Hey, you, old man.
This is a letter to yourself and from yourself.
You know all those things you’ve done wrong,
Regardless of who’s fault, or who’s right or wrong.
But this is not of that my friend…
Yeah, it’s amazing.You can call yourself friend now, but you are! ♥
I know those things I put myself and others through.
I remember the dreams and aspirations.All the good things I had for you.
Looking back is confusing and God it just makes me cry.
But I’m gonna try to leave You out too.Because this is a letter to myself. To maybe find out why.
But God I can’t, I can’t look back Because it hurts too much…
I can’t go to the beach, I can’t go to school, I can’t go to church, Sitting bereaved, I feel a fool.
But Lord, I can’t do it, I cannot watch.
Cannot go to Toledo. Cannot go to Cleveland cannot go back to jail, God what am I believing?
Cannot run to West Virginia, cannot hospital trend…
All along.I hated myself, yet all the while was a good friend. ☺
I can’t even write.I’m sorry I can’t do this.
All along my life, it was my own mark I missed.
But that’s a good thing because i’m not in hell…
Only I could see my place where ever if I made, could never get bail.
I’m sorry, no can do.
God thank you for saving me from me.

There is no resolution without first a solution
An awakening, a calling from whence we first knew it

To clear the path before us
From war and destruction and all those who grew it

Let them hear you now

For I am the poet who stands tall

Arm and Arm with the ancestors, sisters, brothers, enbys
I love them all

You cannot take out OUR pride and OUR joy

Your hands are bloody and they constantly toy
With the hate of many, it plagues us all

& We sleep with one eye open now
But the sun will rise again

Because we see you
And we feel you from when you were small

This life you’ve chose was NOT the one you called

Just a mere thorn in your knee that made you fall

From GODs own eyes
Turned to dirty spies

But we are here to help you

Lift you from your broken path

To wipe away your years of endless wrath
That the child inside you has had to carry

Alone and tired and just barely…

Able to breathe a breath of newness
Filled with flowers of love
And their sweet dewness

It is safe to be now
In a place of family

We reach our hands out
Our hearts out
When you are finally ready

…to be as one
Like we’ve only just begun

GRIEF
By. Kristina Gregson
Grief is a hard feeling to explain.
One does not truly know what to expect, until they are actually going through the pain.
The pain in the pit of your inner being.
The ache in your heart, feels like it could stop beating.
Your whole body aches with pain, leaving one feeling so drained.
Right down to the blood that flows through your veins.
A hurt, an ache, that can only be described as deep deep sorrow.
One that you know you will still have when you wake tomorrow.
The feeling of loss, the wish I would haves,
The wish I could haves, the wish I should haves,
That feeling of so much wasted time, that could have been spent with better rhythm and rhyme.
More smilies, more hugs, more laughter, more love.
More calls, more talks, maybe even a walk,
More dinners together, more special times.
That is what you wish when your loved one has ran out of time.

Birds still chirp their fucking hearts out on crap days,
Like a karaoke star who’s totally lost his way.
And flowers? They’re gatecrashing funerals with sass,
Whispering, “Was it our fucking fragrance, perhaps?”

People scatter when shit really starts to hit the fan,
Quicker than I say “fuck it” to my diet plan.
But the ride-or-dies? They stick like fucking glue,
Like that piece of gum on your shoe, never bidding adieu.

The moon’s up there, changing her damn mind,
Like me in front of the fridge, a late-night find.
So hey, give yourself a break, don’t stress the fucking phase,
We’re all just bumbling through life’s mad, crazy maze.

In the cracks and crevices, we find our fucking groove,
Dodging life’s big-ass feet, we move and we improve.
Escaping the drizzle, dodging the damn pee,
We’re the fucking misfits, making it, wild and free.

So when life feels as tough as a week-old fucking baguette,
Remember, we’re rocking this shit, no need to fret.
In this grand ol’ mess, we might seem fucking small,
But we’re damn well blooming, giving it our fucking all.

It’s like I’ve been trying to get somewhere my whole entire life, but
hitting every red light along the way.
ITS Like my brakes go out
thousands miles too soon.
And like I burn
thru way too much gas after filling,
and I can’t even trryyy to justify
the wear n tear of the motor.
I have Been spinning my wheel
and getting nowhere
for as long as I can remember.
I’m running on fumes.
My tires are bald.
I’m one blow out away from
swerving into oncoming traffic.
My dreams are in the passenger seat
with a broken seat belt, a drunken smile,
and an empty bottle of vodka
that I haven’t gotten the courage
to throw away.
I have a green valley
of possibility in front of me.
And a mountain of regret
in my rear view mirror!
I’m hoping there is just enough
in the tank to make it to the end of this road. CRASH

Dear Grandpa,
It’s been 11 years snice you’ve gone. I can still remember the night being so peaceful, so still, and so cold. I remember the day we laid you to rest. The snowflakes that fell that day were the biggest ones I’ve ever seen. I wanted to be one of the few who go to carry you to your final resting place, but I watched instead as my brother, cousin, brother in law, and a few others carried you instead.

I’ll never forget when my 18th birthday rolled around and I eagerly went to the gas station and bought a can of your grizzly wintergreen chewing tobacco. I took it to you grave and had lunch with you. The sun was shining and I was happy enough even though you weren’t with me anymore.

You were my best friend. The amount of days I skipped school just to hang out with you nearly cost me my graduation. The people at school frowned upon the week I missed when you passed. Said I shouldn’t have been gone that long and that I needed to be there from then on. What was I supposed to say? Grief has no time limit and I wasn’t capable of dragging myself out of bed to go be around people who never understood me. You always did though.

I wonder what you would think of me now. Would you still be proud of me? Would you still be able to sit in silence with me and just watch the tv? Would you still be able to look me in the eyes and tell me everything was going to be ok? You were my safe place in this world and even though it has been 11 years my heart still hurts. I yearn to hear your laugh, see your smile, and feel the warmth of your hugs.

I love and miss you so much, Grandpa.

I wrote this about my most recent battle of surviving and healing physically/mentally after my car accident. It took me LEFT
“with nothing” to realize I already have everything I need and I can say I am Thankful my God continues to prove his love for me!!

Left. Starving.
Tryin to keep my head up…while being fed up. Hard to stay UP when all you feel is down. Pushed down. All the way down.
To the Mf ground. Stuck on a marry go round. Left. Spinning. Where we stop nobody knows. Can’t afford to take no more blows. Left.
Down where the stream flows.
Saying goodbye to all my belongings.
Saying goodbye to dreams
Suddenly
Saying good riddance to the negativity. Watching my stuff float out of sight.
Still starving but can’t get fed a bite.
Left. Freezing cold with no warmth in sight.
This is where strength kicks in ready to fight. Move how you are forced to move. Wedged. Jammed. Left. Scared. Worried.
Made to believe you have luck.
How, when all I feel is stuck.
Still searching for my belongings
floating in the muck.
Maybe I wasn’t looking for my stuff after all wtf… I was left looking for more outta life.
Left. Just So I can get RIGHT.

Dear You,

Never in a million years did I think I would be so connected with you, but at the same time disconnected.

The thought of ever thinking of you as a POSITIVE mainstay (I use mainstay literally), in my life is like finding a person who does not know what an iPhone is.

The bane of your existence on another person would literally freeze me.

I could not talk at the mere sight of seeing what felt like a drowning impact you had and sometimes still have, on the lives of innocent humans.

Prematurely punishing them with the ability to not talk!

This confinement… well, it just seems like the prison sentence of Jeffrey Deskovic, a man who spent 16 years innocently behind bars. A person who missed 16 years of freedom, family events, friends, and much, much more, for being wrongfully accused.

This powerful story can be read in the new book – “Unseal Your Superpowers: Letters To Inspire The Hero Within You” by Lauren Brill.
(See bottom for link to book).

So much of my life with you I let myself die inside by not behaving as my authentic self.

I was in a stranglehold with you that even the Hulk would not be strong enough to combat your grasp.

Despite you letting go of that fiercely tight grip, I have the scars to show for it.

After years of healing, the scar’s are still there. All but so faint, no amount of scar cream can make it evaporate.

The pain of you will always be there, nagging me like a tag on the back of a shirt.

I realize that tag is not meant to be ripped off or even taken off as a whole, it’s there as a reminder that sometimes a tag or label will never die, but if you don’t like it you can always use tie dye.

Despite the tag or label still there, this time, I am going to exchange it for one that fits me! Only me — the authentic me! After all, no one can be me!

So, I thank you for the lessons you have taught me, cerebral palsy. Now, I’m going to live life authentically and OWN you, tag and all!

Love your once enemy and now friend,

Jake

Here Is the link to the story mentioned above, and much more.

We are currently donating a portion of our proceeds (10%) to two charities:

Lift Our Voices, which aims to transform the American workplace, making it safer and more equitable for everyone, and Team LeGrand, a fundraising arm of the Christopher & Dana Reeve Foundation dedicated to supporting quality-of-life initiatives and treatments for spinal cord injuries.

Mikaela Lauren Tick,

March 7th is your birthday. I was planning to post this on the 6th, as it would fit the theme… premature, or just because this is so hard to get through that I wanted to do it early.

Then again, it is the 6th in California, where my sister lives – who is due to give birth on the 9th.

So, who knows, she can be getting contractions as I write this! .

Hello future Weber,

For future comparison, please note: the line below details what time this sentence was written:
Sentence was completed at 9:33 pm 3.6.24 (PST)

I will see you soon!

Love,

Uncle Jakey💜

Anyway, back to the premature thing.

MLT YOU💜 ME because I was born prematurely at 1lbs 13 oz, giving me cerebral palsy – It feels really weird to be talking about myself in YOUR bday card, CONVENIENTLY weird!

Your favorite thing to do was to ASK me how I was doing and there to share all the moments with me🥲

Alright, let us get back to MYSELF🤔 I think that would make everyone happy😂

In all seriousness, you ARE at your HAPPIEST when the attention is on others. I’ll take it and run!

Our relationship iS STILL as close as ever!

I may not be able to physically hug you, but I know YOU ARE STILL HERE because I see the signs:

Whether it’s with family or things that I do, I do NOT doubt that you did not have anything to do with Lexi, finding a Jeffrey, Ryan finding a Pamela (I’m a little upset with that one because there is only one Pamela Tick, but that’s ok, Pamela’s maiden name is Katz (like Nanny Sheila’s)!

Me:
The Unsealed with LAUREN, my psychologist —who has a disability, and lost a cousin, my best friend, Mack, who I met at a special Olympics event!

In these ways, YOU ARE IMPACTING EVERYONE, ESPECIALLY ME, SHOWING ME, that love can be experienced by ANYONE, ANYWHERE, disability or not!

I would say, until we see each other next time, but I see you EVERYDAY!

Until I can give you a PHYSICAL HUG, sending all of them up into HEAVEN! That and a Black & White Cookie for Papa Donald!

I hated my dad’s classes. He would take out his “Black Tapes”, his Black Law books, and his printed-out thick packets of information from whatever minister or professor he liked then and turn on his computer. It was only occasionally, but the topics of our history always left me feeling uneasy. As I’ve grown, I realized it wasn’t his fault the topics were oppressive to deal with, but I am fortunate he tried to prepare me for the outside world I was entering.

He is good at that.

I was homeschooled and in one of our many classes, I remember he made my brother and I draw a circle on the page in front of us and write these words.

“The space inside this circle represents my realm of knowledge. All that I think I know about whatever I think know is depicted right here within this circle! I must keep in mind that there is more to know than what is within the circumference of my awareness.”

I admired his way of storing and sharing information. His eyes lit up when he had the chance to but other times, he just kept his head in a book or focused on the new installment of monitors on his desk; only to interact again when his friends were around. The people who seemed to matter most.

What he does to me, I do to him. Even though in the deepest parts of our hearts all we want to do is hug each other. We choose to dance around it. We hurt each other, but we do it with love. I know it makes no sense, yet it’s true. I say nothing to protect us and he tells me nothing to keep my image of him from being damaged forever.

Everything he taught me I absorbed. I stood on a podium and to 300 people. I told them that quote he told me. I made them make a circle with their hands and recite these words, again.

“The space inside this circle represents my realm of knowledge. All that I think I know about whatever I think know is depicted right here within this circle! I must keep in mind that there is more to know than what is within the circumference of my awareness.”

I saw him watch me and I could feel how proud he was without having to look. There are moments when I love him with my whole heart and there are moments when I can’t because it hurts. But I always listen to him, just like I know he listens to me.

I love you in the way rain always escapes the forecast. It surprises me how much I always forget my umbrella. I love you and it’s hard because it’s hard to love myself sometimes.

We talk and clash because we both want to be right and since he can’t respond I will part with a piece of his song:

A baby boy, amazing grace. The 20th of July, a special day. A father’s smile and mother’s tear. Through that special reunion, I appear. So full of life and so many dreams. Raised in the ghetto the eldest of three.

This sounds like me:

A baby girl, amazing grace. The 25th of July, a special day. A father’s smile and mother’s tear. Through that special reunion, I appear. So full of life and so many dreams. Raised in the ghetto the youngest of three.

And this part sounds like us:

Plans were made to visit Grandma and them. But underneath pops’ wings is where you’ll find me. Right before bed was the best of times. I swear moms can read a book and make it come to life. But maybe life pressure got to Mom and Dad. Made them change directions from the ones they had. Buckets of tears running down my face as I watch in pain my hero’s separating.

But with me and you, there are no separations.

I am a work in progress

Orphan baby that time stole

As I figure out my role

Though sometime just a hot mess

I try to find my true self

Racing time against its toll

Challenging my self control

While maintaining mental health

The haters and the lovers

Inspire my will to thrive

And my desire to stay alive

Lest I dive under the covers

So, in stepping out of bed

I take steps toward my goal

Like a newborn baby foal

To live life outside my head

Have I really been working on myself or did I just change from my work clothes to something more comfortable
Is this depression or is it just the pigment of my skin
Can I defeat you, detach from you or are you so fingerprinted to my thoughts that I’m simply running away from me
Sometimes I wish I could just escape me, myself wears a mask, and I am tired of getting dressed up just to still feel down
I’m black said my mind, I live in the shadows of sadness watching the sunlight from a distance
If only the heat from the suns smile would kiss me, maybe it would melt away my sadness
I’m black said my words, followed by you’re different, they won’t accept you, you don’t fit in
I’m black says the mirror looking at a reflection of depression
I get so lost in my waning emotions my waxing moon can barely breathe
It’s so cold that even the rays of light feel sad
I’m black, I’m depressed, I’m black, I’m oppressed, I’m black I’m obsessed with the idea of my feelings living on equal ground
I’m black, I’m depressed the two interchange while beginning to sound the same so much so I took depressions last name
When I look at me I see one broken piece
I can’t find the rest of the lyrics to my song, maybe it’s because the writer will never finish it
Maybe it’s because I didn’t cry enough to water my heart
I’m black, I’m dirt, but my soil is killing the last remaining rose
I am a rose with bloody red regrets for petals, I put my failures on a pedestal
So, every time I tried to look up it got me nowhere
I’m lost and I keep letting the grey line give me directions, because there’s a thin line between joy and happiness, and in the middle is pity where you can find me
I’m black so they think I stole these 5 minutes of happiness, and so what if I did everyone deserves 15 minutes of fame and mine is coming soon
But right now, I just want to smile and actually feel the laughter hold me instead of the facade that hugs me like a long embrace
This morning I stopped running and looked depression in the face
My mind is not yours it is the Lord’s
p.s. let the battle begin

As a writer, I often find myself discovering scraps of writing I have jotted down somewhere, or suddenly, a line will appear in my head that doesn’t fit anywhere or doesn’t feel good enough. Sometimes, I foolishly let it fly away because it wasn’t what I was looking for at that moment. I have pondered how we do this with so many things. We set expectations and order and refuse anything that breaks the pattern, even if the thing we are shooing away isn’t harmful but is healing. We become so strict within ourselves that we become the cause of our discomfort. We search for relief in one way and refuse to accept that anything other than that specific thing will help. There is a calming effect that comes with the familiar, but only because one thing helps us, it doesn’t mean something else won’t. Here is a little silly analogy. Only because you love fries doesn’t mean you can’t like mash. It doesn’t mean mash isn’t satisfying, even if fries are your favorite. The same goes for everything in life. Are you feeling sad? Then you probably know something that can help, but if you are being entirely honest, can you say you are open-minded and open-hearted to other options? We tend to dismiss things before attempting them and convince ourselves that something else won’t work until it stands no chance. I was against exercising for so long. Told myself that I hated it and did so with such intensity I couldn’t let myself feel how I genuinely felt. There was no benefit because I refused there to be one. I was determined for it to fail, so it failed; however, when I let go, gave it a chance, and approached it with openness, I learned it does a lot for my mental health. This is one example of many. It is strange how this links with my writing and how I have started writing down the notes I would abandon before, and the results have been incredible. Instead of telling myself they are awful and brushing them out the door, I let them stay a while. I give them room in my notepad and let them ruminate.
In summary, I am saying we are terrible at giving things chances, and we should open ourselves to everything. It is okay if you give something a genuine attempt and it doesn’t work out for you, but please try it. Download the running app, try those HIIT workouts, make that recipe you’ve been unsure about, and write the poetry you are sure will suck. In celebration of this, here is an ending of a poem my brain created that doesn’t have a body yet. Hopefully, one day, it will.
“Please call back later
I’m trying to sleep off the silence
And if you don’t understand
what I’m saying
Congratulations
You’re cured.”
(If you like this letter, I write these weekly on my website. I will post more here also, so make sure we’re friends.)