When I write about you for the first time I write because there are roses in my mouth that bloom when the first moment arrives it caresses my cheeks with full bodied smell of it's unblemishness. It hold me close in its envelopes. Makes me believe in one thing only. That there are moments to savour and there are moments to discard. With every moment to savour there is the wholeness inside our time. Complete sentences without any wasted death. The dryness in my voice is taken as imperfection you are willing to embrace and the sweetness in my nature becomes changeable with every room you occupy in my unfurnished thought. Where you are is where I am. Not even the lasting second you seem to create when you stare into my eyes that avoid your steady stare. Wishing this was just a conversation between two voices only rather than a visual experience with taste, touch, and sound. So much more can be said with the senses but I speak with the willfullness of a telephone call. I am communicating entirely with my body, hoping you know that I know you can't see me. With my smiling "hello" that you translate as returned affection rather than an affection in my ubringing. My manners don't show any less warmth of a home that welcomes strange men. Take me into account. I am not a woman with many choices. I have no strategy for love. I have no moments to select from. I am one at a time. I am more than one personality exploding into a mouth that only speaks meanings rather than symbols.
My words spell out more spaces and my spaces spell out more than silence. You told me more or less I am a pause in your playlist. Whichever song plays next, may you be understood. My silence never ceased listening.

What's your story?
You mind telling it?
To people, to the world
About the hills you've climbed
The valleys you've experienced
The pieces you've collected,
The ones that slipped off your hands
What's your story, what's your true story.

Mine's been the mixed type
The kind that confuses sometimes
The one with no definite themes
Just different parts put together
My story is like a colour spectrum
With various definitions in each colour
Several meanings and titles
A lot of twists and turns
Beliefs and despair
Tractions and loose ends

From a promising childhood
One that taught me a lot  of things
A period I hold so dear
'Cause without it, I'd be so incomplete
Incomplete in terms of experiences
In terms of love and understanding
In terms of respect and persistence
My ubringing, one that I owe to my dear parents
Was complete and worth stating

Growth and development,
The two simple facts about humanity
Got me to a place of balance and survival
With happenings at school, juggling home chores
Growing and becoming
Coming to terms with most life's realities
Enduring pain and drawing paths of success
A stage where you're confronted by so many things
Not love, not hate , not confusion
Everything descending onto you at once
And with your little and distabilized self
You have to act right,
Learn how to deal with them and see yourself through

God has been good, that's a fact that will surely remain
'Cause in the process so much has happened
A lot has shaped the person I am
Some I don't even realize ,
But the grace has been sufficient, so abundant
The mistakes I've made
The crises I've caused my life
The indulgences I've been part of
The promises I've made
The madness I've experienced
And the cruelty of this world
Are things  I wouldn't talk about in a piece.

Life as it is remains a mystery
And everything in it , far much alike
And in the quest for everything fine and beautiful
A lot take place, so many things happen
And at the end of the day , at the very end
We're the products of our decisions and choices
Experiences transform, use that to your advantage
Pain propels,
Love endures
And most importantly,
The grace of God is always sufficient.



-Jayword