A Moment in Time

A moment, not a step back

I will "keep,"

In the words of Walt Disney,

"Moving forward"

But if I could steal a moment

I would most certainly do that indeed

Picture provided by: https://www.pixoto.com

Sitting on my grandmother's porch

Basking in the glow of the sun

Shinning down & caressing me with its warmth

I'm living it up in "Stick Town"

And Summer has made her welcome yet again

Five year-old me; slouched down in my seat

Staring out at trees

As skinny as I used to be

But I am happy 

Because this scene encompassed all I 

Thought I would ever need

The trees, the porch, the sunshine, and me

Long slender branches

Wave, standing tall as I dreamed for me

Claiming the name themselves

For which the town came to be

Sticks, everywhere

As far as my little eyes could see

Sprouting up to the heavens

And growing stronger every day 

The sun and sky would meet

Yet holding still, to a youth we both shared 

Not caring who's looking

Just happy to be right there

I'm not alone though

Besides the trees, my grandmother sits next to me

She to my right, my baby cousin on the left

We wear matching dresses

Checkered in white and green

Sewn together in love

With Grandma's own hand;

So strong, so loving

So soft, so lean

We sit together in peace

All taking in nature's magnetic scene

This right here;

That's it

The moment, the time

The scene

The company; a dream so real

If I could, I would

I'd take it, then move on

And get back to being me

Blackness White-Washed

Picture provided by: https://www.saatchiart.com

 

Why is there the need for me to explain away my blackness?

We are a group of one culture, but just as individual as we please.

To be ashamed of the color, the tone, and the race to which GOD made me

Well, that would be a “shame fo’ GOD”indeed

Who told you that the crafting of GOD’s work was something to be 

Made fun of, put down, accepted as the lowest underdog; suited only to look at others with eyes that beg and plead

To be apart of their acceptable nature; one that looks nothing like me?

I’m not explaining myself, for being myself, just because you feel it’s a need

Not for me no, but for you, to keep you, in your own mind superior, so you can look in the mirror & like what YOU see.

That picture, when I truly sit & think about it, is such a pity 

You need ME, my people, my color, my culture, to be lower than you, just so YOU can feel the slightest bit worthy

-Passion

Butterfly Love

Butterfly Love

Picture provided by: jacobdevaney.medium.com

My love for you is more 

Than just the flutter of butterfly wings

In the pit of my stomach

It reaches far beyond the here and now

Connecting us to the heavenlies

Bound in one Spirit

We begin to soar together

Yet still being rooted in place

It has moved beyond the curses

Of the generations before us

Taking care to return the coupling

Of two to our unitary design

More than just the moment, the time,

The pouring out of a feeling from the heart

It is a second skin

Covering all the gaps

Left exposed in places 

Where old wounds can begin to mend

The flows of healing occurring

Time and time again

We may not always perceive to want this love

It is a heavy load; so hard to persevere

In the tumbling of life’s ever-blowing winds

The grip of our hands loosen in hope

They give up expectation that if they never

Let go, they could actually win

Running to find a place where solitude

Can offer a peace they can hide in

Yet, when I actually think about it,

And am asked would I trade it all in?

I can only say, if asked to do it over

My answer would be yes, time and time again

The Corona Chronicles (Problematic Law Enforcement)

This story was written during the protest marches for George Floyd, an unarmed black man killed by Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin.

So my husband shared an article with me today. In it, I read how three officers were freely using the "N" word to describe black citizens, other fellow officers, and even the local magistrate who all happen to be black.  They were all recorded, inside their cruiser, rooting each other on in how they were going to go out and "slaughter them "f'____ing ni_____'s, I can't wait. God I can't wait."

Honestly, outside of being angry, the first thing that came to mind was, "wow, they used God's name in their hateful rant?" This is horrifying to know that every day we may come across officers who feel just like this, but weren't stupid enough to have their conversation recorded by "accidental activation."

Thankfully, a supervisor whose job it is to revue tape, came across this information and passed it along to the Chief of Police, who after one day on the job, elected to fire all three of them. My husband seems to feel that the officers whose corrupt ways have yet to be found out, are just biding their time until the Black Lives Matter movement dies down.  How scary would that be, to face the raft of vengeful officers looking to get back at those who stole their killing privileges?

What makes the issue problematic is the fact that this particular profession is supposed to protect us, but those officers in that cruiser were talking about shooting a fellow officer who is black, in the head. I thought police officers had a code among their fellow brotherhood/sisterhood of law enforcement.  Apparently not.  Not even one of them can feel safe so long as his skin is dark.

Later in the recorded conversations, one of the officers is heard saying that he should have put a bullet in the head of a black female he had arrested the day before, and then "move the body out of the way and keep going." All of this because they each felt that the protesters were a problem they didn't want to have to deal with. Their views and responses to black lives are exactly why the movement and the protest are necessary.

Now that we have a President in office who's words go uncensored, and actions are supported by "the far right,"- in every corruptible meaning of the  phrase-we can expect for their to be a push-back on both sides of the law. We are now the citizens versus the police.

HPD & FBPD: Legal Criminals & Unlawful Arrest

Pic provided by: www.braysoaksmd.com

As I'm writing this, I wait on the call from my son. Just down the road from the detention center keeping him in a holding cell of which he should not even be. That's right, my black son has been arrested & thrown in jail. For what? Not even he knows, but when I looked it up, the charge was listed as speeding. 

 I am a quiet storm, angrily waiting, while I hold my peace; for now. You see, this is not the first time this has happened to him. No, my young black king, who is slow to anger, stays out of trouble, & minds his own business, was pulled out of his own parked car, hand cuffed & thrown into the back of a police cruiser just last year. Why? The officer made the claim that he had stolen his own car. And when proof was shown that he was the lawful owner, the officer's excuse was that he must've gotten the wrong information. This system we call justice has proven itself enough to me to show it cannot be trusted. 

Who do we turn to to keep us safe when the ones who get paid to do it get their jollies off treating those with darker skin like animals? One thing I am tired of doing is standing idly by while my people, MY SON, & my skin are made to look like criminals by the Amerikkkan injustice system! Where are we really safe? Not in the streets, not out in society, & certainly not out in "quiet" neighborhoods where our skin has people questioning if we can even afford to be there. 

When I was young, I remember being called a nigger by a six-year old white boy while I skated around at the roller rink with my friend. We were minding our own business, and this boy felt it his obligation to attempt to degrade us. 

As a college student in my teens, I was fully violated, frozen under the glare of an officer's flashlight. He kept the beam purposefully centered on my private parts, and I could do nothing but sit there & be exposed. Fear had gripped my vocal chords, and though his partner was just a few steps away, I knew I could not rely on him to rescue me. They were a "brotherhood," and his focus would have been more on having his partner's back than protecting my behind. So, I sat there and took my visual raping from an officer of the law.... 

My aim, when I had my sons, was to protect them from corrupt law enforcement, but no matter how educated, how disciplined, or unassuming I taught them to be, I still could not protect them from these LEGAL CRIMINALS. The more we fight for change, the harder they push back to keep us shackled to their impudent ideas of who we are. Its a very lofty way of thinking for those who move around town in vehicles which state, "to protect & serve, & In God We Trust." Please! 

One of the very first things you learn as a leader, in any capacity, is that your job is to serve others; not yourself. If you want to treat mine like animals, I am here to put you on notice.... You have awakened the beast. Houston Police Department & Fort Bend Police Department, you all should start weeding out the rubbish, because citizens like me, will get tired of letting the bad seeds among you keep running us over. I DON'T PLAY ABOUT MINE!!! 

Fantasy Escapes: May 6th, 2021 (Journal Entry Series)

 I have a problem, more like an addiction to escapism. Is there a treatment center for that? If so, I have the down payment for a room reservation.

As if life didn’t offer enough anticipation, there is a tendency in me to seek out every level of rapid pulses my heart can handle; in the good way. I guess I’m just tired of the same thing on a different day. This is the cliché answer I find myself reciting to those who bother to ask. Although; given the expression, my 'same thing different day' usually means I'm encountering my share of new troubles on a daily basis.

This point in life has offered me not much more than stress piled on top of more stress.  It would be accurate to say that I am absolutely a stress mess.  I've come to expect more "bad news" like all who wake in the morning expect the sun. The cloud of bleakness has yet to clear.  It is heavy with precipitation.

Chasing peace; this is what I really long to do, but the energy to achieve that goal has dissipated. Right now, as I'm writing, I am waiting for my husband and oldest son to return home and deliver yet another blow to my anxiety. Its hard to chase the tranquility of the consistent ease of great expectations when every day brings a new adventure fighting to keep me away from a sound mind. 

I sometimes feel like Mrs. Celie in The Color Purple.  While she sat clapping along with the other church folk to the music sang by the choir, their jubilance could not touch her.   Everyone she knew had come in to their own reason to celebrate happiness, yet she sat stuck in misery. Having left Mister had given her the freedom to live without abuse, but it had not offered her what she really longed for. The hopelessness was etched into every crevice of her face, and reflected in the dimness in her eyes. For her, life had nothing good to offer, so why expect it. 

Since I don't have even a minute portion of energy to run after harmony, I take it upon myself to have it in the one place I don't have to physically exert myself; my mind. Hence the addiction to escapism. But, this can't be healthy. 

Like any addiction, living in the fantasy of your own thoughts can have a negative impact on your real life. The expectation for euphoric gratification only grows stronger each time I indulge in this alternate second life through the tunnel of my dreams. 

Everything can't line up right, and nothing is as perfect as what's imagined. Sure, it makes returning to the real world seem much less than adequate, but if all things came together like I want them to, there is no guarantee that I will still want them.

Fantasies are only good inside the heads of those who carry them.  Once those fantasies leave your head, and steps into reality, they have already been demoted to a place where there is no longer a desire for them. This can create a cycle of disappointments which can have a negative impact on a person's mental well-being.  Hence, as stated above, I need a treatment center for my tendencies.

April 22nd, 2021: The Journal Entry Series

Picture provided by: Amazon.com 

Worry. It has been one of my biggest enemies for as far back as I can remember. Since the time when I was a six year old latch-key kid coming in from school, and waiting for Mama to arrive from work. The window by the front door was where I used to post up, if even she were running a minute behind her usual time. The tears I cried were the fuel of my anxiety. I say, "God is working on me," in regards to why, some thirty-eight years later, I am still battling the same old spirit. It could easily be excused while still in childhood. No one expects you to know better. What about now though? Why has it not yet left me? Why do I continuously find myself holding close companionship with something that, if allowed its way, would kill me? 

 My imagination takes me away. I see freedom in the form of a beautiful butterfly. From the wide expanse of it's wings with their colorful skin crowned in captivating glory; no one would ever know that they came from a dark hollowed shell. Before their freedom, in fact, they were trapped, not just in the transformation shell, but inside a limited body, and under a different name. Yes, worry has entrapped me; prevented me from flying to my fullest potential. I can only wish to be inside the transformation shell now that I've not only entered adulthood, but have been a resident for many years. But worry has me stuck inside the limited caterpillar's body, and only able to crawl along at a snail's pace to freedom. 

 One day though, those wings that I hope for, will be more than just apart of a mental fantasy. They will be real; acquired, mine to keep. One day those wings will help me defeat this life-long enemy, and then I will truly be free.