Beautiful Mosaic

The words flow through my mind
Like the wind through the trees,
Dancing about like leaves on branches,
Flipping and flopping—oh, what a sight.
But this is dyslexia, if you must know.
I read and spell like a jumble, so slow.

My words come out twisted,
Like a tongue twister I can’t tame.
When I try to speak, my thoughts get flipped,
Making people giggle or snarl in shame,
Thinking I’m lazy, or worse—ignorant,
But that’s not it, not at all.

On top of that, my mind races,
A hundred miles a minute,
The creative side taking over,
My vision, a blur, as I try to finish.
Focusing on a task? What is that?
ADHD is what they say,
But I’m not hyper, not today.

At 32, I was diagnosed with this,
They called me lazy, but that wasn’t it.
I try so hard, but the simplest things
Feel like mountains, impossible to climb.
I am misunderstood,
They think I’m dumb,
But deep inside, I am smart,
If only they could see that part.

I’m trapped in a fight,
Yearning for someone to see me,
My heart tangled in a storm,
With all this comes anxiety and grief.
Triggers hit me hard,
But at least I stand,
I guess that’s something to be proud of.

Empty space fills my soul,
A part of me is missing—
My child and his soul,
Who am I behind this mask of pain?
Sometimes, I wonder about that myself.

I’m a puzzle missing pieces,
Maybe one day they’ll see me
Like a beautiful mosaic on the wall,
All of me, not just the broken parts.

The words flow through my mind
Like the wind through the trees,
Dancing about like leaves on branches,
Flipping and flopping—oh, what a sight.
But this is dyslexia, if you must know.
I read and spell like a jumble, so slow.

My words come out twisted,
Like a tongue twister I can’t tame.
When I try to speak, my thoughts get flipped,
Making people giggle or snarl in shame,
Thinking I’m lazy, or worse—ignorant,
But that’s not it, not at all.

On top of that, my mind races,
A hundred miles a minute,
The creative side taking over,
My vision, a blur, as I try to finish.
Focusing on a task? What is that?
ADHD is what they say,
But I’m not hyper, not today.

At 32, I was diagnosed with this,
They called me lazy, but that wasn’t it.
I try so hard, but the simplest things
Feel like mountains, impossible to climb.
I am misunderstood,
They think I’m dumb,
But deep inside, I am smart,
If only they could see that part.

I’m trapped in a fight,
Yearning for someone to see me,
My heart tangled in a storm,
With all this comes anxiety and grief.
Triggers hit me hard,
But at least I stand,
I guess that’s something to be proud of.

Empty space fills my soul,
A part of me is missing—
My child and his soul,
Who am I behind this mask of pain?
Sometimes, I wonder about that myself.

I’m a puzzle missing pieces,
Maybe one day they’ll see me
Like a beautiful mosaic on the wall,
All of me, not just the broken parts.

Heartbreak
Is everywhere like dropped dishes
She sits and sips her coffee
Appears calm and composed
Amid the shattered glass that today was, figuratively speaking
This time

She looks through her memory of today
And finds the pieces of porcelain that have pretty filagrees and bits of flowers
To laugh if she can
She looks aside from the pieces
To see what is not broken
Fixes her eyes on what is whole and real and doing well
She clutches those things in her hands
She has to be careful not to grasp them too tightly
In case even that
Were broken.

She waters plants
She sings songs
She breathes cold air
She plans a garden
She plans a project bigger than this day
She shops for dishes
She is defiantly hopeful

The church ladies said “what a devoted mother”
The neighbor said “your so busy all the time”
Truly
She’s running from one moment to the next preventing disasters & providing cues.
She:
Hugs this child and hopes it is somehow healing to them both
He:
Stares out a window quietly
No words
He is a mystery
Hope is present like a cat that doesn’t like attention.
She is sure
Today was “not that bad”
Brave face to the moon
She is sure
Another day will come
Soon enough.

Sometimes I cry silently beside you
But my tears burn loud like screams
Your ears are so hollow
Like my voice is shallow
I wonder if I’m talking in a dream
Because I don’t feel heard

My concerns bounce off the wall like an empty apartment
My worries shut away in a chest locked with a one of a kind key
Insecurities become secrets because only I listen to them

Hear me
Acknowledge me
Validate me

I’m drowning in your rebuttals
Your disregard seeps through my pores
I choke on your counter neglect

How do we continue on?

My perception of life allows insight into things that are often missed by others.

I choose to be silent, letting my written words say what takes my breath away.

I see the injustices, and relentless undertones. So many are inflicted by a hate that they have never had or known.

All for the sake of being different.

Looking away from a person who may have been born with deformities.
Blind, deaf or lame.
Even those who are impaired mentally.

There are times I burst into tears, but it’s not for me as much as it is for others.

Some consider me to be fragile or too sensitive, not grasping the burden it carries to care.

I feel crushed in return… getting a clearer picture of Yashua, connected by DNA, his blood running through my veins.

“But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.” Isaiah 53:5

Yes, Yashua is my brother, and God’s first Son.

I suspect for such an uncommon belief not to be received.

Saddened by the amount of misunderstanding of me it brings.

Aware of the way others look at me. Not so much about beauty, but this certain je ne sais quoi encountered by my presence.

Some have lashed out at me in hopes of a reaction, because I remain composed and calm during times of chaos.

I have been called the “quiet storm”.

Style Score 100%
(prior to final draft)

Dear Unsealed,
I do not know where to begin but I will begin to write as my subconscious dictates the story. I grew up when women did not have rights. Now in 2025 we are back to the same male patriarchal society. I felt very misunderstood throughout my whole life. As an empath and creative personality, I still feel misunderstood around judgmental people
I was led to believe that the man held authority over everything. Back in the fifties white male misogynist pigs dominated it. Now we are back to this same idiocrasy of white men wanting to dominate everyone and everything.
I, and other women were taught to get married, have three babies, buy a house, and serve your man cocktails when he gets home from work. Some households were extremely strict with their women. Women were not allowed to buy a house or buy a car until the 1970s. now we are back here again with white male dominance.
I was married at 20 for a brief period. The marriage was annulled due to incompatibility. The thoughts of some families were to marry their daughters off to a man to take care of them. If one is raised in this culture, you either accept it or rebel against the whit male patriarchy. I rebelled.
I am going to make this into a noticeably short story. My message to women of every culture do not let your man dominate you. Rebel against such nonsense. Men who want to control are very insecure and have severe mental issues of paranoia.
I would not have married the car race guy if my mom had not insisted, I needed to get married to fulfill her dream. I briefly accepted the mentality of that era. I was always in a fight or flight mode for many years.
I suggest to younger ladies do not succumb to the lunacy of a male patriarchal society.
My father was not like that. He wanted me to learn mechanical work. My mom was oh no I could not learn mechanics as I was prima donna girl. My dad and mom had an argument about that issue.
My philosophy is do not let anyone push you into marrying just to get married. Love is love. I am an ally of the LGBTQ people.
I now instruct people: we are one human being species with many cultures, ethnicities, languages, different skin pigmentation, and personalities.
What I learned through my years from 1949 to 2025 is do not let a man talk you into having his babies, especially if you just began to date. That is a red flag of dominance and how the misogynist sees your worth as a woman. I say block him on social media, refuse his phone calls, and ignore him if you see him out and about. Watch for red flags of narcissism in every relationship. If you are the narcissist then crumble the story, throw it away because a narcissist cannot change. If you are an empath, then stay as far away from the narcissist as you can. If you are not either of those personality types, then take heed to watch for red flags to prevent an abusive relationship.
My advice is to focus on your career, go to college, and refuse to acknowledge people who condescend you as a human being. Walk away from a future abusive relationship.
I was boy crazy at ten years old. I read teen magazines and idolized boys in the band. I matured young, as I began puberty at age ten. My advice to me would be to focus on writing for the teen magazine instead of being google eyed over the cuties in the band.
As of now I am 75 years old. I accepted a coffee date with an old guy. I told him someday soon. I have known him for two years. I want platonic relationships and at this age there is no intention of anything but friendship.
This concludes this short story, focusing on one aspect of my life among many others. I have a lot of stories to tell. I shall write them all one day. Perhaps I should include the X-rated too.
I have survived all those relationships as I have learned that I did not always make the right choices. As one grows up to maturity you learn to appreciate the times you made the correct choices and to always remember the consequences of making the wrong choices.

If you feel misunderstood, then analyze the situation or walk away.
Peace everyone!
Be yourself everyone!

Dear Unsealers,

There’s a moment in life when things change, not just on the outside but deep within. For me, that moment wasn’t a big, dramatic event—it was more like a whisper, one that slowly grew louder until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

I spent a lot of time trying to live up to everyone else’s expectations, thinking that if I checked all the boxes, I’d finally be happy. I wanted to protect everyone, be the best mom, wife, and person I could be, and still somehow find time for myself. But something was missing. I was disconnected from myself, from the love I wanted to feel and share.

The turning point came when I realized that the love I was searching for wasn’t out there—it was already within me. I had to learn to love myself first, to stop depending on others for validation, and to connect with my own heart and soul. It wasn’t easy, but that moment—realizing that I am enough just as I am—changed everything. I stopped chasing perfection and started living with intention. I learned that real power comes from within, and when we embrace who we truly are, we not only heal ourselves but also the people around us.

Now, every day, I try to live with that understanding: that love, kindness, and compassion are choices we make, starting with how we treat ourselves. That’s my turning point—when I realized that in order to give to others, I had to first find peace within myself.

With Love & Light,

The day approaches near, and I feel an empty space.
My thoughts are so depressing, every turn I see your face.

Our mother’s scream still lingers, through my ears and in my head.
As her words slice through the air, “Oh God Crissy Kate is dead”.

Yes, I thought she’d lost it. But I came to realize.
That she wasn’t nuts at all, I soon saw with my own eyes.

Your body lay half on the bed and I turn to take a look.
As I flipped your body over, my entire soul was shook.

Blood oozed out from your nose, your mouth frozen slight ajar.
Your eyes were rolled inside your head. How did it get this far?

You were cold and you were stiff. You were charcoal, purple, blue.
Your entire body swollen, you just didn’t look like you.

Our mother screaming “Make her breathe”, continually she would yelp.
“Oh Crissy you have to save her”. “Oh Crissy you have to help”.

I tried desperately to revive you. Though I knew it was too late.
Dear God I want my sister. Why the hell are you taking Kate?

There was no pulse or movement, as I compressed repeatedly.
My mouth upon your discolored mouth, the only breathing was from me.

Our mother asking, “is she alive”? “Crissy is she breathing yet?
You were so cold and dark, beneath my hands, I can’t forget.

I failed to make it happen. No matter how tirelessly I had tried.
I failed to make you breathe again, beyond the door, our mother cried.

At some point my movements stopped and I took this final sight.
As my sadness and the anger, just consumed me in my plight.

You were gone and I had to tell her. “Mom, I’m sorry she is dead”.
Her scream of horror ringing on, her heart breaking with what I said.

She looked up to my eyes, and said “Oh Crissy that can’t be, tell me no”.
If I could have traded my life right then, but I held her, as we let you go.

If only I could have saved you. If only there had been some way.
If only I could have filled our Mom’s request, then you’d be here today.

Instead we watched them take you. A black body bag across the floor.
Your body dead within it, as they dragged you out the door.

As if you weren’t a person, pulling you like a fleshy inhuman blotter.
Their callousness invokes me, so I scream “that’s my sister and her daughter”.

As they thumped you down the stairs, stunned, they stop to stare at me.
They look upon the body bag, and finally they begin to see.

From the ground they gently pick you up and they move you to the Hurst .
My misery all consuming, I know my rage is about to burst.

But I have to be the strong one and I have to move along.
To be there for our loving mother, to be the rock to keep her strong.

I will not ever forget that day, because a big part of me died with you.
Regardless of the years since then, this isn’t something I can get through.

I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it sometimes the memories just make me crack.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be the one, to save you and bring you back.

I miss you and I love you and I am so sorry this was your fait.
The good of you and that horrid day will always live inside me, my sister, Kate.
My Sister Kate
The day approaches near, and I feel an empty space.
My thoughts are so depressing, every turn I see your face.

Our mother’s scream still lingers, through my ears and in my head.
As her words slice through the air, “Oh God Crissy Kate is dead”.

Yes, I thought she’d lost it. But I came to realize.
That she wasn’t nuts at all, I soon saw with my own eyes.

Your body lay half on the bed and I turn to take a look.
As I flipped your body over, my entire soul was shook.

Blood oozed out from your nose, your mouth frozen slight ajar.
Your eyes were rolled inside your head. How did it get this far?

You were cold and you were stiff. You were charcoal, purple, blue.
Your entire body swollen, you just didn’t look like you.

Our mother screaming “Make her breathe”, continually she would yelp.
“Oh Crissy you have to save her”. “Oh Crissy you have to help”.

I tried desperately to revive you. Though I knew it was too late.
Dear God I want my sister. Why the hell are you taking Kate?

There was no pulse or movement, as I compressed repeatedly.
My mouth upon your discolored mouth, the only breathing was from me.

Our mother asking, “is she alive”? “Crissy is she breathing yet?
You were so cold and dark, beneath my hands, I can’t forget.

I failed to make it happen. No matter how tirelessly I had tried.
I failed to make you breathe again, beyond the door, our mother cried.

At some point my movements stopped and I took this final sight.
As my sadness and the anger, just consumed me in my plight.

You were gone and I had to tell her. “Mom, I’m sorry she is dead”.
Her scream of horror ringing on, her heart breaking with what I said.

She looked up to my eyes, and said “Oh Crissy that can’t be, tell me no”.
If I could have traded my life right then, but I held her, as we let you go.

If only I could have saved you. If only there had been some way.
If only I could have filled our Mom’s request, then you’d be here today.

Instead we watched them take you. A black body bag across the floor.
Your body dead within it, as they dragged you out the door.

As if you weren’t a person, pulling you like a fleshy inhuman blotter.
Their callousness invokes me, so I scream “that’s my sister and her daughter”.

As they thumped you down the stairs, stunned, they stop to stare at me.
They look upon the body bag, and finally they begin to see.

From the ground they gently pick you up and they move you to the Hurst .
My misery all consuming, I know my rage is about to burst.

But I have to be the strong one and I have to move along.
To be there for our loving mother, to be the rock to keep her strong.

I will not ever forget that day, because a big part of me died with you.
Regardless of the years since then, this isn’t something I can get through.

I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it sometimes the memories just make me crack.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be the one, to save you and bring you back.

I miss you and I love you and I am so sorry this was your fait.
The good of you and that horrid day will always live inside me, my sister, Kate.

For you-

I wanted to tell you about the decision that was made slowly. Made over the course of a couple semesters of sleepless nights that I filled with colors and unique faces, while smoke curled around me like infinite halos and various mediums stained my clothes. Life was a blur of coffee, shitty parking spots, endless ideas, negativity, and more coffee… and I remember constantly feeling like I was drowning.

The first couple of semesters of college were a lot like that time I visited Tim Burton’s LACMA exhibit on Halloween night. There was a collected presence of awe enveloping every person there, with hushed whispers and pointed fingers wherever you turned. You could feel a sort of beautiful artistic darkness peaking your curiosity and encouraging your creativity- just daring you to get off your ass and pick up your instrument (you know you want to). That was exactly what my first taste of college felt like. The mixture of uneasiness and excitement; a palpable admiration consistently pouring out of me. My curiosity peaked, my creativity raging, I picked up several instruments.

Artistic instruments are similar to instruments of torture. Both will cause you to marvel; both will cause you to scream. Tools that can be picked up as a result of intense passion or emotion; used to satisfy, control, release, create, and destroy. Both can be difficult, meticulous things- but some will find that they have quite a talent for it. I am not one of those people, and I learned this the hard way.

I like to say that I am an artist of mind, not of talent. The visions that I get and the ideas that my mind creates are masterpieces that I’m sure Tim Burton himself would point at and whisper about. However, when whichever instrument my right hand picks up meets the negative space, it’s as if my brain isn’t sending the correct messages to my hand, causing my brilliant vision to fall flat. I justified trying for an art degree because me “wanting it badly enough” mixed with learning and progressing through college art classes was sure to help me close the gap between me and the truly talented artists around me…right? Wrong.

I truly tried, and I gave my classes the absolute best effort I possibly could. Unfortunately, my absolute best wasn’t enough. My life was a chaotic watercolor blend; the kind that hurts your eyes if you stare at it too long. A tangle of fading friendships, betrayal, assault, experiments, and a rawness that cannot be understood unless you were there. I gave every aspect of life my very best, and continuously fell short. I was drowning in this poisonous concoction of mental health issues, social awakenings, and never being quite enough. The knowledge of not being enough ate at me quickly; attacked me, really, using instruments of torture I never thought possible.

I had to accept the fact that although I had wanted to be a professional artist since I was a small girl, and even though I was trying and practicing and learning, it still was not enough.

And just like that, I’m standing on the balcony of the art department building, blood dotting my jeans all the way through while the watercolors staining my fingers flirt with my lips as I inhale the nicotine that I don’t even really like, and release it back out into the night. I’m crying. Tears and snot awaken the dormant watercolors, leaving stains on the butt. My breath catches on an inhale of smoke, causing the toxic stick to fall while my lungs fight for air. When I’m done coughing, I’m left gasping, not enough air finding me. Things go dark for a while, and eventually I come to- sitting in the corner of the balcony clutching myself, every inch of me clammy, hair sticking to my face.

It took me a while to realize I was developing a panic disorder. It took even longer for me to fully face the fact that an art degree was something that I needed to let go of. This turning point marked the end of my adolescence, because being honest with yourself is a step toward adulthood. This step led me to begin nourishing a part of me that was always there, but sometimes forgotten. The medium that I was always naturally decent at, but didn’t always accept as art because it wasn’t as visually appealing to the eye.

Here I am, over a decade later, utilizing my chosen instrument while my hair remains out of my face and my muscles remain relaxed. And while I may never be the absolute best at it, I am certainly good enough.

Love,

Sometimes the world offers us many moments of truths. I believe small ones and then life’s cosmic baseball bat. I had just finished leaving a newer job that I thought would offer me a new start. Really starting a domino effect of leaving the apartment and in the area of my dreams. At this point in my life I was pretty oblivious to the amount of change I had put myself through, completely unaware how unhappy I was. After all I had a job, a place, an area I loved and was completely content being on my own.
As I look back I faced a choice to stay at this toxic job and put my head down, but what came out was “I guess I have to go.” To this point the only thing I had left was myself, my cat, and my car. I could hardly believe at the ripe age of 30, the one place I said I’d never go back to was my parents house. The place I felt was a house of horrors.
After being there sometime and no job offers I could feel what little spirit I had dwindle. The toxic environment I had escaped from my job was no match for the birth place of I first felt it, my childhood.
Feeling powerless I decided that even though I had gone most of my life without any medicine I would go for a thc gummy. Not the real deal, but it was enough for my depression and anxiety to be able to face the days. It really became my non prescribed medicine.
After sometime it didnt seem to effect me and things seemed manageable. I decided to meet up with an old friend to have lunch and the time we were supposed to me kept getting pushed back. So I decided Ill just eat some snacks until we get together. When we got together, finally, we smoked. Harmless seeing I thought seeing as I had taken the gummies over time. We finally got inside to eat and waiting in line I started to feel weak. What is this I thought, why do I feel off. My friend ahead of me I said Im feeling weird. Her response was ” you’ll be okay were almost to the front.” I was true, only two people ahead of us. As I stood there my eyesight went black and lost control of my body. I dropped down in space on the hard tile in the middle of the line. Knocking myself unconscious, with the strength I had left I tried to get up and stay awake.
Whisked off personally by my friend I ended up in the hospital. As I was being rolled in I could feel my consciousness coming and going from my body and has no idea if I was dying. Feeling like I was unattached to my body.
This was it, the turning point. The big cosmic baseball bat not only had I put myself in danger, but my friend who had stood by me all the days of my recovery I had traumatized. I had put any friends that had known and family through so much heartache.
Now you as the reader I have told this is the turning point, but really It was just the crescendo of the turning point. I went through a LONG period of denial and continued to do the same thing. In my house hold someone else was battling worse if not the same issues. Triggering in me the same wounds. How could I change in the environment that I felt stuck in?
How did I start without a job, oh not to mention my car stopped working so I could not leave. I decided to walk, and walk, and walk. Eventually I began to reflect, eventually I found a place away from home where I found connections, and those connections led me to church. In that church while almost allergic to being religious I found community. The community offered me support and sponsored me to get free sessions for therapy. I had a safe space finally away from home. From there it snowballed and made a new friend, a friend who had addictions and probably worse. I could tell her the truth without going into a shame spiral and she challenged me to let go along with the other support to let go. To deal with my situation head on and really empower myself to look at where I was and make smalls steps towards dealing with my deep emotions. Discovering an outlet and healthier ways to deal with the life circumstances.
I can’t say that everything is better, but I will say this is the first time in my life Ive stopped running from my past and was forced to face the truth. My past was horrifying, me going back home nothing had changed. But I have! I became a different person then the child they knew.
I’d like to encourage anyone who reads this letter if youre at a turning point, if you’re at a cross roads to get support. To connect with others you can trust, find community wherever you are and lean on them, just like the song says when you’re not strong. It ‘s the first time being independent I had to reach out and learn not everyone hurts you and can the human spirit can touch you in the darkest of places.

As seasons come, seasons go.
As spring has sprung, the rivers flow.
A new birth of a weary soul is reborn.
Yet, I sit hit with this heavy thorn.
Hoping that I can find peace and learn what I need to know.

From the pain inflicted by the white substance that tore my family apart.
I now sit here writing this poem with a broken heart.
For I once believed I had found what we all long for.
The key to peace and happiness laying behind that familiar yellow door.
But instead, I sit here expressing myself through an emotional form of art.

Picking up the pieces has been the most difficult task that I have done.
Yet, I continue to find my place in this world until the day that I am gone.
Finding my path to journey alone on this one-way street,
Is something I will continue to carve out as I stand alone on my own two feet.
And I will rise and shine, and sing until all the songs in me have been sung.

For a better tomorrow lays beyond the horizon and beyond the unknown.
For my wings will be set free and spread all on my own.
I am determined to fight the fight and create a new life with purpose and pain free.
So I can show my children what it is that they need to learn and see.
And giving them a pure love to show them that they are not alone.

Now I write to escape the reality of what it means to live in pain,
For I fight to keep my mantle free of someone else’s bloody stain,
which feels like a fight that can only be fought by those who are brave,
And I fight for me, as I am the only one I can save.
For this fight is for me to keep myself sane.
And now a new breath of fresh life has been rebirthed,
Knowing that I will never have to look at another blow of white snow.

Everyone has a past
But when the past seeps into the present
We face the repercussions & cultivate resentments
I have no direction
Unable to pinpoint what brings my life satisfaction
I’m consumed with anxiety, impatience & even aggression
When do I find that which calms me
Brings my entire existence it’s longing serenity

For I was searching, searching
A rock to ground
A hand to hold
I’m losing grip
Not a grasp on my soul
Through the motions I flow, rather fall
Attempting to prevent a downward spiral

No one to save me
The Lord is my Savior
If I sin, will He still tolerate my behavior
Mistakes forgiven, still on Earth living
If & when my purpose is fulfilled
Does my soul contract submit me to Hell
To have been high as a kite or down on bended knee
I hope He knows I’ve lived life genuinely
If to live 100 years or die tomorrow
This life had meaning because it’s He who gave me
A life absorbed by love, family, & humility
Despite the trauma & downfall
I have risen above because He’s helped me conquer all
In my lowest, weakest point I struggled to see the light
But yet I heard Him say hold on as much as I might
Entrusting in the process & willful strength was met with my own doubt
To have never seen the light
I was certain I’d end this life without

Face to face with my tower moment
My demons making their presence known
My back uncovered
My vulnerable side shown
With nothing & no one
Even rock bottom was a stranger
Mustering the strength & courage was distant but not foreign
Never would I have to summon it to this magnitude
Changing everything within me from my mindset to my habits to my attitude
Rebirthing into the person He knew I could be
He had the answers all along when the negativity refrained my vision to see

Now in my future, I see the light
Not THAT light, but happiness which knows no bounds
My worries & fears are weightless
It’s as if I’m floating off the ground
I couldn’t be where I am today
Without a little faith, grace & a daily pray

This was the point everything changed
The point where it was every wrong turn but still the right path
To have only now found He & my angels
It was me against the enemy right from the start
Attempting to reign chaos on my mind & my heart
Nonetheless do I have appreciation for the struggle yes
But now to live my life with Him in succession
I am untouchable in the most humbling sense
I am able to resonate at a higher vibration
I can now entrust that I live my life to its fullest ascension

In the hall of college, where Arms strong rested across the chairs,
Students, done with classes came to see a show with time to spare,
“Testing, Testing. Y’all know what time it is. It’s Open Mic Night!”
I was just grabbing a burger and a friend met me mid-bite.

“Last call, last call! Is there another performer?”
“Hey, don’t you write? I saw poems in your class drawer.”
I winced and said “Yeah, but I don’t know for today-”
“Hey, he wants to go! He’s the Langston Hughes of today!”

I glared at my friend, but I took my notes and read,
Emotions flared, the students froze with their phones left unread,
At the end of the words, the hall rose and cheered,
To the friend that made this night possible?…. I still glared.
This kickstarted me to write poetry,
Oh, what a new world that’s opened up for me!

Born on the beautiful island of Bermuda during a cozy December
I have been mindful of God for as long as I can remember
Raised with love in our family home
Thanks to my parents, the Spirit of God I’ve always known.

Later, living in the United States, I attended a mindful movement class
With no clue how much its impact would last
I wasn’t sure how the class would flow
But I felt drawn to it and knew I had to go.

I profoundly felt the presence of God on my exercise mat
Experiencing sacred intimacy in a way I’ll never forget
Using body, mind, soul, and spirit to connect with Him
This is where my turning point begins…

My intimacy with God this way steadily increased
Sacred, relaxing, and full of Christ-centered peace
It led me to become a movement instructor and ‘minister on the mat’
Helping others pause, consciously breathe, and soulfully connect

With God of the universe
And the Holy Spirit within
With the One who sent His son, Jesus
To forgive and erase our sins.

Blending movement with stillness along with God’s word
A new mission for me was what I heard
Guiding others to relax their shoulders and straighten their backs
While engaging their abdominals to strengthen the core
Using the physical to go spiritually deeper with God to know Him more.

This turning point became a love language between God and me
Blessing me to spiritually see
The beauty of God moving within
And that physical movement could also be a vehicle for following Him.

Rooted in this mission like a tree
God and me
We got to going
The wind was blowing…

Taking me to the training, credentials, and opportunities to teach this way
This perspective on life was a brand new day
Combining the elements of work and play
And today, I am here to say:

Speaking this embodied love language with God
Wasn’t what I initially sought
Until experiencing the process of slowing all the way down
And anchoring my feet on God’s solid ground.

Aligned like a charm
My soul felt calm
Spirit illuminated
Body and mind invigorated.

Then…

Poetic prayers eventually became a solid part of my voice
A blessed, sweet, and playful choice
Communicating with God in such a way
That He feeds me the words to write and say.

Aligning with Him as a spiritual poet
I know His voice. I know it; I know it.
A vessel of His poetry to help others and me be free
To become clear about what God has created us to be.

With that clarity, purpose beautifully unfolds
Stories of turning points are written and told
Divine connection leads us to become bold!

My boldness—A manuscript, “Rhyming with God,” was recently birthed
Pages with poetic prayers and reflections about positive worth
A publishing offer has been given to me
So, in 2025, readers will see…

My intimacy with God poetically expressed
A relationship with Jesus nurtured by holy rest
Life with the One who is the very best
Who meets us where we’re at and helps us through any test.

Whether writing or on the mat
I give God all the glory, honor, and utmost respect
Purposed by Him with roles that feel like a dream
Some days I’m so excited I could joyfully scream.

Embodied intimacy with God is of a special kind
Aligning with Him, we’ll peacefully find
Life outside of the daily grind
And restoration for the body, soul, spirit, and mind.

Thank You, God, for the lessons of many kinds
Thank You for allowing me to find
The paths to go, the ways to flow
And how to know, and know, and know—You!

The crack to the skull
A bleed in the brain
Death shook me
She called-
Addressed me by name
Stood above so I could see
My Rome in vanity

Momentum increased
Pillars collapsed
Every image stumbled
Shattered & crumbled
Unmasked & raw
Only held at the seams

The life I once knew -In pieces at my feet
Outstretched for miles, it resembled defeat
Yet the weight lifted & she drew her first breath
Emerged from the rubble, an image pristine

A glimpse of what was to come
To accept the unbroken
Was to conspire to murder
The audible & unspoken

The purpose & the drive
Debilitating all at once
Breathed into me new life
& undiscovered fronts
In honor of the indelible
What once was, exists in memory
What is yet to be – a blank slate
Out of mind, as it should be
But in my hands all the same
The moment she spoke my name

Growing up I was abused spiritually, verbally, physically, emotionally and the unspoken. Being quiet and fulfill the needs of others taught me how to survive in toxic environments, but it was never stopped the abuse. My entire belief system was built on the foundation of pleasing people. I believed I wasn’t good enough. Love was supposed to be unrequited- at least for me.
Though I never learned to put my own needs first, I had a secret. I never stopped dreaming, hoping and believing for unconditional love. As I got older I searched for this unicorn named unconditional love, but to no avail. I found comfort in unhealthy habits that provided artificial happiness.
Then I had children. They became my light in the darkness. I vowed to always protect them from things that I endured and ensure they had a great life. However, my belief system didn’t change. As a result, the trauma seeped into my children and infected our family dynamic. I saw what was happening, but felt powerless to change it. It was a sinking ship with no life jackets. Whatever I tried was never enough, so I worked harder. I got more jobs. More work meant less quality time, but they had material things and spent a lot of time with other people.
Over time the relationships I developed via family, friends or lovers grew worse.
I felt hopeless. One day, the inevitable happened. I discovered that my beloved children were experiencing abuse in various forms, even the unspeakable. I wanted to vanquish myself from the Earth. I fought to give them freedom, but continued cycles.
I was consumed with anger and depression at the thought of failing them. Everyone blamed me. Not the person who violated them, but me. Sadly, I blamed myself too.
While I spent time away from them during the investigation I had a choice to make. I could wallow or move forward. It required a lot of introspection. I moved into a shelter. I had lost everything I tried to hold on to and just had me. Me and the universe. How did I get here? Through therapy and meditation I soul searched. Inner child healing was necessary, but painful.
The next step was to speak up. It took courage to testify. I was horrified reliving the events and hearing my autistic daughter tell her truth. I had to ensure she got justice others refused to me. I made a statement and closed a painful chapter in my book.
Though I am still rebuilding and reparenting myself, I am grateful for my journey. I am grateful to the universe. I am grateful to myself for believing that I was worthy to heal my trauma. The hardest part wasn’t testifying, asking forgiveness or taking accountability, but learning to forgive myself. I had to forgive myself for neglect, rebuild my entire belief system and visualize a different perspective. I take care of myself now because I love me. I spend more time with my children and enjoy life’s journey. Who knew that playing uno, park visits and baking cookies together could heal so many wounds? What was meant to destroy me has become a motivation for real change in all aspects of my life. I am grateful I will never be the same.
Although I was able to stand up for my daughter, there are many children who will never see their justice. Issues like this are hidden dark secrets. Although I cannot save them, I can encourage others to speak up and to heal themselves. I have found many creative avenues to do it. I hope that my story will encourage others to find their voices too. Save themselves. Take their power back. The more we speak out, the braver we become.
This is only the beginning…