I was in awe of the whimsies and romance.
I yearned for my art to comfort and soothe;
For my art to hold the listener’s hearthurt the way my hearthurt was held,
For my art to share imagery with songs of love,
To create beauty in death as he created it.

I wanted to be Hozier, but I have to be Poe, first.

I have to walk through my Inferno to reach such actualization.
My shadow still screams. Still cries.
Pieces of my younger self scattered in nine circles.

I have to talk to her and make peace with her.
I have to parent her.
I have to hold her.
I have to become one with her once more.

I will blood, guts, and gore my way through,
Just as the horrors led my way in.
The girl that wants to scream will scream and
Embrace the gross and the weird and the upset.

I will not become my own betrayer, no. So,
I am no longer my own betrayer, mine own Nth circle.
Treachery at mine own hands, no more.

Dear Unsealers,
I came up with an analogy to describe a battle with anxiety, I hope one can read this and feel less alone in their battles, or better yet, it will not resonate with you.

What every therapist tells you sounds a lot like stop, drop, and roll.
Firemen say that when there is an urgent flame upon you.
When you get anxious,
A therapist will tell you:
“Breathe, look around you, and slow down.”
But it’s easy when a fireman tells you the 3 simple steps.
You see the problem,
you put the flame out,
and you double check while on the floor.
But when in a panic attack;
You are already breathing too much,
looking around, you see everything inciting the anxiety to begin with.
And when you slow down,
You see how tired you really are.
Tired of putting out the flame,
every day,
every night,
only for it to reappear again and again.
Like a video game;
Bleep, bleep,
You lost five points.
You touched the fire ball.
And yet the whole time, you are repeating the steps.
“Karen, where did I go wrong this time?”
“I breathed!”
“I saw three colors!”
“I slowed down!”
“But then why am I burned?”
“Why am I covered in ash
Am I supposed to turn into a phoenix?”
“Or is the smoke clouding my vision?”
“That must be it
When I breathe the smoke is ingested to my lungs,
when I look around it’s all in dust,
when I slow down,
the flame engulfs me.”
“Haha, thanks Karen,
now I can’t feel anything.”
Numb to the fire.
Numb to the pain.
Now I’m just ash,
Watch me drift away.

Dear Unsealers,

I often fall into bouts of deep melancholy and sadness when I think about my life prior to coming out. I’ve learned that expressing my feelings immediately through poetry prevents me from sliding into a longer state of depression. I write, I cry, and I liberate the feelings from my mind. This has helped me so much over the last two years, it has literally saved my life.

Yesterday it happened again, and here is the result of my catharsis as I thought about my partner and all he has brought into my life. Thank you.

DEEP WATERS

You pulled me out of sadness

Like a fish caught on a hook

Loving me is all it took

Though the struggle was madness

Without will, without purpose

Your strength was a taut lifeline

As I drowned in my tears’ brine

And was pulled to the surface

Now I sit on our live’s pier

Letting sunlight dry my skin

And with your love, then begin

To breathe again warm summer air

Even now sometimes i have my moments
Moments where i feel like
I’m gonna fall apart
Can’t let it consume me
Let it go
Breathe just breathe
You’ve come so far
To go back
I know it hurts
You cry when you don’t want to
It’s trying to release
He’s gone
Your dad is gone
In the wind
You severely question
How can he not love you
Not be there for their for you
To still have breath in your lungs
But alas be gone
I never thought you would leave me again father
Why don’t you want me
When i am made up of half of your DNA
I can’t even say i hate you
I Love you Dad
But i have to let you go
You abandoned me
Came back
Left again
Came Back
Left again
Why come if you never intended to stay
Leave
You can’t be the reason
Theirs’s no peace
I will always love you
I have to live
To explore
Without a painful memory of you
Here is our long distance goodbye

Loneliness, a friend of mine

They keep me company, they take my time

They visit often and stay too long

They whisper dark things, sing sad songs

They drink along and share my glass

Thus wishing that our time won’t pass

Loneliness, the jealous type

They shun the social scene and hype

Prefers to keep me in my room

To make my mind a heavy tomb

Of grey-scale thoughts, of shadowed dreams

And feed me lethargy in reams

If I reach out or you reach in

My friend’s departure will begin

And pull me to the Sun and light

They’re only gone when when you’re in sight

The year 2020 was one to remember and it’s one that I’ll never forget. The year 2001 was also one of those years between graduating high school, starting college two and a half hours away from the towers that collapsed on my TV screen within the first week of school. But, let’s get back to 2020 and how my mental health wasn’t the greatest.

It was March, my job gave me a laptop, a phone, an aruba box, sent me home and said, “figure it out and continue to get work done.” I was and still am in the medical field but on the backend.

The gym I was going to closed down and I lost my outlet to exercise and keep my body moving. I’m an athlete by nature, I’ve been playing basketball since the age of 8, I ran track briefly in high school. My life was completely different than what I was used to.

Confined to a house, and doing everything we were told to in regards to taking care of ourselves. While I was confined to my home, it put me in a big rut and the weather wasn’t the most kind (living in New York is not the greatest when it comes to consistent weather).

As spring turned to summer, the parks were closed until mid-July so no basketball for me. I was dealing with mild anxiety and depression. I would fight it and tell myself, “I’ll be fine” but the reality was, I wasn’t at all. I knew I needed help but as men, we aren’t necessarily told to speak to a therapist to get out what we’re dealing with and experiencing.

Black men are not told to vent out their feelings, emotions and struggles. Granted, I was writing books on men’s issues, I was lying to myself about what I was dealing with and experiencing. I kept telling myself, “I’ll get help when I move out.” Eventually I found an online therapy website and began my journey to getting better mentally, spiritually and emotionally.

I paid out of pocket and it was the toughest two months of my life. My therapist, I will always remember her name and the impact she had on my life. I hid my struggles from those closest to me and it wasn’t until September where I finally opened up to my mother, my aunt and my best friends about my struggles, what I was going through and how I’ve been in online therapy.

My room door would be closed on Fridays and as my mother worked from home in the living room, I’d be having my therapy sessions with my therapist. When I opened up to my mother, she was shocked, surprised but also sad. Sad because I couldn’t open up to her about my struggles, we have been so close but I didn’t feel good enough to tell her.

The shift and change in my life happened when I moved to Phoenix, Arizona on November 30th, 2020. The weather was 75 degrees, the sun was shining bright, people were outdoors running, riding their bikes and basking in the beauty of the backdrop of mountains in the city.

It wouldn’t be long before I bought a bike, rode the trail that was near my house, then I’d find a basketball court to get my workouts in. Days where I’d just stand outside of my apartment in the morning and let the sun rays hit my skin while I look at the mountains and feel so joyous and happy.

My trips back to New York would consist of family and friends telling me how different I was, how happy I looked and felt. That’s when it all sets in, sometimes where you live can determine your mental health. Sometimes the environment we are in needs to change to have a better outlook on life.

I always knew that a slower pace in life, scenery, being outdoors was meant for me. I live in palm trees, mountains, beautiful scenery and bike trails to run or bike on.

Whatever you’re going through in life, you can get through it. I was fortunate and blessed enough to get the help I need along with changing the environment I lived in. I feel comfortable in sharing my journey from struggles to triumph and I’m thankful for it.

It’s made me a better man, human being and it’s partly why I write the books I do. It’s to open dialogue, have uncomfortable conversations but also inspire and motivate each other to change the world.

The world is built on experiences and stories and we need to continually tell them. It’s the only way we’re going to find peace, joy and happiness within our hearts, minds and souls….

~getting help is traumatic~

Wake up in an unfamiliar cold bed
Warm blanket, back exposed
Not sure how you got there-
but you did it to yourself

Fighting tubes- back to sleep
You only wanted to apologize
They will never understand
And again- you never want to wake up

Rushed back into full consciousness
No compress for your bruised arms
Honesty becomes your worst enemy
when all you want is to go home

Neighboring, neglected withdrawal cries
A midnight delusional in your room
Halls filled with the souls of strangers
You never asked to be woken up

Rough socks, ammonia scented floor
Bolted windows- no escape
All you want is to go home-
but you did it to yourself

It never occurred to me that I was considered mentally ill or sick I never thought of myself like that I guess I am I’ve come to terms with that It’s a hard pill to swallow literally taking them everyday to feel normal feel like my life has been taken away from me. It’s like living in someone else’s shoes It’s not really you until it really is I have bipolar disorder and anxiety as well as depression just imagine how many pills it takes six for me a day I feel like my life is not mine anymore there’s a pill to keep you happy there’s a pill to calm me down there’s a pill to put you to sleep there’s a pill to wake you up in the morning It’s like you’re living by someone else’s standards I hate it I struggle with it everyday I don’t tell people I’m sick because it’s embarrassing I know what they think of me It’s like I have a disease but it’s like the diseases made up to people because mental issues are not seen as a “real”problem unless you could physically see it it’s a cop out it’s a crutch some people say.
If I could only make these feelings and this hurt gone I would. I hate feeling like this I hate feeling caged in with nowhere to run No one to talk to who understands, sometimes it’s hard to put it in words sometimes I wish I could telepathically communicate my feelings to people without having to say or find the words.

What do you say when the apology comes.
And what they did to you is not ok?
When forgiveness isn’t so easily given
What do you say when the apology never comes–
When you’re the one who gets to write the narrative.
When you need to dig deep and learn how to write your way from survival to freedom.

Dear whomever;

I became a teacher to shift the paradigm and break the chains of toxic tradition. My childhood education experience paralleled that of Matilda. Most all my teachers were more Trunchbull and less Honey with the exception of 2 up through high school graduation and gaining another 4 up through my masters program. When I decided to become a teacher, I wanted to be a Ms. Honey, I wanted to be what I so desperately needed as a child—And I did. My biggest flex is that I became the adult I needed, the teacher, the mom, the neighbor. But here’s what they don’t tell you: the cost of becoming a chain breaker, a paradigm shifter, a warrior, a Ms. Honey is expensive. Its loneliness, its heartbreak, its rage, frustration, anxiety, and despair.

As an educator, you often hear: “Know your why”, “remember your why”, “it’s for the kids.” And while this is absolutely the truth and it does help keep focus; it does nothing to shield the abuse hurled from those satisfied, or even winning, with the mediocrity of tradition. My fellow educators are overwhelmed, defeated, and burnt out. This leaves no energy for change because change is hard work and dedication. I have found that very few admin appreciate growth as well. The worse abuse I have ever faced in education, is from principals and assistant principals. Those in power, when there is perceived threat of losing control or power become the most dangerous. It takes an unusual strength to stand in an abusive environment and feel unscathed. I don’t think I have this strength.

I feel guilty because I think about leaving the education career. Yes I have thought about changing districts and schools- unfortunately, in my experience toxicity is everywhere and the unknown of new administration is scary. I don’t have much self or energy to give left. I never know when entering a new school environment if when they say things like they are “student centered” or “wanting student advocates” if they actually mean it. My experience has shown that more often these are tokens administration throws out to entice teachers with little to no intention of follow through.

I look at the other Honey’s scattered throughout the US knowing they face similar treatment and I think of how brave and strong they are. I have my master’s degree, I am trauma informed, I’ve completed my national board certification- for absolutely nothing. I don’t have the skin to be unaffected by ill-treatment. I’m not a Trunchbull. But I’m not a Ms. Honey either. I don’t know what I am; I think I’m just finished.