You make all things new!
What was lost, damaged, and of no value,
can be transformed.
Little by little,
Breath by breath,
Choice by choice.
Drop by drop,
fills a pond.
You are faithful;
My transformer.

Can I wash my thoughts clean?
Can I  turn them inside out?
Can I transform my thoughts to glean?
Can they be renewed? I pout.

Is that Your work Holy Spirit?
Washing my thoughts? Or am I too mean?
Try other ways, primp and preen?
Am I doomed until I’ve made them seen?

I feel like a child throwing a tantrum,
But an adult, I want to be.
I want to grow like an oak in the garden,
that others come to see. 

Will it always be a huff and puff?
Hard work all the way?
Or will there be something I use my gruff,
And transform it into play?

Even now as I put pen to paper,
free my thoughts out to breathe,
The intensity turns into a caper,
And I allow myself a reprieve.

Enjoy this season of transformation,
It will always be your bread.
I am growing in emancipation,
And it will be this way till I’m dead.

But even then, I gain new life,
With You free from the grave.
For death, with you, has no strife,
And believing that makes me brave.

So, I will lift my head again,
And once again, I will breathe in,
I will let my eyes search along the plain,
And go, a smile beaming from within.

Wanted to be seen;
Valued.
No matter what.
Pleased people to the point;
Unvalued.
Invaluable learning.

Sparkle, little diamond,
Wipe the dust off and
Feel your infinite potential within.
Dormancy may have been your norm,
But no more!
Shine.

I am fury, and
I rage.
I jump up and down,
Attempting to disengage.
From the idols,
The expectations,
And internal damage,
The oppression.
I am scorn, and
I lash out,
I scream:
Those ‘******* idols’ I shout.

My body holds tight,
Like a clenched fist.
Unbreakable, it seems,
Solid footing admist?
But inflexible and stuck; fixed.
Fluidity and freedom it craves,
Screaming: "Release me!"
Like a teenage dancer, out at an all-night rave.
So I shake in an attempt to break,
The perception of danger,
And look to the horizon,
For a time without anger.
I guess I can laugh?!
That I’ve spent so much time,
In the void,
Stuck,
****!
But at least I’ve got rhyme.
To express these feelings,
And give my voice value,
To free the new me,
And to live life afresh and see.
Truly see!

How sweet are Your lips that speak life;
Hope sparkles like rubies and gold.

Word wranglers wound up together,
in an Exchange at a Hotel.
One said this, others said that...
And many a flute of fizz gulped and guzzled while sat
in between giggles and gazes, as
The past was pulled, kicking and screaming, into the present.
Was it a gift?
Were past pains put to peace?
Or did it awaken promises long forgotten,
Once under the authority of the surgeons' scalpel?

Shakespeare wrote, “The pen is mightier than the sword.”
Solomon, in Proverbs, posed that the power
of life and death is in the tongue;
Words create worlds, said I to thousands of teenagers over the years,
Whether written or spoken words liberate or load us up.
This power is with us every minute of every day in every hour.
Will I write new words with my wieldy weapon whence today?
Will wild blossoms bloom in your heart or
Weeds wither the hope in your womb?

Death always steals the show,
But it is joy that jump-starts it.
Entering within, re-wiring love,
Breathing new life, with new words;
Remembering promises
Of a powerful and plentiful future;
Declaring death dead and life to be lived!

Being
Real
And
Valuing
Everything about yourself!

I hear you, little girl,
You don’t need to hide.

I hear you, little girl,
You don’t need to perform.

I hear you, little girl,
You are now growing into a woman.

I hear you, little girl,
And cry for the things that were stolen.

I cry for you little girl,
You can just be.

I cry for you little girl,
You are brave with much to offer.

I smile for you, little girl,
And am so proud of who you’ve become.

I heal for you, little girl,
And let you rest for a while.

I'm one of those,
There are many of us now,
The daughter of a narcissist, exposed.
It should be his cover that's blown,
But I guess now it’s my own,
So I can see the cost, all the talent,
confidence and opportunities lost,
Because of small men,
Cowering.

I cannot be everything to everyone!
I do not want to be everything to everyone!
I am not going to be everything to everyone,
because in the end, I will be nothing to everyone, and
I won't be me.

Man and men everywhere;
Silver-fox, gay, several-times divorced,
But not one without baggage to be seen.
Pimped up with ****,
Waged weary by work or
Isolated through layered losses,
The modern man: a peculiar specimen.
It seduces the obvious why we turn to women to fill the void;
Upside-down desires? Or love that truly inspires?