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her Mar 2016
I uncap my pen in sheer expectation of the thoughts that I have of you to free themselves from the confines of my mind.

I want to write you.
I want to write to you.
I want to write about you.

I think I'm ready.

God's best construction to date was the pathway that led me to you. I am so thankful for the rugged pavement turned yellow brick road that led me to the comfort of your heart made of gold.

I want to learn you.
I want to memorize you.
I want to feel you.

I think I'm ready.

At your peak, you are grace. Full of forgiveness and mercy. At your plateau you are love, consistent and steady.

I want to hold you.
I want to know you.
I want to love you.

I am ready.
her Dec 2015
Like air,
I am not a concept you can wrap
Your hands around.
Just breathe me in.
Know that I'm here.
Be content with that.
her Dec 2015
Have you ever walked down a dead end
Knowing that there was nothing there
But still have a glimmer of hope that the sign at the beginning was wrong
and that there was something that nobody had discovered yet
all the way at the end?
you.
you're my dead end.
and I want to keep on walking but…
I'm tired.
I need a break.
The tears, they need to dry.
The pain, it needs to be eased.
So I sit for a little while
Eyes blurred
Head pounding
Heart…breaking.
I just sit..
As I sit...I look around me and I realize that
Despite my misery
The grass is still growing
The sun is still shining
The birds are still chirping
The beauty of nature speaks to me…
Its telling me that if there was no rain
I wouldn't be able to appreciate the sun
I know now that if everything went completely perfect
I wouldn't be able to appreciate the imperfections
The imperfections of a winding road; a winding road, with no exit
I'm not perfect
And maybe taking this road was a mistake
But maybe, just maybe, you should try and take mine too
So we could make this mistake together
Let our dead ends combine
Making an entrance into the one road, that I started out looking for..
The one to your heart.
her Dec 2015
I fear nothing more
Than repeating
My past
Cause the one thing
It's shown
Me
Is that
Forever
Does not
Last
her Dec 2015
my skin is where mahogany met gold
their first kiss
was embedded in my
DNA
they call my melanin
home
it is my obligation
to make them proud
I am going to shimmer
until the sun
has to quit his day job
I am black. I am beautiful. I love my melanin. I love my skin. I love the way it shines. Even when the world does not.
her Nov 2015
I was my fathers prized possession. The finest piece of pottery He had ever crafted.
He worked on me until His hands were pruned.. Until the smell of clay seemingly became His scent. He molded and molded until I was perfect. In His eyes.
He placed me on the top shelf and marveled at me every day and every night.
But His neighbor was overcome with jealousy... At how I glistened at the top of the mantle. At how I gleamed in the sun in all the right places.
You see, on the top of his shelf, lay nothing but dust.
So surely, I had to be destroyed.
In the thick of the night, he stole me off of the mantle and marveled at my greatness.
He brought me back to his place and stuck me in the darkest of rooms.
So that light would never be able to shine on me again.
He spun me on his fingers, no delicacy in his touch.
He tossed me up and down, mocking my beauty.
Day after day I was plagued with the imminent thought of destruction.
Overridden with depression.
I cried out to my potter, and when the thief heard, he ran into the dark room and bellowed "no one will help you", picked me up, and threw me against the ground.
Pieces of me shattered in every direction, strewn against the floor of the enemies house.
My insides, corrupted with sin from all the time collected in this place were brought forth.
All I could hear was the wicked laugh taunting me, exclaiming  "who could love you now"?
Then suddenly a light shone in my face, something I hadn't seen in years.
Every broken piece of me looked up and saw my potters face, with tears rolling down his cheeks.
He began to pick me up in an attempt to put me back together...
Abba!! I cried! Your fingers! They will bleed!
My daughter, he replied, I have one  hole in each of my hands!! My love for you has endured much more than a few scratches upon my fingertips!
He continued to piece me back together, not missing a beat, not missing a piece.
He shielded me from the looking eyes of judgement, bearing the stripes on His back for leverage.
Abba!! I cried out again, can't you see all of the sin that filled me?! I am no longer perfect! How can you love me?
I understand your sin, my daughter!  in it, my grace is perfected! You are my creation, you are my reason! Upon making you whole again, I will not put back your transgressions!
He finalized the touches, not missing one piece.
He wiped my face, not missing one tear.
He renewed my heart, not missing one beat.
He carried me back home and presented me in His name to his Father.
Took His seat upon His throne and placed me on the mantle, right by His side, letting his glory shine on me.
He smiled and said "welcome home, my daughter, welcome home."
Coming into Christianity, this is how I felt. It hasn't been easy. This is my story, in its simplest form. My battle and my victory.
her Nov 2015
And I think I'll call these the lost nights.

The nights where the silence is all consuming. Shapeshifting into black holes.

The only light at the end of this tunnel used to be the sound of your voice.

But now I'm stuck between the four walls of my mind that taunt me with the secrets they hold in the form of my memories.

The most prevalent one says that you'll never call.

So far it's been right. Sometimes I ignore it.. But nights like these, it ricochets like gunshots. Screaming to be more than heard..

Screaming to be felt.

And once again I'm reminded that I'd rather it be your voice that broke the silence instead of my memory of it.

I think I'll call these the lost nights.
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