Porcelain And Steel

Allow me to set the record straight: my emotional independence is written through poetry. You may see some resemblance, but not everything that is said is true.

​So, take this to heart and remember this like you will remember anything else. My ink to paper is like a knife through porcelain skin. You can look at this in different ways: either the ink will heal you or kill you. Porcelain does have moments of breaking, and it also has moments of slight fragments. Therefore, your words come at my skin like porcelain. Everyone has rights to be in their feelings and sit in silence to figure things out. Communication can be quite a bitch! So, I have moments of not getting my words out. And that is okay.

​I have been emotionally broken too many damn times—doing my best to grow thick skin because I am God's child. And He didn't instill in me to be a broken soul. I am here because He needs me to be here, and I will leave this Earth on His terms.

​Right now, I have been going through things and doing my best to see past them: the good, the bad, and let's not forget the ugly. God knows I have spoken loudly on situations, all to get slapped in my face. I see the sinister smiles and grins upon faces, and I refuse to look into the devil's eyes. Because I am a child of God, no one can try to put the wool over my eyes.

​Everyone pulled their life card at birth. The moment you took your first breath, your path was created. Life is no fucking game. This is my path and has always been my path. Yet, there are quite a few made of steel pins in the road. And I am not afraid to put a dagger in the souls who have done this deliberately. I am no longer a child. Please begin to treat me as the adult that I am, so you will reap what you have sown. God knows and sees everything.

​Everyone is blinded at times when things are going on around them—especially when things are happening directly to them. Trust me, I have been there and am working through it. If I spill the chaos beans, be prepared for a solar storm. I will put them in a place that will fit perfectly. While it doesn't mean everything around it is fact, it's like grabbing jigsaw puzzle pieces: once you have all the pieces, you can begin to create a magnificent masterpiece. So, I refuse to be shut down. I will turn my pain into a work of art, including those who have manipulated me as well. You are the ink to paper, and some have become porcelain in my skin.

Through tears and fire

 

Throughout life, you want to paint

this beautiful picture—

your goals,

the things you need to achieve.

It’s not about wants

when you become an adult.

Money should never be handed over

to pacify wrongdoings;

it should come from hard work.

A child’s first heartbreak

doesn’t come from a stranger—

it comes from their parents.

When a child does their hardest

to achieve things in life,

regardless of their parents’

drawn-out vision,

a heartstring shatters

big time.

It takes three to bear a child:

God, and two Earth beings—

a woman and a man.

It’s called thinking logically;

otherwise, more people

would not stand here today.

Hearts are adorable;

they absorb like sponges.

So never take someone’s heart for granted.

Learn to listen to it,

and never doubt a kind heart,

because in the end,

you will end up with nothing.

Learn to watch with your eyes

and listen with your ears,

rather than go off hearsay.

Because you never know

who is the one carrying the venom.

This pain hurts,

and I know many others can see it—

without even knowing me personally.

I’m pushing through

as hard as I can.

Being told you can do anything

you set your heart and mind to

should be the ticket

to ignite the fire.

Yet there are pine needles,

like venomous snakes

waiting to sever my dreams.

I can read your eyes like a storybook.

I will quickly draw back from you,

and that’s no fucking joke.

I become extremely tired

of dealing with my medical conditions,

wishing I could hang it the fuck up.

But this is reality,

written in a book.

Yet, I am working deeply within myself

to change what I can.

And through this,

I am focusing—

helping others.

Even though hearing “you can’t work”

leaves an excruciating pain,

this journey is extremely hard.

Some have been super supportive,

while I can’t say much about others—

they continue creating obstacles

to keep me stagnant.

I have moments where

I draw back,

keep to myself,

because some don’t want to hear my story

through these tears I’ve cried.

It’s not for sympathy.

Most people who lack knowledge

won’t understand.

I rely on my poetry

as my therapy.

Through words I release,

I find no judgment.

I can return—

without the pain

that birthed this art.

And so,

I will continue to write,

to share my emotions.

You think this poetry is about you?

Don’t you?

The Wave

Some people are so quick to grasp

what doesn’t belong to them.

Hands become like butter,

ready to spread across bread—

only on objects

that don’t belong to them.

They have their minds made up:

what they’ve read is about them.

Eyes glare like a hawk,

hearts beat rapidly.

They can’t understand

what the hell they’re reading.

Reading too soon

without the proper key to access

is a dangerous game.

So, you settle on

breaking and entering.

When voices speak louder than words,

and your eyes are easy to read—

here comes the wave.

Others can read you,

and it doesn’t take

a spiritual gift

to see through you.

It’s time to disconnect

from all the bullshit negativity,

and focus on brighter things in life.

Stop with the stares and glossy eyes,

because your whole face

begins to change completely.

You don’t take the time

to listen to others’ visions,

without understanding

there’s a roadblock in the way.

Try to understand them—

you might see that the roadblock

was something you created

without even knowing.

Yet, you put all the blame on them,

making their path

much more difficult.

Here comes the fire—

and no, it’s not the fire stick.

Or wait a minute—

you have it stuck so far up your ass

that maybe this is why

you can’t think clearly,

and your head is filled with negativity.

This storm isn’t sunshine and rainbows.

I’m still battling through something,

working toward my ultimate goal in life.

Yet these eyes see chaos

and cannot speak upon this bullshit.

Can individuals please grow the fuck up?

Louisiana may have had Hurricane Katrina.

But people who live and breathe negativity

need to wake up and look at life—

even the bullshit they’ve caused—

because this is the wave.

You can’t see your own shit

because you’re dipping and diving

into someone else’s.

Karma can be quite a bitch;

it comes at you

like a clogged-up toilet.

Oops—there goes a broken pipe.

You just can’t seem

to get away from this shit.

The more fire you cause,

the hotter it gets.

Don’t try to pay attention now,

when things were brewing

and words were spoken.

These eyes and ears don’t lie.

It’s time for you to put a stop to it—

now.

 This is the wave—

everything being called out,

with a twist.

Chaotic

 Have you ever sat under a tree just to think?

What would peace look like in a physical sense?

And how do you add it to your life

when everything—or everyone—seems to go crazy?

It's sad to say it,

but I'm going to share through these eyes,

because I can no longer take it.

For many years, my eyes have grown sharp.

I see jealousy at its finest—

manipulation, sinful acts—

beyond everything else.

Yet, I lay low and let my eyes read the room.

Because if I spoke out loud,

my words would shock you.

Matter of fact, denial would take center stage—

painted across everyone's face.

No one seems to listen,

or they pretend to understand what's going on.

In reality,

what’s been happening

comes from earthbound spirits—

not trapped ones,

not summoned by spiritual work.

Can we take ownership for what we’ve done?

Can we be bold enough to say it—

without pointing fingers?

Those who claim others have dipped and dabbled

in sinful work

have also had a taste of the blade.

Is it the pot calling the kettle black?

I'm going to be honest—

it’s overwhelming.

Mentally draining.

Like I could just grab the remote

and switch the channel.

But I can’t change the scene.

I can barely leave,

which is sad all on its own.

I see stories being created—

just to cover their asses.

I see and know the distractions

are done deliberately,

pulling people away

from doing something positive.

This is deep.

And I’m going back to Twilight.

Some days, I feel extremely angry,

and I can’t bring it out in the open.

Excuses seem to be the new thing these days—

like Bounty: the quicker picker-upper.

Let’s be real.

Let’s close the chapter on Hollywood.

Excuses are lies—

to save oneself,

or to save someone else.

Let them speak for themselves.

And even if they do—

let the cat bite his own tongue.

Can I please have Calgon come take me away—

with no strings attached?

I go back to my high school days—

what I call freedom.

Over the years,

anxiety has become an enemy.

Small spaces feel safer.

I know God sees everything.

No one can hide from Him.

He is working,

and handing out karma accordingly.

Those who do wrong

get the worst end of the stick.

But why would God do that?

Because Earth is the school of life.

And He is the teacher,

assistant principal,

and principal.

He fills every role in His school.

A woman of fire

 

There’s a heavy breeze, the distant wood crackling.

The sky is reddish-black; the stars barely shine.

Winds gather speed while the sun slips into dusk—

a humid gust snaps: Mother Earth has spoken again.

A woman of fire

She is forged from flame, descending gracefully from the heavens.

Arms outstretched, wrapped in reddish-orange embers,

she stands poised in a strapless gown—black and gold,

accented with crimson echoes of her birthright.

Her body hovers above the Earth, arms open in embrace;

blue-tinted eyes gaze downward toward Mother Earth.

Yet mind and soul ache, and she begins to see:

every whisper of wind, every snap of flame shapes an answer.

A sudden shift—wind thickens, steam ascends;

she gathers the warmth to her heart, yet the heart weeps.

A woman of fire

Eyes closed, she listens to the wind’s hush,

to sparks arcing across the darkening sky.

Is this her pain alone,

or does the sorrow of others entwine with her own?

She holds the hurt and tries to turn it into light,

but even fire sometimes needs help.

The wind falls silent; every ache feels personal.

Watching those who once spoke down to her,

she has grown strong, her tongue fierce.

Not everyone can endure her flames.

Some understand—her story is therapy.

Others judge, ready to defend themselves.

Her heart returns to the absence of her father,

a daily ache that longs to heal yet struggles.

Her flames rise in reverence: a guard, a shield.

She bows her head; tears fall—

with every offered tissue comes a hug.

A woman of fire

Gentle, sweet of soul,

she carries too much pain.

Never mistake her for foolish;

treat her with respect.

She is forged from fire,

descending from the heavens with a smile in her eyes.

Arms open, dressed in midnight black and molten gold,

aglow with the red of living flame.

A woman of the air

There’s a gentle breeze,

with the sound of the wind whispering.

The sun transitions from dawn to dusk.

Suddenly, a quick breeze brushes past—

Like a deep sigh has been released.

Trees sway in the direction the wind blows.

A woman of the air.

She stands with gentle movements

in the middle of the forest.

Her hands are pushed outwards,

casting away any demonic forces.

She wears a sleeveless halter,

a black and red laced midi dress

with a high-low pleated hem.

The wind begins to pick up speed.

Eyes closed,

she starts to visualize everything around her.

With each sound of the wind,

her answer begins to form.

Her hands shift

from outstretched to a heart gesture—

index fingers touching the base of the thumbs,

thumbs joined with middle and ring fingers,

pinkies extended straight.

After this quick hand transition,

she feels a sudden shift in the wind.

Her heart begins to generate heat.

These visions of love are coming together.

The dating scene had been quite painful.

Her heart—ripped right out of her chest.

The anxiety her heart has endured...

she doesn’t want to feel that pressure anymore.

Will her heart and soul connect her to the right guy?

Will this connection be forever bliss?

And if it comes from afar, how will they meet?

She feels her heart is prepared—

ready for the right guy

to treat her as a queen.

She never wants to endure

that brutal heart pain again.

Will heaven come knocking on her door,

sending her butterflies instead of a dozen roses?

A woman of the air.

She stands with gentle movements

in the middle of the forest.

Her hands transition

from a heart gesture

to prayer hands

as she begins to pray.

The wind listens

to every word

as it flows.

Father of the heavens,

You know what my heart needs and desires.

I come to you in this painful time.

I ask—if it is your will—

for a decent gentleman to come into my life.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

A woman of the air.

Her vision is coveted in her mind—

a missing piece that understands

The true meaning of loving someone.

She prays

that third time’s the charm,

because her heart was left with jagged edges.

Pain embedded deep within,

leaving holes in her heart

because she loved him deeply.

Her heart resembles Swiss cheese—

its beat thudding

as if outside her chest.

She places her hands over it,

streaming tears flowing

down her innocent face.

What has this heart done?

Trying to find the missing clue

to this question…

She stares blankly.

Her mind spins through

all the scenarios of this heartache.

She stands again,

gentle movements

in the middle of the forest.

Her hands shift once more

from heart to prayer.

With her eyes closed,

she begins to pray

while the wind listens

to every word.

Father of the heavens,

You know what my heart needs and desires.

I come to you in this painful time.

I ask—if it is your will—

for a decent gentleman to come into my life.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

A woman of the air.

The wind’s direction grows still

to hear her speak.

Father of the heavens,

You know what my heart needs and desires.

If it's in your will,

guide her heart and show her the answer.

Will her soul connect with the right man?

Will the connection be forever bliss?

If love comes from afar, how will they meet?

The wind blows abruptly.

Leaves sway and spin.

The answer is in stillness—

Her heart needs deep cleansing.

Her heart is still in silent pain,

still holding on.

The process is spiraling.

The wind grows still.

A voice draws close:

Patience, my dear.

The right guy will present himself to you.

Don’t worry about the distance—there is a way.

Love knows no distance. Through love, there is a way.

You speak through a broken heart,

and with a broken heart comes doubt.

You must love yourself more deeply.

You must pace yourself.

Never lean on just one feeling.

Never believe every storyline, like before.

If he is the right one,

His heart piece will fit snug with yours.

A woman of the air.

If he is right,

He will be everything she’s looking for—

because their souls will match.

Always remember:

Love sees no lines,

and true love

will find its way to you.

A woman of the ocean

It's a cool, yet warm breeze,

With the sound of the ocean moving.

Far out in the distance,

You can see the trees sway in the warm wind.

The crisp air flows through,

Causing the ocean to move gracefully.

It radiates beauty, reflecting seven colors:

Multiple shades of white — for innocence, charm, and purity;

Red — for romance and love;

Yellow — for joy;

Orange — for enthusiasm and energy;

Blue — for calmness and loyalty;

Pink — for gentleness and admiration.

A woman of the ocean.

She stands in complete stillness,

Close by the ocean, on warm sand.

She wears a flowing, strapless, sky-blue dress,

With touches of white to represent the clouds.

Absorbing nature silently,

Her eyes closed,

She begins to visualize the world around her.

Her hands are in the position of Tai Chi cloud hand,

Knees slightly bent, facing the ocean.

Suddenly, a quick, painful sigh escapes her

As she begins to perform Tai Chi.

With every vision in her mind,

Tears begin to fall—

And the ocean waves start to rise.

Her vision is a reflection of her past,

A hurtful one—

A life without her father.

She always longed for him.

These are tears of an absent childhood,

Raised by her mother, day in and day out.

These tears must stop.

She silently grows inside painful memories

Too heavy to speak of aloud.

Are these visions truly hers?

Is this her pain she is seeing and feeling?

A woman of the ocean.

Her vision is carved deep within her mind.

The pain of abandonment, of deadbeat fathers.

This pain pours from her soul,

As another sigh escapes.

Her words may stumble when she speaks,

Yet they are fluently written in motion.

One movement at a time,

She lets her pain flow with the water.

One movement at a time,

She lets it drift away with the wind.

She stands,

Facing the ocean,

Allowing all her pain to fade.

What once was dark red is now replaced with peace.

The water’s flow slows to a halt.

The wind’s direction stills.

The only movement—

A gentle flutter of her dress.

This is healing from Mother Earth.