You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise. By maya angelou

My Freedom does not come from myself, but from the Son.
For whom the Son free is Free indeed, so he has set me Free.
I have overcome so much in my half century life here on the earth.
But it was never I who conquer these things that I went through.
But the Son of Man he has delivered me from many things here.
I am forever grateful to him for sharing my Shell with me now.
For its his Spirit not mine that has delivered me from these things.
For God so love the world that he sent his begotten son.
That whomever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.
I am so grateful for John3;16 its important to know this is truth.

All I want to do is have some fun
I really don’t want to hurt anyone

I’ve been hurt by men so many times before
My heart has been left in pieces on a blood stained floor

I’ve given so much of myself
Only to be beaten down once again
You’ve taken my love, and betrayed me my friend

Now you want me back
It’s not the first time
You can’t fool me with your roses and wine

Do you really think you can just waltz back in?
This isn’t a game
It’s not about who will win

I want a commitment
That’s not much to ask
It’s your last chance to take off that mask

Love me, Love me not…  

Either way, I'm ok
I love myself
Enough today

can it be possible that God in all his mighty,
when he created men,
did not know that turning dirt to flesh,
could corrupt the soul?

Could it be possible that God in all his mighty,
did not know that dirt can contaminate?
or did he know, but hoped, no I mean,
did he have faith that man can become clean?

Or is it possible that the soul is a moving river,
some oasis, or moving water,
that should remain in constant motion,
to remain clean? or become clean?

Could it be that since our birth, our soul,
this river, starts losing it's current,
and thus, we end up drying up,
becoming more like what we were, dirt,
and nothing else?

But then,
how can our souls remain in constant movement?
How can this river continue growing?
Is it through pain? Is it through tears?
Or could it be, that through our tears
we can reflect in them and find ourselves?
As if those tears were raindrops, falling
one on one, then forming this river,
that keeps on growing to reflect ourselves?

Could it be?

there is hidden elegance in the grotesque
some are able to detect it, but most won't even begin to attempt
even the word grotesque is both horrifying and beautiful
a viscous, slimy drip from a rusty ball of barbed wire
a flawless rose sprouting up through a pile of moldy leaves
anything initially perceived as disgusting can become poetic
just as anything that radiates beauty has an ugly side
the latter is much easier to discover
for people quite enjoy the destruction of a saint,
but to turn coal into a diamond takes effort and motivation
one must have a strong desire to expose the potential secrets
within things that don't normally receive a second look
the people who are able to unearth these gems are artists,
taking the repulsive and placing it on a pedestal
they transform their pain into a painting,
their cries into a song,
the least we can do is listen