Resurrection

I am thankful for my struggles because one thing they have taught me (the one trait I strive to maintain as part of my character) is humility. I understand that I am flawed, that there were a series of awakenings that ultimately led me to the truth, and that freedom didn’t find me whole, but in pieces. I don’t worry what others think of me because YAH is my only judge and I am allowed to be a work-in-progress. For this, I strive to have as much compassion on others as I can because I don’t have it all together and I will never pretend to. I didn’t wake up automatically understanding who I was. There were stepping stones to this. When dealing with people who may not know what I know, I remember that my resurrection happened in stages.

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If My Books Shall Die

jez-timms-unsplash

I read James Baldwin today

and realized I was carrying his bones

in the crooks of my arms

and realized

that if my books shall die

then I have labored in vain

I have swam through centuries

and ran years in someone else shoes

I have climbed mountains

and crawled under valley’s

only to bleed death

I have wasted my time

carving obsession into paper

with invisible ink

words fallen like stars

on deaf ears

If my books shall die

then let me not be born

take me back to the safety

of my mother’s womb

the privacy

of not yet existing

if my works have been in vain

If my books shall die

then I do not wish to live

not on the tops of your shelves

or faced down on kitchen counters

or underneath your children’s beds

honor me

in the palms of your hands

and not standing next to Grandmother’s old picture

in the living room

grandmother is dead

and I do not wish to die

give me my flowers today

and accept the life I offer you

in the form of metaphors

on silver platters

for I am feeding you

with silver spoons

and all you got to do

is eat

for I offer you

the best of me

and when I am dead

no longer among the living

crack open a book written by me

and feel my breath on your skin

hear my voice resurrect

from inside an ancient pen

watch my tongue dance

see my lips move

and witness passion soar from beyond the grave

If my books shall die

Then my words did not really contain life

But if my books shall live

What are you waiting for?

Go to your bookshelf

Resurrect me

And carry

My bones