We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.

Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

Paintbrushes ready by your side.
Canvas, put up, ready to be painted,
It's hands placed on it's side.
Hands ready, framing the canvas, putting "everything" in place.
Ocean blue skies stretched across.
Floating tears drifting in the skies.
Paintbrushes trees sat by the side.
Shifting waters busking in the sun's light.
A humble quiet house, would be nice.
With a garden at the side.
Birds in the air, horses down below.
All creatures painted into the canvas.
My family, stood by the house.
Hands on shoulders.
Something was missing....
Where is God?
Is God amiss the trees?
Is God drying up the tears in the sky?
Where is he.
Maybe he is simply, right there, by my side....

Suicide.
Doesn't mean this person has mental illness.
Suicide.
Doesn't mean we Christians doesn't have suicidal thoughts too sometimes.
Suicide.
Doesn't mean this person is weak.
Suicide.
Doesn't mean they suffer from depression.
Suicide.
The devil tempted Jesus with suicide.
Suicide.
Understand it better please.
Suicide.
You are not alone.
Keep fighting!
We would fight with you this battle!

Hands held high.
Jumping up and down.
Bowing down with fear to deny.
Problems out of focus.
Love in focus.
God in focus.
Prayers lifted high.
Praises lifted high.
Scars filled with love and care.
Tears dried up.
Tears welled up.
Wonderful God.
Loving God.
Forgiving God.
My Father.
God.

Broken hearts.
Lost ones in the dark.
A cage for a mouth.
The voice inside refused to come out.
Locking of hands.
Tightening of chest.
Hoping to be alive.
Trying to survive.
My father.
Sorry for letting you down.
For putting the scroll down.
For missing the crown.
Forgive me.
I pray.
Your presence, I crave.

Yea of course,
I,
me,
a woman,
a black woman
a darker black woman to be exact..
have black privilege because thats a thing you know
Its like when I walk into the store and get followed ..  yea
or that time i came back to school with my “extensions” and was told my hair grows fast
or maybe its when a white person comes up to me asking if i listen to 21 savage because “black people listen to rap right?”
or my favorite is telling my brother to be safe
as he heads out the door worrying he may be shot for reaching for his wallet
maybe its when i worry about whether or not my brother or cousins or father will be the next Trayvon martin or Eric garner or philando castille even
my black privilege
has allowed me to be labeled as loud and ratchet and sometimes a ***
because that what dark skin black girls are
right ..
yea ….
thats black privilege
its getting told I'm pretty for a black girl
its being told I'm intimidating and mean and ugly natured
but no no i swear its not cause your black
I love black people I'm not racist
Slavery happened years ago
Black people are racist too
im not racist i just don't like black people  
yea … I've heard it all.
No !
im not just another “angry black girl”
Im just a black girl
Im not mad don't get me wrong
I just wanted to inform you on my black privilege
I wanted to inform you that it is NOT okay to touch my hair
that is NOT  okay to say to mock “black slang”
It is not okay to say “are you speaking english” when i talk
It is not okay to put my people through hundreds of years of slavery and oppression and systemic racism and TELL US TO GET OVER IT!
Im sorry excuse my tone of voice
but can you blame me for getting worked up when I have to worry about whether or not my people will come home at night
yea …
thats MY black privilege