Tag: Black Author

The World of My imagination

When my mind is unlocked it’s a beautiful thing. I can weave a tale about a Celestial Being madly in love with a dead girl’s soul. I can travel to the realm of Phelanicia, where an ancient War God is betrothed to a descendant of the Goddess Oshun. I can unveil sentiments of my past to narrate the story of love in a small fictional town called Delta.

It’s all love. I love the essence of romantic love. It’s the one thing I gravitate towards. It’s the one thing completely out of my grasp.

The Road More Taken

I do not consider myself rare, but I do live in a world where I have been told that I have a defect which makes me an anomaly. At times I believe that to be true. Not because I think of myself as a defect or all that strange. Maybe perhaps because my path does not seem to line up with others. I strive to find the road more taken just so I can be a part of the masses. Perhaps my hope is to align myself with someone who has somewhat of the same experiences so that we could share our journey together.

Dream Love

I dreamt just last night someone was in love me. I knew it was a dream even then because there is no such person when I’m awake. He loved me and was happy to me. He was patient and understood my reservations. He was sweet and kind. Most of all, my soul was full of joy over our brief encounter. I am not heartbroken he isn’t real. It only means my capacity to love is genuine. Whether anyone will reciprocate is a mystery in another chapter of my life.

As I AM

I stay on the cutting edge of confusion. I keep myself disciplined just enough to stay out of trouble. My values are upheld, but I never feel the need to look down on others who don’t walk the same thin line. My biggest attribute is also my biggest flaw. The things I cannot change are the things I cannot accept. Every once in a while I look to others for validation. Then I remember literally no one else could ever be me. Knowing this will have to suffice.

The Weight of Waiting

“Watch and pray!” That was the cautionary tale my late Grandmother used to spin. She never quoted exactly what verse the passage of scripture came from, nor did I bother to challenge her by asking. Watch. I see a lot. I feel a lot. I hear a lot. It’s hard to go through the motions while waiting for what you desire to manifest to come to fruition.

The issue arises when there’s no evidence of progress. I imagine that is where the prayer matters most. Having faith that something meaningful will eventually shine light at the end of those long dark tunnels. Right now, in this moment, I’m weary and trying to reconcile the fact that to forfeit my life would be a sin. Not necessarily a spiritual crime, but one that would ruin others from being their very best. I’m waiting. The burden is heavy.

Broken Places

The aching, swelling, and scars all come from a broken place. They reveal a tale of hardships endure. A body merged back together after such a fallout truly is a testament of strength. A mind that forges through all kinds of trauma is a sign of boldness. When the spirit cements the lessons learned a legend is birthed.