Goodbye Kobe, Gigi, and friends.

Saddest thing for all is.... a mistake brought your lives to an end.

Gigi had no chance to grow, and show the world that she was blessed.

When she shot the ball with force and fun from her chest.

No visual coaching from our legend, her dad.

No using the talent he gave you, and showing him what you had.

A fatal trip that silenced the entire world.

Goodbye to you Kobe, Our Legend, and his friends and baby girl.

my birth

was my coming

out experience and i

don’t even remember it

...

xo, phill

I see them sitting there

So so unaware

Blind to evil there love true

Beautiful souls the two

Those of common see their problem.

Together they do not.

A lesson taught so solemn

Happiness in every thought.

I say to be true for all the rest.

We can not see.

Incapable of love for we judge and test.

The world's disability.

I see now how wrong I was.

If only sooner.

Care in one another ’s the only cause

To true happiness.

I see them sitting there.

So so unaware.

Blind to evil their love true.

Beautiful souls the two.

I feel trapped like I’m stuck inside a box with no way out the walls are talking to me my mind is racing I open my eyes but there is nothing there to see my once steady heartbeat is slowly fading away I feel so cold I feel so emotionless as I lay stuck in an empty space I try to gather my thoughts but my mind is stuck in parked I open my mouth but the words won’t come out I feel so numb I hear the laughter wishing I could but it just won’t come to be I feel abandoned in my despair and it’s difficult to repair I get broken each day some more burying these emotions in my core I hide behind the cracked smile so no one can see my denial I camouflage the trauma so well but on the inside it hurts like At last I'm free from the cage head on time to face this rage I am free from all the stress letting go of the anger and all the rest no longer being harmed time to let this caged bird welcome life’s challenges with open arms .

They Call Me Black

They take my kindness for Weakness they take my silence for Speechless they consider my uniqueness Strange they call my language Slang they see my confidence as Conceit they see my mistakes as Defeat they consider my success Accidental They minimize my intelligence to Potential my questions mean I am Unaware ..My advancement is somehow Unfair to voice my concern is Discontentment if I stand up for myself I am too Defensive if I don't trust them I am too Apprehensive I am defiant if I Separate I am fake if I Assimilate ..My character is constantly Under Attack pride for my race makes me Too Black ..Lord Lord why did you make me black why did you make someone the world wants to hold back ? Black is the color of dirty clothes the color of grimy hands and feet Black is the color of darkness the color of tired beaten streets ?Why did you give me thick Lips a broad nose and kinky hair why did you make me someone who receives the hatred stare? Black is the color of a bruised eye when someone gets hurt who received the hatred stare ? How come my bones structure so thick the hips and cheeks so high how come my eyes are brown and not the color of the daylight sky? Why do people think I'm useless how come I feel so used why do some people see my skin and think I'm abused ? Lord I just don't understand what is it about my skin why do some people want to hate me and not know the person within ? black is what people are "listed" when other want to keep them away black is the color of the shadows cast black is the end of the day ? Lord you know my own people mistreat me and I know this just isn't right they don't like my hair or the way I look they say I'm too dark or light ? lord don't you think it's time to make a change why don't you re-do your creation and make everyone the same ? God answered why did I make you black get off your knees and look around tell me what do you see I didn't make you in the image of darkness I made you in the likeness of me I made you the color of coal from beautiful diamonds are formed I made you the color of oil The Black Gold that keeps people warm ? I made you from the rich dark earth that can grow the food you need your colors the same as the Panthers known for (HER) beauty and speed ..Your colors the same as the Black Stallion a majestic is he I didn't make you in the image of darkness I made you in the likeness of me all the colors of a Heavenly Rainbow can be found throughout every nation and when all of those colors as blended well You Became My Greatest Creation ..Your hair is the texture of a lambs wool such a humble little creature is he .I am the Shepard who watches them I am the One who will watch over thee. You are the color of midnight sky I put the stars glitters in your eyes there is beauty behind your pain that's why your cheeks are so high . You are the color of darks clouds formed when I send my stronger Weather I made your lips full so when you kiss the one that you love will remember . Your stature is strong your bone structure thick to withstand the burdens of time the reflection you see in the mirror the image looking back at you is Mines that's why I made you Black ....

feet

my

off

me

swept

he

until i no longer felt like dirt

xo, isthatphill

I lived alone. Sheltered under wooden beams within soundproof walls. Everything that happened in my home was in my control. I ran my fingers through the coarse hair on my head as gray strands fell out of my scalp. I let them float to the floor. I picked up a mug on my nightstand, the one that was given to me in the mail by my daughter last Christmas, and threw it against the magenta wall. Shattered. I took a step back, letting the sun seeping in from the window shine bright into my eyes. Sunlight - illuminating children playing on a tire swing in the park outside of my home. There was a peacefulness to the sight. A feeling washed over me, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, I wasn’t numb. I rummaged through the closet to find my coat, and turned the knob on the front door, hesitating only for a moment. The children turned to face me, the look on their faces was like they had just witnessed the return on Frankenstein. I moved towards the children, finding a spot on the tire swing next to a red headed girl. A little boy with dainty freckles stepped forward and began to push the swing. Suddenly, I was flying. With my eyes closed I imagined a life without borders. A life like the one I had when I was a child, before the attack. Before I needed to shut myself in, to remove the possibility of being violated again. There was something frightening, yet enchanting about the unknown. Knowing that life could be good or bad, or maybe both. I had lived in the same house, doing the same things, without anybody else for thirty years. The same routine every day. I was done. Predictability was over. My new life had begun.

come with me

hand in hand--no,

pinky to pinky

i feel your pulse

(it is my own)

and we beat

together

to the end

I was writing, as writers often do, when I had a revelation. Feeling flashed before my eyes in an epiphany, something I should have seen long ago:

There is no such thing as perfect writing.

Published or non-published, poetry or prose, there will always be something to fix. There will always be something to criticize. Years from now we will look back and want to change a hundred different things. Characters, a sentence, a word. There will always be a way to make it “better.”

Enlightening as this is, what does this mean? Are we to simply give up writing, if we will never reach our own standards? Of course not. But how do we tackle this?

Perhaps the secret to writing is moving past our perfectionism to create something greater than perfection. What is greater than perfection? The human spirit. What makes us human? Our flaws. It is our flaws that grow us and shape us into the unique beings that we are, and it is our mistakes that we learn from. Writing is risky. We all know that. We have to put ourselves on a pedestal. Characters that we’ve shaped and modified, who have become a part of us, must be shipped to the world through ink, to be loved or hated by all who perceive them.

So, maybe, writing isn’t about being perfect. We have to find something better than that. Maybe the best writers put passion on the page and embrace the flaws of their own words. Only then will a 9 become a 10, a 10 an 11, an 11 a 100. When we accept our imperfections and share them with the world in this new positive light, we discover a deeper part of ourselves, and that is what shines through over all else.

Keep writing writers, as we fight the revelation of the human spirit in its rawest form.