Take Flight

I know,
it looks and feels
like a long way down,
a spiraling staircase
to your demise but
what if you fly?

I agree, the ground
is bone breaking solid
polished with your demolish,
but what if
you were meant to soar?

What if,
you taste of liberty
and get addicted to freedom,
get addicted to wanting more?

Truth is,
it might hurt to try,
but fear is but a lie
to keep you grounded
when your spirit
was destined for the skies.

So take flight.
Take flight and don’t return
to your cage,
do not miss
this stage of stagnant.

You,
are magnetized to wild now.
Just,
give the rest of us some time
to reconstruct belief
back into our wings.

At least we can say
one of us made it,
and that one of us
was you.

You that nourished truth
and starved your fears.
You pioneer of dreams,
belief engineer.
We believe now.
We believe because of you.

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Whisper

Words, can indeed hurt.
So I’ll never meet
your fire with my lava.
I, will always have
a riverbed of forgiveness
to polish your stones
before you set them flying
in this glasshouse.

I, will always squelch your flames
with a tidal wave of love.
I, will never permit my voice
to be raised by temper,
mature into anger,
and adult into drunken madness.

I, refuse to be
the reason you leave.
I will not
yell after you to stay,
when I’ve whispered
all the reasons that you should.

It’s Okay

You could hear it in her voice. 
Love,  
could still be detected 
in the undertones but
her tired
was seeping through her syllables,
her weary
leaking through her vowels.  

Drip.  
Drip.  
Dripping through the ceiling
of her patience, 
collecting
in a bucket brimming
with reasons to give up; 
she  
was a drop away from spill,
a touch away from splatter. 

Normally, 
she could summon enough magic
to levitate her smile 
above the skyscrapers of her burdens. 
Normally, 
she had a scripture 
tucked under her breath
to whisper consolation. 

Normally, 
she could pretend 
that spreading herself thin and
running on the exhaust 
of yesterday’s hope that today 
would be better, 
was enough pep
to get her through. 
Normally, 
she had more faith
at the end of her day
than day
at the end of her faith. 

Normally, 
she didn’t wish
to be normal. 
She accepted that life
was carving out her precious
to make room for everyone’s hurt
but hers it seemed. 
She understood
she was given a mountain
to show others it could be climbed, 
but some days
she doesn’t feel like climbing. 

Somedays
she doesn’t feel like hero. 
Somedays
she doesn’t want to be nominated
to be the emblem of strength. 
Somedays, 
she just needs
a moment to cry, 
just needs
a moment to breathe,
just needs
a moment to wallow 
in her vulnerabilities. 

Just give her a moment
to be human.

Please.

I Am

They told me 
I was a vessel 
for the breath of God, 
that my body
is His temple;
and I wonder
if things have changed. 

Sometimes, 
I feel more like ruins 
than sanctuary. 
Somedays, 
I shatter into shards
searching for the sacred in me. 

Sometimes, 
the holy within
rides as far as my exhale. 
Somedays, 
I cause cramps 
in my Potter’s hands. 

They told me 
that I’m just human,
woven and spun
to become undone but
sanctuary
is the embrace encased
in non-judgment 
and love;
sacred
are the hands that carried
my heathen ruins
back to believing;
holy
is the breath that whispered:
“Try again
because you can,”
when hope felt crippled. 

Divine
are the words that told me
that I’m not just man, 
not just bone, 
not just breath,
not a heart
that beats to death.

We are,
you are,
I am…

Love unrealized, 
forgotten, 
reposing in a stupor
waiting to be ignited 
by hurt, 
betrayal, 
a series 
of unfortunate events
meant to remind us 
that I am, 
you are, 
we are 
love. 

Question

When the sincerity in her eyes
inquires a deeper response than
“I’m fine,”
when her gaze
shifts in a way
to implore of you:
“What’s wrong;” 
know that no soul
will ever care more. 

Understand, 
her gentle demands 
stems from a place 
her hands desire 
to realign your vertebrae of belief
in yourself,
for yourself. 

Acknowledge, 
that she has put her
personal battles on pause
to gird up and battle 
for your war. 
She’ll lend you her strength
in the form of untiring limbs
and an unselfish yet bruised heart 
in hopes of restoring 
the king in you. 

So be honest. 
Show her the chinks 
in your armor, 
the broken 
in your smile, 
the fissures 
in your laughter. 
Show her
that you bleed, 
prove 
that you’re human
and she will patch you
with a love 
you need not question,
a love 
just for you. 

Letter to My Unborn Daughter 

Dear love of mine, 

it has come to my attention 
that you’re stealing 
the beginnings
of your Mama’s poem, 
so let me start by saying this:
You’ll be all
and nothing like her. 

Your eyes
will never be baptized
into the pains that she has felt, 
when her pupils 
dilated to discover her worth
need not be assessed by men 
who only want to perform price checks
but are never committed to buy. 

I will deluge you with a love 
that appreciates your value daily,
so much so 
that you will never be bought. 
Every man will always be
an honest compliment shy, 
a touch of love too short, 
an insufficient fund away
to get you to stay. 

My dear, 
I have no intentions
of giving your hand away, 
but I’ve already composed this score 
for the occasion. 
I pray, 
the day that it comes
I will be less of the man I am today
and more of the man
you’ll need me to be. 
Lord knows, 
I’ve never been in a fight
a day in my life
but I will go to war for you. 
I will battle your demons. 
I will vanquish your foes. 
I will dismantle every man
that desires to treat you as some – 
word that I shouldn’t say. 

May he respect you 
long after he has earned your love. 
May he love you
long after he has earned your trust. 
May he trust you
as if he’s learned that he must 
because 
hearts don’t break around here. 
My darling, 
you won’t break when I’m near. 

So call me. 
Call me when you need me,
call me when you don’t. 
Call me when he forgets your birthday, 
you’ll already know that I won’t;
just
call me. 

Even though we’ve yet to meet,
at this point in my life
I’ve already loved you more
than any woman I’ve ever met. 
I have vowed 
to resurrect the best of myself
to give over to you
so you’ll always have faith 
in love. 

All I’ll need you to do
is breathe easy. 
Remember, 
that sometimes love will feel
like you’ve been shortchanged;
a part of you
will want to curl into a fist, 
you’ll wish 
that you’ve never met men. 
I’ll wish 
that they’ve never met you.  

You, 
with the dimpled smile
you borrowed from your mother. 
You, 
my unborn princess 
I vow to love like no other. 
You, 
will always be my sunshine,
my only sunshine. 

Connecting Flights

When her emotions
feel like they’ve been 
stranded at an airport
for half a lifetime
waiting for the next connecting flight, 
hold her hand
and don’t let go. 

She won’t need your words so, 
can them if you can
to the nearest bin
and deposit hope
into her lap
with a sincere smile. 

Let your eyes
voice reassurance that she
won’t be one of many
to compete for your attention;
may it express
that your itinerary maps a future
she can forget her past in, 
that you won’t abandon her 
for taking longer than most
in the security line. 

She’s
checking for explosives. 
Patting you down
for reasons you might detonate today,
or tomorrow. 
Understand, 
she may be used to seeing things
blow up in her face, 
but that doesn’t mean she likes it. 
No part of her
has adjusted to find beauty
in the flames. 

So when her touch
feels like it’s tired
of bracing for impact,
embrace her soul
and be gentle. 
Be patient. 

When the time is right, 
you’ll know. 
She’ll look back at you 
as if she’s found
all the pieces of herself
and you
have redeemed them
from the land of lost baggage claims. 

You won’t understand why, 
don’t ask. 
Let her love you
in the silence
of your heart’s connecting flights.