A Dark Aroma. + Where Lies My Truth? pt 3 of 4

8:19 PM em 0 Comments



 .     .     .

A Dark Aroma

             
before (my youth):

 pure white eyes hang low, 
i am thrown and immersed in water
pure white eyes  have shaped themselves, like yellow almonds
demons knock on the door,
hesitation, recollection,  relocation, and suspense.




.       .      .





Then until Now (adulthood):
The floor is cold with unfamiliar texture.
 I can not see, I scream, I am unaware and unsure.

             disparity suppresses my truth, refusing to let him out.


Within the sewn and braided, twisted, flat ironed, curly, tangled, mess
that sits royally upon my head,
my truth lies within each kink and coil. 


Sometimes, (most of the time) I hide the truth underneath my scalp.
Truth grows and strengthens like new hair growth, and like new hair growth it becomes darker and more coarse.
Returning to its true self.
How beautiful I have always been.

The dark aroma has left me blinded.
My truth lies at the foot of my bed and between my breast.


I walked along the stream and up several hills,
 I carried worry at the tip of my shoulders.
On a cherry tree, I hang with sweet fruit,
Rotten fruit whispers to me as they know my name.
I hang heavy and low on the tree, but I do not fall like the rest.

                        Brown pigment, warm and thick,
melancholy has become my second layer of skin


                 I lay in my daily truths,
When the sun meets the horizon,
I become bolder and uncover what I have kept secret.
My truth lies at the foot of my bed and between my breast.






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the women in the mirror. pt 2 of 4

6:31 PM em 0 Comments










.      .      .
She has my eyes,
This woman who reflects me.
She faces me as I stare back into the foggy stained glass mirror.
Through every stage, she grows older, stronger before me
I look to her for wisdom-- I am her own reflection.

To the woman in the mirror, are you there and do you see me too?
In my world, I stare at her in my happiest and weakest moments

 With her strength and clear dry eyes, she catches my tears and makes me laugh.
The warmth of her gaze , soothes the tremble of my hands, and eases the thump of my heart.

 I rejoice!
No longer do dark feelings linger, no longer do poor events or life's complications hold me back.

Lost through my cracked mirror.
I am taught that wisdom grows like flowers beneath my feet.
Through the eyes of the woman who looks like me, with lack of words,
she encourages me,
and wipes my tears.

 A faint noise in the distance tells me,
I am already wise and tomorrow I will be wiser.
            .   .  .







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Bird of Paradise. poem 1 of 4.

7:04 PM em 0 Comments




welcome back,
First of all thank you for taking the time to read all this corny metaphorical artsy stuff I have taken the time to write. All of the next 4 poems have to do with  adolescence and adulthood. A metaphorical viewpoint of birth, growth, and rebirth, like the cocooning of a butterfly lol.  I took some time with this; I do not expect everyone (or maybe even anyone) to understand my message or the words I dramatically put together to try and form something good for myself and the audience who reads it. Although, I do  hope in some way my art can heal you in similar ways that it has help heal me. I understand at the end of the day and behind closed doors, alone or with close ones, the pain of life leaks through our eyes and thumps through our chest. Life can become a heavy weight on our shoulders, but it is possible to let the weight of the world go. We are all connected in various ways at the end of the day. We all share waking up in the morning and living day by day, dealing with whatever is given. A difficult time may not be now, but it is creeping its way up somewhere.  This series of  poems are my own words and art graphic designs, as I grow each day, I remember my lessons, always moving forward and never letting words of doubt get to my head Continuously reminding myself everyday, whatever God has for me will never be too big to the point I can not handle. I remind myself that I'll be fine. I hope you all do the same.
 Thank you for your time + support, I love you all.
#wegonbealright

*all digital art was designed by me with photos borrowed and taken by me, some photography done by Antonio Brooks,

.      .       .





She is her own vessel.
Within herself lies the heart of the world.

What ganders the thoughts that weight heavy on her mind?
But, she smiles.

Her own vessel held up high
 Through the creases of dried paint, lays water markings that have left her weary.

Wisdom makes the sun-stained body's eye brighten from within.
Planted in her vessel, she is a bird who desires to fly, but still needs time to grow. 

Turmoil is her soil, it is her closest friend.
What creation so divine,
   it still has not been destroyed by the roots of the ground?

Grateful is the woman that knows she is in paradise.
















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