I never saw them as women. 

Only mothers; carers; strong - I realize now - but it was understood then

I didn't have to know it, or be conscious of it. It just was

My grandmother, always smiling and beautiful. Always cooking, and caring for her husband, children, grandchildren. 

All of the things I'm worried about now, I realize, were also worries they had.

My mother caring others, and herself, only the way she can.

And she can.

This life is not about what they got wrong and what they should be seen as having done incorrectly.

Not when those knowledge and mistakes are what I too am able to learn from. 

I have them in me. With me, no matter what.

I need to trust things that got me hear. Trusting their voices, trusting what they trusted in has built that foundation for what/who I need to be too.

I want to honor them.

I wouldn't be here without them. Without their efforts. Without their fighting. Without their learned knowledge of what is better for those that aren't them. But those that they have grown to care for.

I love them, more and more.

I love them. 

Creak creaking. crack. Walking, he noticed how unfamiliar those sounds were. He was used to hearing the cracking of snow-weighted limbs during this time of year, but the sound on himself, suddenly; chilled him. He was used to the cold (and changing seasons); but this day felt "different". Walking through the woods, warm memories [she] started to bloom. 

No... STOP!...

He thought. Entangled in a mixed sense of present and past, 

Stop!... i'm sorry...

He wanted to yell out; loud. But he stood frozen waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. 

Nothing ever did.    

Meijah: 

My-juh

Me-juh

May-jah

Me-I-jah

Mi-hee-yah

Me-yah

Me-yuh

May-yuh

Meijie/Meijy

MeiPie

Meijah Piejah

Meij

Lieteau:

Lee-toe

Lee-tow

Lah-e-toe

Lih-tow

Lay-eat-tow

Lah-toe

Lee-ay-toe

Lee-ay-tow

Lee-et-toe

All of my life, I struggled with my identity; saw little value in it. I could not see my name on a mug like others. I could not make small talk with someone else other the commonality of our names. I had no idea how hard I was fighting for people to see me. See "Meijah Lieteau" as what I saw her as, although I didn't see her as much. I didn't see her as pretty, or kind, or thoughtful, or thought-provoking, or thought-invading. I did not see her as a gem, a hidden treasure, a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I did not see her as a voice worth speaking, a cornerstone in someone's life, a heart and soul that breathed and worked to live. I saw her how you did. I mispronounced myself. I missed pronouncing - opportunities, for Meijah Lieteau to become known. I missed pronouncing - how to make myself available to others. I missed pronouncing - allowing myself to make mistakes. I always just accepted these mispronunciations of my name, and of my character. I cannot tell you who I am. I cannot tell you how I feel. I cannot. I do not wish to. Because I have NO ANSWERS to those questions! 

And it hurts.  

But... my name is pronounced mah-ee-jah lah-ee-toh

Or that's the closest I can think of.  

Shall I draw you? 

           I'll try to draw a portrait of you,

          or the you 

          I can see:

                                                                                                Reflect back to you,                                                            without truly knowing what you'll be

How you'll see it.

How you'll see me after my interpretation, 

my intent, bared. 

          May I draw you near? I want to sketch you. Trace. amounts of your image stay stuck with me.                                                                                  I can't help it...

                I can't help,       how I see you. I can't help, how you see yourself. 

You can't help me see myself either. 

                             I will try my best to draw every insecurity out of you.  

but, again, 

be patient. 

                      I am not very good with this pen, this pencil. I'm not even sure which tools to use. You. You're the true artist/

                                          You're very detailed at drawing every line you can.

In my school days, 

I would carry an eraser. That would help; but those were usually for mistakes.

      I understand the lines you've drawn 

Those are for protection.  

                                                                                               Let me

                                                                                       Let me use ink

It stains, it stays 

                                                                                               Let me.

Let me see. The lighting isn't quite... right, let me try something else. 

I'm sorry. 

This image I am trying to capture, I am trying to create would never be you.

It will never be you, 

but may I try?

I can not erase myself from you

I do not want to have a life without Him

YOU gave them love

They have scorned your very words; your deeds.

They fear no one

Humbly I write of God

My Lord,

When will enough be enough?

When will our thoughts be big enough?

Have we not learned

That we are all YOURS

I do not fear man and his reproach

Death comes and is imminent

Their words will no longer be able to reach me once I see her

Her shining face, always a beacon

I do not reach for the stars

The things I may not grab have never been in reach

Yet your love has

I say my words from you

I pledge an oath to you

One minute is not all that there is

Remembering is not enough

Humbly I write of YOU

My Savior

once again

says HE

once again we have fallen 

fallen in love with our own desires and decrees

fallen into an abyss of darkness and indecency

falling in HIS eyes into a world we were never meant to emulate

                                                                                                               For any who read these words

                                                                                                               For any who have felt the depression of leaving a home

not to return

He has given us himself

READ 

He is not intolerant

He has not made up HIS mind yet

read

It is a gift and talent we have all been given

for 

HE

does not make mistakes

                                                                                                           My Lord will never leave me

I must not leave him

HE is my God

In all ways

Amen. 

-DYNASTYherARTIS

Hmm.

This is interesting.        Stay calm. If you just stay calm, maybe it’ll go away.

           Maybe it’s not there.

Maybe it’s            not happening.

                                       WAIT!

               don’t.          open your eyes yet;       just in case it is.

               ...okay

She’s yelling something. Wait, that’s wailing. not yelling.

                              What’s going on?!

            I want to know, but I just can’t open my eyes yet

                                                                        I wouldn’t say I’m scared. Just nervous -

                                                                                                                          Unsure

I can’t...

                               I can’t. hear anything

At first, I heard wailing; but, now, I can’t hear anything?

                What’s happening?      ah,                    what now...?

                                                               I LIED!

                                                         I AM SCARED...!

                                 What’s happenING?!

                                                             Before this plane took off, I was so comfortable

                                                                                               Looking out the window,

                                                                                                              eyes wide open,

                                                                                                                             ready;

                                                                       Waiting to see the world - my destination

                 Now, I can’t even look at another passenger.

Another member of society pushed to the edge of their mentality and social                       consciousness’’

                                howoftenhavetheyfeltlikethis?

                                Like no one was looking at them before, and now, 

                                                          here am I 

                                                                                         doing it again.

           Making them feel this way again, 

but the circumstances have changed.

                                                                                                               Stranger.

                                                                                                         I’m so scared.

(For the reading, click on the link: https://soundcloud.com/user-574181605)

Hi. You don't know me yet. You may never know me at all. 

That's the part I fear. 

I have never been comfortable enough around you to let you in. To let you see the real me; yet, here I am, desiring for you to do so. 

I want to share my thoughts with you as you go through this journey - these questions, as follows:

How are you?

How are you feeling?

Why does your heart ache?

Why do you cry so often?

What are you crying about?

Is there any way I can help? If so, will you let me know?

May I sit with you?

May I hold you, if not for the rest of your life, then just for this one minute?

May I hold your hand?

Is it okay with you?

Will you ever let me in?

Dearest, stranger. I worry about you. I want to know you and yet I can't bring myself to be open enough to ask you these questions, with you, face-to-face. 

I want to know you. I do none of these things in mocking. I... 

I keep using that letter, don't I?

Ha. Did it again. 

Will you sit with me? 

One day, no! Tomorrow. Let's meet. Let's see each other. Let's look at one another laugh and not wonder what the other is laughing about, but instinctively laugh with them.

Always wanted to do that. Got embarrassed when someone - my own mother - would ask, "What are you laughing about?"

I could never say. 

But tomorrow. Tomorrow will be different. 

Let's pass one another on the street and simply, without a word or a gesture, understand each other at the very core. 

I may never know you, and I will likely never show you enough of myself to let you in either. I just... want you to stop feeling like that - the way I do. 

#shortstory #straightlines #beyourself

Dearest Pelopi, 

It is an honor to speak with you once again. As a servant of our royal nation I am proud to learn of what concerns your heart through any means. You have proved yourself well while fighting for justice in this realm. I implore you, do not lose faith for a greater time will come. 

It's happening. It is happening and I can feel it happening - can see its destruction upon me, us. What will be done about this? Well, I don't. What can be? His rule is like no other. In the past, I've heard stories of great leaders, countrymen and women, souls willing to defend this realm with honor and above all, humility. Now, despite hearing those stories, internalizing them, I've been struck with the reality that they were just that -stories. And, as many times as we, the people, have heard warnings from and of far off lands that have had these leaders, kings and queens - rulers who have forced the weight of their reign onto the poor and needy, my hand has also been forced. I have not had the right, but instead the pain in realizing that those are not just stories. The king I have, no... the king, I fear, is not a good king. He does not suffer for his people; he does not ache for their pain, he has shown himself to have no right to call himself such, and yet I am required to refer to him as such, as his loyal subject. He has seen the wounds of this realm and has not offered balm, but instead he continually bruises and breaks the heads and heels of those that only seek solace. We look at him and think How could this have been done? A man we accepted not because we were able to, but because it is tradition to, has shown us that he has no interest in the traditions that have made us strong, but instead the traditions that will make us appear weak. Why does loyalty still flow through my veins? In this world that I have been placed in, not necessarily by my own doing, but by what I have allowed and by whom has brought me here, why do I still feel a sense of pride? Why do I still want to see and give my best, although I am told to follow a ruler who has not shown me that example. I look up to my elders and ancestors in the way that I can, through kind eyes, because that is what they have given me, and yet every night I see my father, my mother, my grandfather fall on his knees not in prayer, but in shame and hurt... I write these words to you, so that you will remember our statement - remember our resistance:   

I. AM. NOT. MY RULER.

These words; this idea has been forced on us. Through his incomparable ability to stay blind and deaf to our concerns, we have been forced to believe this - that we are not our own rulers. But I know who I am. I am the voice of the people that know what can be done better and differently. I am the mother who despite nurturing her child as best she could has somehow found no way of explaining why the best will not be given to them by those in power; who speak of wanting their devotion, but show no effort to reciprocate the same. I am the farmer who tills not just the soil that we gain nourishment from, but the soil that supports our feet as we walk in silence each day allowing our king not to suffer for us, not to make us suffer, but to turn a blind eye to our suffering. Each morning, as he wakes, he may see the red of a beautiful sunrise, but I, I see the red of the blood my people have shed; I see the red of the passionate soul that does not wish to watch her family suffer; I see the red of the revolution his ignorance toward our cries has made us start - and we will finish on top. 

I am not my ruler. I am not my king. I am exactly what he has not wanted by his side. If I wanted to be like him, if I could be like him, I would not be suffering in shame; I would not feel at a loss. But because my realm has made me who I am, and because the essence of my beliefs have opened my eyes to seeing him as who he is - a tyrant - I will continue to fight to reach the hearts of those that I may, no, need to stand with. 

Remember these words for your children and for yourself. Because that safety we once held as a privilege has no longer been perpetuated as something owed to us, I pray that at the very least this message may reach you safely, may find its way in your homes and your heart. The flames of justice that were once merely embers will roar into a magnanimous fire, greater than we could have ever imagined. 

My dearest Pelopi, remember these words, recite them everyday, let them be your prayer at night:

I. AM. NOT. MY RULER. 

And remember that you will always be. 

Sangruis

#ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit

It's that time again

That time of night- or is it day?- when my mind is wandering aimlessly

But what if it isn't aimless.

What if she's talking to me because this is the only time she has alone with me.

Others have always managed to make me feel lonely even while I was talking to them, but I don't want her to feel that way - so I'll listen.

Do you love me...? she questions aloud. 

Well... what is love? I've always believed that it is an emotion that both the id and the ego share. That it's so powerful because there are so few things you feel with your entire body and self. It has such magnitude because it's not instinctual-it's purely emotional. But I've never really reacted based off of how my id or ego was feeling. I've only ever lived out the things my superego asked me to do. 

We think back on the times we sat quietly in the pew as the preacher droned on and on. We felt guilty for being there; guilty to my mother and the religion because we were questioning its legitimacy, but, also, guilty to ourselves for not being bold enough to speak up about not wanting to be there. So we kept quiet, as quiet as possible for as long as possible so as not to raise suspicion. Not that anyone even cared to suspect anything. The sat just as quietly in the pew, but always had something to say about what was said after service ended, whereas we were never listening. We wanted to be, but we just couldn't. I couldn't.   

And we also remember the friends we thought we had. The fact that we would go along with what they asked because they asked. It was as simple as that. All they had to do was ask and we'd come running because we liked them, but it took us a while to realize it wasn't reciprocal. Of course, we knew all along (we're intelligent and analytical, so it wasn't that hard to see how prevalent this behavior was among most of the people we called "friends"), but we decided to ignore it and keep running. Our energy was exhausted to the point that we couldn't run anymore. The ones who really didn't care continued not to, but there were some who managed to gain some sense of respect for us as we went along and were angry at the thought that I was finally speaking up. But I don't care. They had taken too much for me to care anymore. 

But she was softer and gentler than me so she was able to feel something. We both felt the hurt and regret from being used, but I was the one who hated that I couldn't make these one-sided relationships work. She tried to comfort me as best she could. I knew she loved me, and I sat there quietly thinking, she asks again do you love me?

The one thing we've had the most trouble with was our sexuality. She knew all along that we were capable of loving any and everybody, but I was scarred. Because the people around me told me that only one expression of one's sexuality was acceptable, I hid more. I tried to be like them, attacking people (knowing that they didn't need it) and refusing to be open to understanding people (knowing that that was all they were asking for) because I was a coward. But, again, she was patient with me. She waited until my mind was open enough to accepting every person that exists and open enough to allow myself to be one of these people. She waited for me to open my eyes enough to see people as just that, people. Most importantly, she waited until my heart was open to allowing others to love me. She helped me realize that someone else's sexuality is of no concern to me, and she helped me realize how courageous being marginalized, and possibly ostracized, can be.  

I think of all of these things.

I guess the answer to her question is... no. I don't love her. I can't, not now.

But I'm trying to.

I'm trying to get to the place where I love her because I know she's always loved me. I feel bad for being one of those people that hasn't reciprocated the love she's given me because she's given so much, but I want to show her that I can, and that I will. 

I will love you...