You are the run-on sentence
English has taught me not to use.
The Punctuation with red lines of knowledge
as I fail to convey thoughts of expression.
And yet, I recall the Afro-Fusion in your tone,
the fineness in your smile exiled from Black Culture.
The admiration of the necessary things, like catching
each syllable like butterflies in my stomach, when you
reach a unique journey that shifts you into my favorite Icon.

Even now your observations are penned to memory,
ultimately growing to term like my daughter
being born from the love you gave me.
Each lesson is a precise section that supports
and conclude your life’s purpose.

Your thoughts live on through every misspelled
word in my chapter of being as you watch over me, circling
and underlining my faults. Somehow still levitating your
suggestions in marginal explanations of my highest lows and
my deepest concerns of my soul.

You are the warmest period I’ve seen
in the English language. Always about the rules
of storytelling and yet basically used your criteria
for this kind of short story. Your creativity is the reason my
masterpiece for poetry is written like a master manuscript.
Every detailed piece included reading within a hero’s
pilgrimage. This is the message you gave how to approach
my failures and yet never give up on my story.

I invented a new season for life because I got tired of the winter spring summer fall pattern
My paisley doesn’t like to conform to the depression of polka dots only on the pocket square and not the entire outfit
Where’s the art in the plain white t?
I see the aesthetic, but I want the screaming art to argue with my calm voice
It’s the beauty in the pain that you can’t see until the scars have enough time to grow wings
I used to feel most at peace listening to music on my bed as a haunting sleep would close my eyes
I used to feel most at peace under the dim lights of cinema pumping hope into my veins where I had blood run free
I used to feel most at peace on the solidarity of solo ventures between the court and I
It would hum deathly echoes like lullaby’s to my heart
This trinity became my medical addiction as pride got in the way of God
Then over the years my coffee finally became cold, and I missed the warmth of summer
I could smell my own toxicity deeply rooted and swallowing my faith
So, I questioned myself through the tears, I marked the points of pain with my pen, and dug up the weeds I planted and reaped
This time I will sow truth within the uncomfortable moments
Because in this season until forever I’m most at peace on the grounds of the earthquake
Knowing that I can’t move forward unless I shake things up
Staying in a comfortable pattern only leads to a broken record repeating the line you hate to hear
You are meant to break records
p.s. peace is born in the growth of pain…

I’m currently 13 and the only thing that makes sense is sadness
So, to cope I like to hear melodies caress my ears because I’m too damaged to hug myself
Then I’ll let my pen tell stories of love and horror for the simple fact that I’m afraid to love myself away from depression
I get the impression that an early death is the only way to escape to peace
But I’m afraid so for the time being I’ll clean my room since I can’t find the energy to organize my life
I just found an extra cassette tape in my music collection next to the pile of CD’s and Records
Complementing the art hanging on the wall adjacent to my mood
I think to myself: curiosity let’s have a conversation where you tell me all the secrets Victoria victories made me hate
The tape starts with no words
The opening scene let’s nature sing before the score interrupts
Then some old guy starts speaking about life like he knows me, I’m in no mood for a lecture but I have time today
After all I was just thinking about ending it all, how could this hurt more
He says: There’s a wealth beyond financial peace within the things we blink past every 24 hours
Try not to take for granted the natural order of life around you
I know the stress will have you crying rivers on the inside that you never let water your cheeks
But you need to face your fears, or the dam will explode
You need to Yoga flex your way through the challenges less flexibility become a weakness
Not your strength; muscles are for show, but the morality of your core can lift you past anything if you water your flowers of dread
“Be like water my friend,” and if I’m being bru-tal-ly honest you lie to yourself too much
Fright has kept you in third place longer than you should have been
Unable to reach the heights you are meant for
Remember the natural order of things, but know a long list keeps your further from progress than small steps of truth
You’re 34 now and just entering your prime
The next decade will be the soundtrack to the whole of your life
The season from the age of 13-32 was just a small slice
My teenage brain begins to become bored and 34 is forever away
And right before I was about to stop the tape he said something that made me think, maybe he knows a little something:
“You are the most coveted rose”… you see I love the floral print of life
And this statement was the first time outside of my parents that I felt worthy
He then went on to say
You’re beautiful in full bloom but still walk like a sunflower with its head down
It’s ok to be a lazy daisy sometimes but remember the sun never stops smiling and the moon never stops dreaming
So, neither should you
Your tulip words are meant to be heard by the world
And one day they will, as sure as a daffodil
Will blow it’s horn of victory past everything that has held you back
Just keep fighting and I promise you will win
p.s. don’t be afraid to cry…

Mornings are that rough snooze I barely miss. It’s the
huge stretch after knees crack to remind me age is but a
loose sound of movement. It’s a dragging feeling, a
reminder to when my laughter teased Father Time.
It is peaceful, knowing my mental foundation wasn’t a pretty
make over but these years of painful lessons I massage into
my seasons, and when I fall, I’m quick to spring back to my
youthful visage. I mean, winter brings pain, the death of
beauty and the crystallization of movement. Yet summer can
always be seen stretching my soul like it’s uplifted. One
moment I hyperventilate the other I’m free falling to the
bottom of freedoms pool of love. A love for the sensation of
old age being the companion I’ve wanted since my youth.
These astral phases become astral projections of the peace that
I recall seeing. This Growth is the key to my happiness, it’s
the years which times before turned the sun dial and I became
the time father dreamed of.

Dear Unsealed Family,

It would be off-putting if I didn’t stress that I’m not a overly intelligent
person when it comes to relationships with a divine creator. It is of the most
importance to me that I find something, something that was written or
spoken to help me define this world. This world that for most of my
existence I’ve experienced envelopes of deeply rooted detachments to my
own soul. I was lost, expecting the world to bend to the truth that a
melanated child like myself had some special qualities or traits which only I
have to make me aware of the sudden effects of this particular butterfly that
I’am. I found myself being classified as aberrant, corpulent and numerous
other adjectives one as Juvenile as myself would find Detrimental. It broke
my will to live being that my father’s side of the family and classmates
made me feel that I was impotent, a mundane atom of wasted potential.
It wasn’t just with words used but non-verbal cues that emptied my belief in
myself and this world. It felt as if I was a Homicide not to gang wars but
between family and Societal estrangement. The only peace I had was the
way silence had my back. It was in those moments of silence that
volunteered violence creeped into my mind. These thoughts started to
become folklore to my young mind and harmony with harm became my
only friend. A forever companion that I couldn’t forget, and I walked the
streets of depression alone. When going to school the subway became my
way to ensure a quite exit from this world. I would every day press my face
near the edge of deaths door and at a split second pull back to feel a bit of
what death was like. At the time I didn’t know what a suicidal thought was
or that I had for most of my childhood been a threat to myself. I was
fighting the thought of my being and the anxiety of the words of external
pressures, their shadows slowly stalking my mind. But it was one thing that
made me realize a rather strange feeling I been longing for like the love of
Eros to the desire desperately to feel noticed. I was in my 7th grade art class
and we was creating pottery and could etch anything into the sides of our
clay pots. I stumbled upon images that reflected my interest in my culture. I
picked up Egyptian hieroglyphs and in the process something drew me
towards those pieces of paper. It was if I’ve resonated with those images
that they were a part of my soul and have been for quite a long time. So I
used them on my mug and ashtray, but it didn’t stop there. When computer
class started I would research these hieroglyphs in an attempt to further my
understanding of why these things had such a profound impact on my
young mind. This is when my eyes began opening, looking like a full moon
juxtaposed to the dark mood-less sky. I saw melanated individuals who took
the wind from me. I always wondered why I never saw anybody that looked
like me on the television and if I did, they were mostly athletes or
musicians. it wasn’t until the day that I saw the Egyptians that I knew that
there was more to my people and my heritage. I had the biggest smile on
my face, my shoulders relaxed and my soul, my soul felt whole. I always
believed that my history began and ended at slavery, that I was and always
will be just a N-Word to my self, my people and to other cultures that knew
their story, but now I knew mines as well. It was when I learned that piece
of time not explained to us in the history books that I made a decision to
father study my own history. So to this day I reach for further guidance
from my ancestors and look at them to show self pride in myself. I know
that when I’m down or have thoughts to do harm or anything else I can
meditate on the matter with them and they will find an answers. I’am not a
N-word or any other label someone could describe me as,I’am called Negus
now which is Ethiopian royal title that was historically used to refer to the
monarch or ruler of Ethiopia. I’am happy, I’am love, I’am whole and I’am
grateful to be a melanated soul on this earth.

Always grateful,
Rashan Speller