Raindrops shattered as they broke their fall on sturdy branches,
which birthed little, leafy sprouts
and nurtured them to grow into brilliant fruits of the spirit,
each bearing a unique mold; a hue all its own.
These fruits were created by the gentle hand of God,
delicately formed to grow into bright, beautiful masterpieces.
The fruits dwelled peacefully, each on their proper tree in good health and condition.
That is, until the farmer’s market faltered,
and a new farmer cam into control on this farm with lovely fruit
to examine the complexities
and deem the impurities for which he blamed the lack of prosperity.
These fruits were banished from the farm,
sent to disposals to rid the farm of their unwanted presence.
It took the members of this farmer’s market nearly six long years
to understand the lack of necessity of this farmer’s technique
and to liberate these fruits from the grasp of his wrath.
But by then the damage was done-
and the farm has never functioned quite the same.

I hear their voices in my head,
remarks that stab my lungs
stealing my breath with their selfish fingers.
A groggy haze of hatred crowds into my ears,
deafening me to the sweet melodies of the world.

I see their faces in my mind,
their eyes rolling faster than Wal-Mart’s prices
as they discover every imperfection in my soul.
Each harsh smirk that slips in my direction only further blinds me
from the riches that lie beneath the heavens.

I taste them on my tongue,
their toxic flavor erupts in my quiet mouth,
rough as it slowly slides down my throat.
The poison that seasons their bodies seeps deep into my core,
rotting my heart like last week’s meatloaf.

I feel their comments bonding my hands and feet,
tighter with each curse of my name.
I feel their cold touch on my skin,
burning through the line of defense I had mentally prepared
causing damage through my flesh to my veins as it burns without a heated ignition.

I smell the stench of their lies,
the dishonesty of their words stings my nose with each inhalation.
Every breath weakens my heart as their toxins surge
through my body and over take my will to remain pure.
This scent will remain forever in my nostrils.

Through the course of these events they have stolen my senses-
my most valued possessions,
my true wealth that once allowed me to view the world’s beauty.
And sent me into my Great Depression.

His words were delicately dipped in rationality.
Each lie was well thought out,
perfectly imitating the definition of truth.
Reassuring promises slipped from his lips,
like steaming cheese from a slice of pizza.
I was nearly tempted to take a small bite,
knowing the irresistibly of his delicious concoction
would lead to my devouring of the rest
and an eternal heartburn.
But logic protected me from his lies
like a hood shelters a head from shattering raindrops and forceful winds
that can easily cause a mind set in stone to weather and crumble.
His eyes traced the angles of my face,
searching to see if I had bought his false advertisements.
And what he discovered was that I had not;
I was not too blind to see the Pinocchio in front of me.

Window latches unhook to reveal the awakening sun.
Fresh air enters nostrils,
so calming,
soothing.
Marvelous.
Sweet kisses on mouths from Mother Nature send
humbled quivers down spines.
Cheeks blush,
soft velvet wings flatter corners of lips into gentle smiles
while carrying a tune of Spring’s captivating elation.
Mornings started off purely-
flirting with spring,
butterflies
and oxygen.

My daddy left us in a hurry
couldn’t wait to dance with angels.
Mama always used to say,
“Don’t you ever need no man, Honey.”

And I retained this thought,
further seeping into the crevices of my mind
with each reminder that trickled from her tongue.

“Don’t you ever need no man, Honey.”
I never did.
Always made sure to keep my space,
never let them too close to the barriers that guarded my heart.
Built my house of bricks-
neither huff nor puff could blow it down.

“Don’t you ever need no man, Honey.”
I never could.
Each time I willed one to slip through my welded gates
the bolts would twist further right
preventing the escape of my unborn love.

This way of life never did change for me,
but Mama was prematurely aged with tears,
fallen ill with the sickness of the heart.
She no longer spoke in the same melodious notes,
her eyes desperate for the return of her angel.

One day I told her,
“Don’t you ever need no man, Honey.”
She wished she never had.

Make me no promises.
If there aren’t any promises,
then nothing’s ever broken.

Swear to me nothing.
If there aren’t any oaths,
there are never any curses.

Grant me no wishes.
If there aren’t any lamps,
my genie never disappears.
Never excite me.
If there aren’t any rushes,
there are never any mistakes.

Attempt nothing on my behalf.
If you don’t attempt,
I’ll never experience disappointment.

Give me no comfort.
If arms never encircle me,
arms will never let me go.

Play no games with me.
If no games are played,
I’ll never lose.

Pick the petal “Loves me not.”
If I don’t fall in love,
I’ll cry no tears at night.

I am a mother
with the natural ability to piece together words
that give birth to butterflies in bellies.

I feed these beautiful creatures of my own design
with bits of eraser and words of trust and hope
as I perfect their nourishment.

They thirst on the constant flow of ink
that bleeds effortlessly from my pen
like milk from a mother's breast.

I comfort them with a smile of metaphoric delight
as they grow from wings reflecting adolescence
to those patterned with confidence.

When their wings can fully function,
and the power of my words live inside you,
I feel the satisfaction only a mother knows.