My hands
source of my wealth
Source of my pain
on one hand blessing
on the other curses

My hands
Source of my health or Death
I get to choose
keep it clean and live
let it be and die

THE TRAVELER
                                              
Traveling the dusty path of life
Overwhelmed with so much strife
Knocked down ten times by  fear
Carrying  load  of regret  heavy to bear
Staggering yet  no one to hold
For men around are after gold
How  could they  see her worth
When  She could not see her  worth

Toxic words as  arrows  pierce  right through her
Mockery whispers emanate   from within her
Should she stop traveling?
lay in the sand sorrowing?
For there is strength to move on
No gumption to live on
Suffocated by self depreciation
For she got no validation


She was not  meant to pass by
To breathe a while and die
they gave her no chance  to stay
believing  she didn’t have a say

Today  she is  awake
No more crying by the lake
For its time  she rises above her fears
Far above the drowning ocean of her tears
Today she  steps out
Erasing all doubt

She is not just passing by
She is here for a purpose
Carrying much gold on the inside
Aware that she can no longer hide
More than just a traveler
She has a voice
A voice the world needs to hear

Racing through yesteryears panting from endless roam
A futile journey of wishful thinking
A yearning  for more trophies

Racing  through  yesreryears
Pondering over questions unanswered
A wasted time of deep reflection
A heart desiring to be free

Racing through yesteryears
Wondering why he had no wins
Wounds unhealed,pain unending
All because he keeps digging the past

Cool morning breeze blows
Sun rising over my head
My heart awakens once more
Love fragrances lingers morning by morning
Love has come to stay
Keeping  me warm through cold  nights

the most frustrating thing
when it comes to a writer
is when everything
every word, every letter,
isn't enough to give justice to
the captivating picture of you
in the afternoon:

soaked in sweat,
grinning foolishly,
striking up a conversation
about coffee,
and how unhealthy it is
for me to drink
three cups straight,
to stay awake,

yet the bittersweet taste
stains my lips.

it spills down my throat,
covers my lungs,
and drowns them
with the addicting aroma
of coffee beans
and lazy dreams,
until i cannot seem
to breathe,

and the only thing
i can ever do
is to spill ink
for you.

Just in time
He shows up
Takes my hand
Captures my heart


Just in Time
He shows up
Not so perfect
But just enough

I slept with a beating heart
Woke to the same rhythm
Like African drums from far
I feel my soul cringe
My body leap with fear
I think death more often than not
There is an unsettling I cant explain

Sometimes the source of pain is clear
Other times too complex to  figure out
How my tongue no longer taste
My mind has gone numb
Life essence is lost
As the clarity of worthlessness is evident
Once I thought I was more than this
Now  I'm completely unsure...  


In the midst of it all I choose to smile
To raise my hope above  once again
I had to become sure of all I hoped for
I celebrate every day I wake up to
And above all celebrate me
All that I am and will be
I am valuable, I am priceless