‘My Environmental Contributions’
I recycle hope and empathy,
I’d give my last if ever asked of me.
I care, I’m kind, not entitled.
I see the best in a world that runs wild.
I smile when you are near
less tears keep oceans clear.
I show courage to conquer fears
I pray for everybody here.
How I commit to my environment?
Prove I am fit to live in it.
Good vibes……Saves lives
Clear minds, clean skies.
It dies, we die.
Simply to my Husband
You’re good enough for me. you’re strong enough for me. you’re rich enough for me. you’re funny enough for me. you’re smart enough for me. you’re thoughtful enough for me. you’re amazing enough for me. you’re fine enough for me. you’re romantic enough for me. you’re tall enough for me. you’re wise enough for me. you’re sexy enough for me. you’re in shape enough for me. Everything about you is absolutely enough for me.
I Picked Up a Pen Today
The sun was shining today, shining bright with the cool breeze of winter. So heavy in my heart as I once again walk into my back yard coffee in hand; alone.
I sit next to the palm tree that I planted just for you on your birthday. A birthday that I couldn’t celebrate with you this year, because you’re off to heaven without me. I’m ready for our morning chat.
I lose a tear as I stare at the tree that is now standing in the place of my big brother. My writing partner, my best friend. Chills fill my arms as I see a stranded pen near my feet. My bad dog I begin to think, bringing that out here through the doggy door.
Reaching down to pick it up, it looks so shiny and new. Hmmmmm- no bite marks- not my pen. It’s so beautiful and unharmed. The love of writing fills my heart, then sadness. I haven’t written one word without you since you died.
No one to share it with. No one to be proud of me. I look at the strong and healthy palm tree standing over me. The realization hit me. You’re still with me. I smiled, and I looked at the pen again - and it made me think of you.....
“Moral of the Story”
This Cartoon of life, so many characters unfavored.
Their farcical smile so powerless to a brave heart.
The moral of the story remains the same.
“From Loss to Gain”
Wishing strength at this time of sadness and Mourning. Loss is hard, and overwhelming:
One can only try to find comfort in knowing that an angel is gained.
An angel that is now closer to you than ever before.
There are no more- boundaries or limitations.
Nothing can keep you apart in your mind and your heart.
Fighting back the tears, the aches are so serious.
When one disappears, is robbed from their years, leaves me curious.
It rekindles my fears, leaves me hurt and so furious.
Wishing strength at this time of sadness, for my angel was here-
living with me through madness.
existing, in this world where shit happens.
enlisting, and we dealt through the sadness.
From loss to gain, I pray to my angel
that I don't go insane.
reverse from grave to cradle
if your able.
My brother, My father, My friend.
My sisters, My cousins,
“I Can’t Sleep......”
When the mind is entangled,
Thoughts digested then strangled.
Memories mangled, I can't sleep......
Reborn and than sacrificed
For the tasks of our daily lives.
Victimization of the realization
Stuck in hallucinations. I can't sleep....
A kidnapped mind is inclined to still explore, all that it's had to endure, and so much more.
Still hoping to keep my thoughts pure and want more. Until I'm at work, I can't sleep.......
“I Wont Forget You”
I don't think they ever knew my name. I'm fine with that. It's completely understandable that new names don't really matter in this space. The space between a long life lived and a short journey left till death. What they did know was my voice, my friendly smile, my delicate mannerisms, and my caring ways. They knew my heart and they knew it cared. They knew they could dependably see me at the desk or walking the aisles, when daughters, sons and other family members didn't show up. The same ones they wait and long to see, I often became the acceptable fill in, even if only for the moment that I was needed.
They know that I haven't forgotten them as I sit and listen to the old timer jokes, the wit, the sarcasm, the wisdom. I listen intensively to stories of history, depression and war. I soak up their life and experiences like sand on the beach as if this has to be too good to be true.
I knew that I could never forget them. Each face etched into my soul, and attaching itself to my spirit. Knowing that these priceless moments will come and go too fast. The repetitive and painful sounding coughs are a reminder of the physical weakness, and as I'm looked at through glossy and sore red eyes I know that to them I am but an unbalanced blur. The runny noses and clammy shaky hands often embrace mine with a grip that must take enormous effort and strength.
I won't forget you I think to myself, staring into a face that I never knew as unwrinkled but still being so handsomely beautiful. I won't forget you I think, as I lean down to give a hug so gentle in fear of throwing them off balance.
The many abilities we take for granted they know only death can return to them. Sight, balance, hearing, memory, loss, loved ones, strength, hope, faith.
I listen patiently as their mind skips from past to present, sometimes the past or future being the present. The confusion, fear, irritation when they can't remember. The solace in their faces if they do remember becoming suddenly transformed into confusion as they struggle to remember where they are, and how this isn't home. But it is home, and with a soft reminder they are calm again. I ignite the fireplace early for the night owls, just in case one comes slowly walking down the hall longing for comfort and warmth in the chair next to the crackling fire. I sit next to them with open ears listening to what's on their mind and hearts that's keeping them awake, soaking it all in like sand on the beach. I won't forget you I think to myself, so grateful that I was one of their last stops in their beautiful journey of life.
“Cemetery at My Pillow”
To be covered in darkness gasping for air,
Anxiety is the accessory of my death and despair.
Pressure on my chest, forcing me to sleep,
My mind with open eyes, high tides and cannot weep.
The shadows of the dead,
Left flowers near my head.
"Everyday life kills you too"
Is all that the note said.
“Sooooo Excited to be Back”
How I've missed you all-
suffered through the deaths of a few loved ones..
My heart was cracked...
My pens were inkless-
paper non existent.
Phone smashed, brain thrashed.
Homeless in my own heart.
Maaaaan- death hurts......
Hurts so much, it killed my words...
Thank god for reincarnation,
Mixed comes in all skin colors, hair textures, eye colors and walks and talks of life. You will never be able to create one model or mold of what we should all look like. Never believe that you're not light enough, you're not dark enough, your hair is not curly or straight enough,. "Our looks do not define us. They don't now, and they never will"
"Through our existence, people that once never associated will associate. Cultures, traditions, and religions, that never crossed will intertwine. Multiple languages will be heard in one household at the same time. It is our existence that can bridge the gaps of racism, hatred and ignorance. Our existence and determination to accept all that we are all of the time, never in shame but with our heads held high. A pride within us, that will not be tainted. To be one, to be many, to be parts of, to be whole. We are one hundred percent mixed and proud. We should never feel like we have to add to or reject any parts of the core of who we are.