You will be a poet
You will be heroic
You will feel stoic
You will love yourself more
You’re strong and know it

You won’t be nothing
You’re hopeless
I don’t even understand
why you wrote this?
You live inside your head too much
I need you to focus

Prone to depression
The cause is unknown
Maybe from a broken heart
My house is not a home
I can’t tell anyone what’s going on
So instead I sing my sad song …

I wish to be a poet
I wish to be heroic
I wish to feel stoic
But I won’t be nothing
And I knows it

Ms. Lisa ,
A women with a good head on her shoulders
And an attitude so bold
Even though she’s my teacher
She also plays a motherly role

A leader that can follow
And take control
Been through trials and tribulations
Just a Testimony to her soul

She bends down and look me in my eyes

Listen Lisa,
Do not compromise
Your heart will not be your demise
Your emotions are the prize
The same thing that cause your fall
Will be the same thing to help you rise

WAIT, IS THAT ME ?
How could that be ?
I look down at my journal entry

You will be a poet
You will be heroic
You will feel stoic

Learn to love yourself more
You’re strong and know it
-Love Lisa

dear eight year old navara,
how are things? i know the obvious answer is not so great and i’m sorry to have to ask but i wasn’t really sure how else to start this letter. how’s my dad? has he been eating? sleeping? try to make sure he’s taking care of himself, and don’t let the girls see him like that, they don’t need that right now. they need a strong big sister, a role model, things are different now and she’s not coming back to fix them so it falls on you. you don’t deserve to have to take on that responsibility, but someone has to do it. make sure they eat. keep your grades up, don’t cause any reason for worry from teachers, and daddy has enough to worry about with the bills. don’t rock the boat, get the laundry done, keep the room clean, and make sure you guys get to school on time. just keep the peace. you can do this navara. you shouldn’t have to but you can. you have your books, your music and it will get you through. i promise you that. and let me tell you how i know. i am in a library right now writing to you. i drove here in the car that we own, and we drove from our job at the mall. we only worked four hours today but hey it pays the bills and it’s emotionally fulfilling, as well as physically and mentally. we got a raise recently! our friends at work have our back, and i can honestly say its safe to be ourselves. they value our opinion, understand us, and help us when we allow them to, but we are working on that. as for outside of work, we are 21 now, so we go out occasionally… didn’t expect that did you? yeah girl, we actually dance! in fact, that is the main reason we go out. far cry from timid us who was afraid of boys, group projects, and any sort of human interaction whatsoever. we grew. beautiful thing isn’t it? we have a photo shoot with a friend coming up in late august, and we journal now. it helps a lot with the feelings. we have a book club and guess what the first book is? her favorite : twilight. we visit her sometimes. they buried her under a tree. it’s really peaceful. in fact we’re going there today. we talk everyday, but i thought i’d visit her today. i would tell you what we talk about but i’m not sure you’re ready for that yet. we buy groceries and pay rent now. i’m telling you, we’re real adults now. not fully on our own yet but we’ll get there. we learned how to be frugal from daddy, and it definitely doesn’t go unnoticed. i still catch myself getting mad at the both of them, one for leaving physically and the other emotionally but i know it does no one any good. on days like this though i remember why it had to happen the way it did. it brought me here. under the tree. at peace.

It’s been a while, I am a bit rusty at this. Please forgive the errors and step into my shoes for the moment.
I’m an insomniac. I have been, for most of my life. I never understood quite what caused it, but it stated in my early childhood. It started and stemmed from Fear.
Most of the time, it starts out with tossing, and turning, thoughts in my head running out of control until I can no longer stand the pace in which they are going. I roll, and I roll, toss, and turn, then I grab my phone, and I scroll.
As I scroll through the many stories, posts, and automatic ads, I see all of the beautiful people, living their beautiful lives, the screen before me stops at a writing contest.
A writing community, by the name of theunsealed. For the moment, my eyes ached and burned, I wanted to turn away, instead, I hit that button.
That button, was the very button, that led me to the greatest group of people and jumpstarted my healing journey through writing. Clicking that button, was the start of my dreams coming true. The minute that she responded to my question.
I didn’t think that I would ever become a published author, and often felt that I had let my Grandmother down. I had given up on writing in 2009 for personal reasons. In that moment, there was a spark of hope.
Negative thoughts often come with the package of insomnia. My dreams always seemed so far out of reach. I had been struggling with my past trauma, and in an instant, I was able to organize the jumbles of letters together into a beautiful story. Each of them, became my truth, my story, my power. My dreams coming true.
Each of the 5 books that I have been published in will tell my story. In poetic sadness, and in hope. Each of my entries came from my heart, and my insomnia Unsealed.
It’s a blessing and a gift. To read my words on paper. To receive the email that my entry has been chosen to move on. That everyone, is how my dreams came true! My heart will forever be filled with gratitude for all of you.
Keep writing beautiful ones. Keep writing.

I received death threats
from my subconscious.
Inviting racism into the foreground
of painted images where black fathers are missing.
( A centerpiece to Black cultures downfall /
an essential fabric worn by criminals)
Wanted posters plastered to define
what black culture is and was.

My subconscious reminds me of enslaved
woman drowning children in murky waters
to hide from slavery.
It caused me to question what defines Black fathers.
Are they parables? These quick spurts of nostalgic
temperaments in surrealist dreams.

Are they the attention to hang nooses
around the necks of family codes for a better living?
Are they abandonment that draws the line of division
to multiply family issues and keep these conundrums a
foreshadowing of my future.

I think they are a call to greater
pastures. A pair of shoes that need the soles
of a savior. A message to heal the wounds
of distant ancestors who live in me.
I awoke from my dream as a father to-be
encapsulated within imagery
of my family to be.