I know it hurts sometimes
when things don’t go your way.
But I’ve been thinking about it
and I think its better that way.
Somtimes the best intentions
become the biggest mistakes.
But if you can hold your head up
you’ll make it through another day.

Next time you think you’re down for the count,
keep on fighting.
If you think you can’t go on,
keep on going
I know that it’s easier said than done,
but keep on trying.
Life is what you make it,
so keep on keepin’ on.

Some say hard times are a blessing,
others say they’re a curse.
I’ve been on the other side
and things could always be worse.
Sometimes the tunnel seems so long and you can’t see the light,
don’t let the darkness overwhelm you,
the end is in sight.

Next time you think you’re down for the count,
keep on fighting.
If you think you can’t go on,
keep on going
I know that it’s easier said than done,
but keep on trying.
Life is what you make it,
so keep on keepin’ on.

Now when you’re on the path less traveled,
alone and afraid,
think of those who will follow you –
they are lives you can change.
Your journey is an open book,
and you’re the writer of the page.
So don’t give up hope,
you’ll soon see beter days.

Next time you think you’re down for the count,
keep on fighting.
If you think you can’t go on,
keep on going
I know that it’s easier said than done,
but keep on trying.
Life is what you make it,
so keep on keepin’ on.

I used to fantasize
about the life I used to want –
well, always wanted.
Yet, I could never visualize with my own eyes.

I was the thoroughbred.
Satin panties with a bedazzled asscrack.
The day I ate that holy bread —
in my mouth, Jesus’ sack.

Marriage.
–
But they forgot to build the carriage.
Self-love and confidence — never taught,
but to be on the prowl to be bought.
Young and dumb — my husband, the savage.
… just like my dad.

You taught me that my worth would one day sag.
Old and decrepit, who would look at this hag?
Without a will to learn new skills,
off I go to drink a bottle of pills.

For one day, he would divorce me.
He’d start fucking under forty!
You’d find me at the drive-thru line
all because my dreams — I never gave time.

With the flip of a switch
(and that dildo purchase)
Oxytocin — has my family’s words dismissed.
Thirty-three. Single. Orgasms. Bliss —
not cleaning up shit or piss.

The disconnect from what I had.
The connection to what I need.
The universe planted the seed.
The will to grow watered — pain needed to bleed.

Dear Unsealers…
I can’t tell you enough of how important it is to remain motivated and focused on your dreams, passions and the love of whatever gifts you may have. Never give up on them, no matter what. Let me tell you about my most recent lesson about not giving up.
So, I have always loved to sing, I found out really early on like age 5 that I not only really loved music, but that I also have a nice voice as well. My mother knew of this but, to her it was more just something that I would do around the house but it was soo much more than just that. I really have a passion and love for music, how it sounds,how it make you feel, how it makes others feel. The enjoyment of hearing/seeing someone else who have the same love and passion for it as you do, seeing them express themselves using their experiences by creating art. Thats what music is to me. It’s art. It is apart of me, but my mom just wanted me to focus on school, which I did but still felt like something was missing. But what??
So, as the years went by, I kind of subpressed my love for music to focus on school for awhile. I never really sang at church because eventhough my love for music was there, so was the fear of singing in front of others.
Unltil around my middle school years. Preteen years. I had been blessed to have found other girls like myself that also loved to sing at school. We were all in the same class and for me, it was a releif to finally find people who love music just as much as I do. We had decided to form an all girl group. There were 4 of us, 3 singers and we 1 female rapper . Our group was called GWA (girls with attitude) crazy right lol. We would all hang out singing all the time in the classroom, and always did mini concerts at lunch which was cool, because eveyone would gather around us and it also really helped me to get over fear of public speaking/singing. We all even joined the school choir together. But still, I wanted more.I though ,okay now may be that time try. But when I would try to get us to be more serious about our muisc, no one really cared but me. I wasnt trying to become famous but I did want to do more with my musical talent because it’s more than just a hobby it’s something I’m passionate about.
After no one wanting to take their music seriously, of course we all went our seprate ways, but we also all ended up going to different high-schools and lives too. Which is where I met my music muse. My now late husband. He not only loved music just as much as I did, but he knew how to do engineering side as well and he even taught me a few things. My husband was very hands-on when it came to music, which was one of the things that I loved most about him. But, when it came to me and my music and not having support that I needed, I gave up breifley. I guess the real reason why I stopped working on my craft/music after the group broke up was because to me it was like another let down. Which felt like another failure. Not being able to understand what exactly am I supposed to do with this gift and passion if the things I’m trying aren’t getting me anywhere.
But throughout our 15years together, my husband of course pushed me to challenge myself and help me to see that I shouldn’t give up something that makes me who I am. My huband was a rapper as well, so he had his way with words and putting them together. I did too, but my lane was just singing, so I thought. One day he challeged me to see if I can do it, (rap) and lets just say I have been rapping and singing ever since lol. I had no idea that I could, wasn’t event thinking to do it, but my husband help me challenge myself and not limit myself expecially when it comes to my musical gifts. My husband and I even made music together, which I’m so grateful that we did because no
matter what, I will always have the music we made together and the love of music that we always shared together.
After his passing 4 years ago, it was really hard on me. So hard that once again, I had almost given up, but not just on music on everything. I did fall into a deep depression because, to me, I lost my muse, my inspiration, the person who help me see so much within myself that I had no idea was there, my soulmate. For awhile it was extremely hard for me to keep going not only with my music but in life.
But after much prayer, fasting, soul searching and alot of self-love and self-care, I have found my way back to my first love……music. I am now writting, recording, and making video content for my music. I even perform my music every week at certain events for local artists. I had to remember first of who our creator is, and knowing that everything he does is for a reason. It’s up to us on finding out what it is, and what we choose to do with it. I believe that The Most High brought my husband and I together for many reasons. One being to help me do what I was trying to do all along…..find what was missing. Which was not only to support me and my passion, but to help give me that little push that I needed to know how and when to use it. My husband and I made music that not only was relative, but uplifting and powerful, so I made a promise to keep that going, to use my voice for the greater good and to help bring forth change whithin our communities.That’s how I keep his memory alive, and that’s why I call him my Music Muse.
So, to all my fellow kings and queens, I know life may get you down sometimes and that’s okay, but what’s not okay is you staying down. No matter what dreams you have, whatever your passion is, go for it. Never give up. We were all blessed with all kinds of talent, wisdom, understanding, we shoud all use them to make the world a better place. I am not looking for fame from my music, I do it because I love music, it’s who I am, and I want to share not only my talent and my story, but I also want to create change with my music. I owe it all to my husband. So, thank you husband, I love and miss you dearly……………My Music Muse

“A TIME WHEN I DID NOT GIVE UP ON MY WRITING, MUSIC, AND ART”
DEAR UNSEALED,

I have many times,
In my life of 74 years of rhyme
And reason roadblocks
of people have said to me, “What?”
I struggled as a woman, born in 1949,
Of the boomer generation of time.
I was told I could not do this and that,
Tit for tat,
I proved them wrong,
As I write my songs
Of life’s journey
To eternity
And beyond the box thinking of patterns of life
As I continue my strife
At 74 years old
I have been told.
I survived many love relationships,
Time after time sailing the ships,
Across the clouds, the sea, the mountains of earth
As I tread on a new birth
Of still writing and creating art of sorts
Of time and space, of course.
I worked two or three jobs to go to college,
To obtain knowledge.
I attended a Microsoft coding class at 51.
That was my finale with that one.
Being told as a young woman I could not do that,
By certain people who did not know squat about that.
I struggled all my life with a positive attitude,
Of a subdue,
Nature of hiding my tears and feeling blue
As I walked on upon life’s path so true.
Despite my broken relationships with narcissistic pigs
I kept on walking to all my gigs.
Life moves forward along the journey,
Of many miles of this wild child.
Still eccentric, eclectic, boho hippie style
Of peace and love despite the tactics of so many trials
Of work, play, study, and broken narcissistic relationships in my life.
I still believe in me.
Let it be.
Me as a woman in the last decades of my life
And all the strife
I believe in rainbows, angels, and light,
Not to fright
The weary of treading through the jungle of the night,
But to look around at music, art, writing, and light.
I will not give up on my new goals,
Of this old soul
As I tread on with my writing, music, and art,
To make a new start
At 74
And as before
I tread through the desert, the storm,
Of life after so close to death as I was warned
After Long Covid attacked my organs and whatever it could
I survived major abdominal surgery at 72 in 2022.
I still want to live in a paint bucket of words and colors, as I should,
not give up,
Even when finances are low,
And still with health issues of dietary needs
I still drink from the cup of the mustard seed,
As my late Grandma Carrie Soleta implied,
“You are my baby girl, and you will survive.”
My faith is still strong,
As I sing life’s songs
Of blues, laughter, and survival
Of the known and unknown
Of life’s songs upon the sand to the beach
And along
It is faith in my creator and that mustard seed parable,
Teaching from my late Grandma Carrie Soleta.

Tears grew at the edge of the firmament, and i wiped away the fear of a never again sun. It was the crystalized feeling, the waves acting as middlemen to the light which guided you to my daily turmoils. It was in that moment I realized that eye was just the seer to a placement of watchful effigy. The world is the viewer and we are just the microorganisms, the germ within the bosom of life and the glare within the retina of the retaining layers. When there is a sense of wonder the seas recreate the flood over terrains of debris as we are humans being in the ocean of the sorrow she carried to labor. Is it justifying, the price we pay as veins became each contact we make when feet touch the grounded soil. Can the world still see all the plausible signs of an infection of infestation. The war on the environment is planted for Edible guidance. Yet it’s windows are dressed with bandages of restricted condemnation of Authentic Omnism. Now with the exception of the calm seas I see clearly, we are merely the inner workings of the eye of the world moving as light and reflection Amalgamate in Quietude. On my isle of isolation I touched the floor to another dimension, a plane where I stand before the perception that God is the eyes of the universe.

I would say family over everything but that would be untrue. Fights breaking out all the time, Mom threatening to leave everyday, Dad keeping secrets and lies beyond his grasp and a brother who I thought I’d have a good relationship with but, unfortunately never did for the last 12 years. No contact, no support from him in the same house no asking, ”hi sis how you doing?”
Being without love or support from my parents was hard for me. Growing up in a Muslim household in a Muslim community where I had to live up through the expectations of my parents was difficult and because I’m a girl, it was that much harder. For my brother, however, it was the complete opposite. He is expected to be the heir of the household someday after my father, but after years passed, my brother drifted away from my parents little by little. I remember major fights would happen between my father and brother things breaking, physical altercations, my mom holding my brother and my dad back from each other, and I was always in the middle crying.
Their constant fighting stressed me out to the point where I had to worry about panic attacks and seizures. My mom saw my mental state and quickly started to calm me down doing my usual breathing techniques. It worked surprisingly. My brother and dad saw what had happened to me and stopped fighting. Then after sometime, my brother left and decided to stay over his friends place for a while and dad just stood quiet most days (except when arguments were going on of course).
With my mother, that took a different turn and since my brother wasn’t here I had to take on the responsibility for the household. I had to be the son and daughter all in one. I had to be the crazy glue to put everything in place again after another fight broke out with my parents, it was exhausting at times but you get used to the numb feeling of sadness and depression. I always hid behind a wall: the wall of depression. I never expressed it or came face to face with it. I always hid behind it for the last twenty two years of my life. But after a causal conversation with a coworker of mine, he asked me, “I always see you around never smiling, you always have a depressed look are you ok?” I answered, “oh no I’m not depressed I’m just tired because I have to take care of my family all the time.”
After that little encounter, I was on my way home and sitting there thinking about what my coworker said. I started tearing up and after that, I realized maybe my coworker was right. I am depressed and I’ve been depressed for last twenty two years. I needed help. After getting home, my parents had another fight over the same topics: property, money, or even siblings who they never speak to anymore. It was ridiculous, but I knew the more I got in the middle, the more I started to resent them, and live in my own world at home.
I started smoking to ease my anxiety, but that wasn’t much help either, after months and months of fighting my brother who had left told my parents he had gotten an apartment and is leaving permanently I was distraught because I knew if my brother left, I would be the one dealing with everything here by myself more on my plate, after my brother leaving, things had gotten worse than before. My parents and brother would argue non stop, my brother would do selfish things to hurt my parents, but since he’s far away my parents would say the same excuse, “he’s not with us anymore, he’s our son we still love him regardless of what he does.”
That took a turn in my head because if I were to do something small that never pleased my parents, I’d be the bad daughter, the daughter who would apparently bring dishonor to the family even though when my mom would cry herself to sleep because of my brother, I’d wipe her tears and say “everything will be okay, youre a warrior,” but I guess that wasn’t enough, because my parents would always put my brother on pedestal on everything did or said.
After many encounters, I decided that to better myself and my mental health, I have to remove myself from the life my parents expected me to live, and live my own life. I’ve lived up to the expectations of a Muslim girl for so long. The girl who couldn’t even wear clothes that showed the littlest bit of skin…who couldn’t drink or get tattoos or can’t stay past 8:00 p.m. with friends. I had to get straight A’s in school or I’d be a failure in life, I would have to become a doctor, lawyer, or engineer because being a writer wouldn’t get me anywhere they would say, but my brother, being a boy and having “the right genitals in between his legs” could do whatever he wanted when he wanted with whomever he wanted.
I lived up my parents side of their dream for so long I couldn’t get the chance to experience my own desires and dreams until now. The reputation, double standards, the repressed sexuality that runs through the Islam community has many people, especially kids, put down in shame because they want to be on their own person and not the person their parents want them to be. After so many times of trying to be the daughter my parents wanted, I gave up and started to live for myself and not for anybody else. There is a saying I always tell myself when I’m in the predicament of being let down: that is, “I pay my own bills, I make myself look, feel, do better, I wipe my own tears and make myself laugh and at the end I’ll do whatever right for me”, that’s the quote I started to live by after many times, trying to fix my broken home , but that’s impossible with my family. Though, I’m alright with that, because as long as I have myself at the end of the day, and I realize the importance of prioritizing my own journey in life, all the rainy days I had to deal with with eventually lead to the sunlight I’ve always knew I deserved.