattainable, because most were struggling to remain afloat themselves!

Whenever I found myself drifting outside the familiar, in search of relief efforts, what I found instead was overwhelmed entities that reaffirmed the ashes of rejection and barricaded my pain with authoritarian submission.

At my dismay, I soon realized that I could not heal in an environment that was designed to model generational instabilities:

* to be seen, not heard.
* to serve, not lead.
* to execute, not question.

In fact, most of my intimate relationships were starting to resemble that of my most displaced with my mom...

As I stood--standing in the doorway of expectation, waiting for her eyes to affirm mine, it was just an unrealistic fantasy, because the pain of my presence reminded her of a dark place that she longed to forget.

So rather than have her confront the pain of me staying, I dismissed myself in silence.

Hoping. Praying. Wishing.

That one day she would gain the courage to love me back to wholeness.

In the valley of waiting for the shadows to dissipate, I realized that I was only creating my own heartbreak.

The thing that I thought I needed to breakfree was the same thing that was holding me back from:

evolving,
loving, 
and becoming.

"Don't let the pain of staying keep you from the freedom of leaving."--me

A Living Nightmare

I always wake up at the crack of dawn without an alarm clock but force myself back to sleep. Sometimes facing the morning's reality is way too much to fathom on a few hours of rest.

As my eyes slowly wondered down the imaginary lines of my bedroom ceiling, I caught myself in the middle of an unwanted "mind mapping crisis." Somehow, I managed to mentally categorize all my options by lining my ducks up in a row.

Who was I kidding?  I hated those rubber ducks! They all represented something that I had "outgrown!"

When I opened the blinds, my tears greeted the rain with contempt, so I closed them and drew the gray curtains shut.

The clouds overshadowed my "projected optimism" with the gloomy forecast, so I crawled back into bed to make this nightmare disappear.

Screeching alerts of potential inclement weather interrupted my daydreams.

This was a "living nightmare!"

All I wanted-- was to take a "mental health day" in peace. I wanted to lie in bed, be naked & vulnerable, and cry without shame.

I didn't want to think about today, tomorrow, or a tornado threat!

The undeniable restlessness violated my peace and forced me to examine the anxiousness that charged my blood pressure to abrupt palpitations.

As I explored the deep end of fear, my bed became the coffin that trapped my "living" corpse.

It was hard to face the truth, but living a nightmare was even worse.

Although my heart craved creative space, my head always overruled in favor of survival.

Freedom bells hadn't seemed to prevail for me, because I nested in the shadows of segregation. I clung to the limbs of a familiar addiction, the self-sabotage model, when the risk became unbearable.

Today, "the rainbow" was not enough to convince my fears to vacate the premises.

But tomorrow, I will stand in the shadows of God's work to exercise:

1. Awareness:   I will allow myself grace to be broken but space to be healed.

2. Forgiveness: I will achieve reconciliation by meeting my pain with forgiveness.

3. Integration:  I will act with gratitude for the pain is a healing balm necessary for growth.

Don't torment your potential with the lucid dreams of lies that seek to prematurely bury your passion.

Get grounded in greatness.                                  
Advocate for the victory within.                  
Stop living the nightmare.                                                  

Flying High

"There's such an overwhelming heaviness accompanied by being in a space that you don't love. "-me

Although I've been trying to quietly fade into the gray decor of a mundane routine for months, my unsettled stomach rumbles against the currents of assimilation.

My desperate attempts to micmic a "traditional, work day," have landed my best efforts in the discarded "rejection" pile.

My optimistic glitter trail had been hacked by the fruit of abandonment: bitterness, frustration, and sadness.

Seems I'd been starving myself by refusing to get up from tables that hadn't appealed to my appetite.

I'd been sitting in "unoccupied spaces" that obstructed my airways by enforcing the gas chamber of lethargic disapprovals.

I'd been showing up with my gift in hand, but turned away, because it wasn't relevant to orthodox demands.

I probably should be plum "certified" crazy by the residue left behind from rejections!

Probably should be sitting under a "bridge of sorrow" clutching the vices of drugs, alcohol, or sex to cope.

But instead...

I choose to "pop up on'em like B-A-M!  I ain't going nowhere! You can't fire me, because I haven't even begun to bring the heat yet! I serve "official notice" to the frequencies of rejection that seek to disrupt my 20/20 flow. This little introverted unicorn ain't even got her feet wet yet!

My favorite academic scholar, "Flash," reminds me to change the channel on the chatter, when it ain't serving my best interest.

He commands attention with his charismatic "A" game, even on the worst days.  

He's unstoppable, because he's not competing on a "mediocre" skilled-level.

You won't catch him standing in lines, waiting to be served the leftovers. He packs his own "super power," not from a cape, but from the GOD within.

Today, I'll let Flash usher me back to the hands of the "Prince of Peace" where the glory flows without restriction, restraint, or rejection.

I'll "fly high" with my Father leading the way.

You can have your positions.
You can keep your titles.
Just give me his portion---perfect peace!

Water Your Seeds

"Every leaf that grows will tell you: what you sow will bear fruit..." --Rumi

Don’t cultivate a spirit of depression in your children by allowing them to watch you “suffer in silence.”

Your excuses will become their bondage.

Your bad habits will become their thorns.

Your pain will become their pit.

Live life to the absolute fullest!

Explore your heartache.

Unravel from the unhealed trauma.

Don’t let the pain hold your purpose hostage.

Don’t selfishly wallow in the pig pen of pity at your children's expense.

Don’t stay chained to darkness.

Don’t lie on your belly of sadness.

Don’t let the lack claim their abundance.

Rise up from the “ashes of defeat” by taking “proactive” steps:

Let your words frame their future.

Let your life be a testament of your faith.

Let your path ignite their hope.

Let your prayers comfort their sorrows.

Let your reservoir of living water saturate their barren places.

Water your seeds daily...

with love,

with patience,

and understanding.

Remember whatsoever a man sows, he reaps.

Are your actions producing blooms or weeds?

Even when these two think I’m being ridiculously tough on them, 

I pray that love abounds in all the empty spaces of misunderstandings and that they thrive on the manifestations of mama’s prayers.

I pray that my witness will always affirm my faith.

I pray generational blessings overwhelm them with peace, happiness, and much success!

I pray that when they feel depleted by the cares of the world that they know who to seek for the ultimate refill.

 I pray that my daily courage frees them from the clutches of darkness that tries to overshadow the light of their wings. 

Spring Forward

What do you do when life throws a “sucker punch” that knocks the wind out of you?

You smack the “living taste” out of adversity!

You recalibrate.

You refocus.

You realign.

You recharge.

You renew.

You refill.

My “default settings” tend to process difficulties as hardships, rather than growth opportunities.

“Challenges” come with discomfort, require discipline, and take lots of dedication.

I hit.

I miss.

But I never stop “swinging.”

Life isn’t foolproof; you know?

You will NEVER be able to insulate yourself from the risks of potential mistakes. 

So you might as well— dig your heels in the sand, stand in your truth, and prepare to knock “it” out the park!

My grandson defeated the odds stacked against him. Recently, He fell behind academically but bounced back like a beast in a short length of time and got three awards to prove it!

He broke through barriers.

He overcame obstacles.

He conquered like a champion.

Because of him, I feel like stepping out on blind faith.

I feel like “tossing the tables” of doubt that park in the corner blindspots.

I feel like “evicting the fear” that sneaks under the covers and tries to suffocate my dreams.

I feel like “drop kicking the devil” in the groin of false imprisonment.

I feel like “dancing on the marble countertops” of new possibilities.

In a few weeks, we will adjust our clocks to reflect the reality of Daylight Savings Time.

Why wait to let your “heart” reflect the “hands” of change?

Get your mojo back.                                            

Celebrating my grandson's accomplishments.

Take the leap.

Spring forward.

Long Suffering

"Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it." -Helen Keller

On my Tuesday morning drive to Raleigh, I listened to The Breakfast Club's interview with T.D. Jakes.

Jakes discussed ways communities can process the "overall grief" felt amongst the tragedy of Kobe Bryant's death. Charlamagne posed a gut wrenching question that commanded the hairs on my arms to stand at full attention. He blatantly asked Jakes, "Does the righteous ALWAYS have to suffer?"

I felt that from the hollows of my belly.

Jakes' response, "Everyone suffers!"

"Suffering" wasn't some type of exclusive hardship permissive to a population of believers that professed Lord as the savior of their lives.

Suffering didn't discriminate, regarless as to social class, status, or power.

Suffering wasn't a "one and done".

I thought about my own journey, whereas "loss" seemed to take precedence and "suffering" claimed the center point of an unshakeable apathetic trance.

My limited options failed to grant an ounce of peace. In fact, I felt a lingering generational curse of survival form a thick fog overhead.

More so, my options didn't fulfill the realities of my goals, so my freedom felt imprisoned by nerve wrecking, reprehensible negotiations.

Every "yes" came at the expense of a "no" to self.

Somehow my "life's purpose" had imposed a "death row sentence" of babysitting others' sorrows and I felt jilted from the pain of this reality.

The silent threat of "irreconcilable differences" manifested into a bridge of constant tension.

The internal turmoil chipped away pieces of my mosaic (my creative outlet) that centered me in times of chaos.

So, right now, I feel an overwhelming urge to lash out in a rebellious defense of the persistent conflict of insurmountable emotions rising against the currents of frustration, but wisdom muffles the anger with humility.

As I sit at my desk, the word, "non-toxic" (on my vision board) catches my eye.

Sometimes, in order to create an environment conducive to the space we need to grow, we have to cultivate a system of healthy boundaries that look different from past generations.

We have to execute on new levels without explanation.
We have to explore our limitations and navigate pass them.
We have to exhale the doubt and inhale the potential.

Don't concede in the valley, before you've reached the mountaintop of possibility!

Opportunities bloom out of the "long suffering" of unforeseen circumstances. It's not too late to carve out new space and shift against the winds of adversity that seek to hold you hostage to last year's survival rates. Surviving was permissible in the pit of darkness but it doesn't stand a chance against the light of the palace.

Crushed

"You can’t win in a collapsed posture of defeat.” —me

Even though I stay in the ring like Rocky (with my gloves on) when it comes to my share of undeniable social injustices, there are “human” moments where I feel “crushed” under the intense scrutiny of personal prejudices, biases, and inequalities.

My back has been against the wall for years.

Actually, I’ve been in the biggest “fight of my life…

Fighting for a fair chance.

Fighting for an equal opportunity.

Fighting for justice in an unjust world.

At times, I courageously launched out into the deep against the currents of insecurities.
Panicked.
Then, swam back to the shore of familiar grief!

“Grief” was my codependent, ride or die that rode shot gun when everyone else faded into the background of indifference.

So in a world of pretend, I’d shake off the humiliation of calamities, wipe the grit of sorrow & put my “game” face back on.

I wasn’t a punk either.

Sink or swim, I would definitely show up!

But my womb felt like it was “hemorrhaging from the pressures” of deferment, denials, and delays.

On today, my little cousin reminded me-- why it’s important to shake the dust off & keep it pushing pass:

what they said, 

what they did,

and what they believe.

I snatched the crumbs left behind from Mady’s recent life discovery trail.

She took a few steps forward.

She fell. 

She laughed & tried again.

She repeats the cycle till she’s conquered the mission like a "BOSS BABY!"

“Quitting” ain’t in her future, cause she’s determined to soar against the odds of failure.

I LOVE watching her grow, cause it stirs up a “wind of opportunity” for me to absorb a daily dose of freedom on a deeper level.

So thankful for the grace extended by God, when I feel “slighted” in a corrupt system of inhumanity that causes my feet to drift under the crushing of limitations.

When the world says, “No!”

Mady says, “Show up, anyway!”

When It Hurts to Stay

The clouds silently mourned blue showers when my feet halfheartedly hit the concrete floor.

My unconscious apathy had a mysterious way of castrating the morning sunlight.

It hurt to stay connected to the emerging rainbow’s future optimism, when the obvious pain of rejection, trampled the covenant of truth.

My “hope” went belly up, downstream, each time my sails ended up shipwrecked on a remote island.

Those failed missions left an an avalanche of sadness, without the comforts of the birds serenading me over breathtaking skies and crystal clear living waters.

Instead, my clogged drain left a swampy pit of fruit flies that draped my potential, devoured my possibilities, and drowned my passion.

My flesh burned in silence.

There wasn’t any traces of beauty dancing on the notes of these ashes.

Life had exposed my fears.

Love had promised to stay.

Loss had prevailed in the crevices of uncertainty.

                                       
Today, I peeked out the blinds to “see” if my realities had shifted into 2020.

I wanted to see if love was waiting to bloom in the empty spaces of a Unicorn heart’s.

I wanted to see if the barren trees were able to produce in the harshness of January.

I wanted to see if new horizons were realigning against the same familiar backdrop.

Sometimes, we stay “connected“ way longer than we should to old faithful ways.

Last night, I laid in familiar arms that literally took my breath away, because I know that those arms will NEVER be able to fully support the weight of my love again.

The oil spill from that undetected Solar Eclipse left stained prints on the moon of my overwhelmed emotions and a crater of desperation consumed my throat. 

Don’t drown in the celestial galaxies of “WISHING & WAITING!”

It will NEVER come, unless you push through the pain of staying!

My First Love

Whoever said grief gets “easier” with time, just flat out lied.

When I opened my eyes at dawn, I forced them back shut. Maybe extended “sleep” would prolong the inevitable mountain of evidence that proved:

the cement of grief still lingers after losing you.

the absence of your face sitting across the table for our traditional lunch date.

the way your wisdom encouraged discipline, summoned conviction, but was always received in love.

Now, all that remains after those ashes of memories is the black coals of burning tears, which feels like some sort of consolation prize that doesn’t appease this jaded heart.

My overwhelming tears seek refuge in the glorious fountain of your eternal crown, but my flesh mourns the unfilled vacancy that can never be replaced.

My heart skips.

My head aches.

My hand shakes.

How can the predictability of life’s unavoidable circumstances leave such an unpredictable reservoir of sadness behind? 

I hope that you find complete rest in knowing that I’m giving this Earthly suit my absolute best though.

I take one step forward, cause I know from miles away, you still got my back!

I pedal through valleys.

I push through darkness.

I pray the “morning joy” comes to see your smile.

My Dad, 

my hero, 

my heartbeat,

my first love.