Look at the skyline of my city

Buildings stand tall and lights so pretty

But you can never imagine it so gritty

Hustlers and pimps use words so witty

Sheisters take oh yeah they did me



And then it goes on and on as my poems tend to. Or my blogs. Verbose and wordy is what spending a life of reading more books than talking to people gets you.

I lived my life as a sidekick before I unleashed my inner super hero.

I wanted to get mad right before the new year, seeing the fur coats of the person whose son robbed me of mine and the rest of my material belongings but I just walked away. Oh well. One day I’ll wear fur again maybe I won’t want to by then.

The sheisters.

I kept shutting down the friend of my married ex who lied to me for a year not telling me he was married until the day before my mother’s funeral. So I lost my momma and best friend all in a short span of time. He’s so remorseful the friend says. Well I don’t want to hear it anymore. Just because you forgive people don’t mean they have to stay in your life. Judas never did get back to Jesus in life. And he was remorseful enough to take the money back to where he got it.

Hustlers and pimps with witty words. Lies.

Being dragged through the hood by the girlfriend of the one man I expected to hold me down like I held him down. Charges. Pressed? Is this the county jail I’m walking through? A day After the melee? My nursing baby had to drink formula for my overnight stay away.

The gritty city.

Three years ago i thought I lost my family, friends, life, man. Not to mention the degree I was pursuing. In the school that paid me a good stipend every summer I did research, and during the semesters.

Researching. Information.

I should’ve done my research on the people who got over on me.

It was my fault.

But there is no blame. Just accountability.

But those first lines. I wrote the vision. I made it plain. And God gave me. An apartment with a view of my city.

And then I did. After the eviction from my apartment three years ago a couple of months before I wrote the poem I went to the shelter and met a lady. She and her son told me some things. His message was that he saw us on the stage at our church. I couldn’t imagine how and what for. I knew it had to be part of the dance ministry.

I spent hours in the club, juking, twerking, popping, laughing, dutty whining, west Indian whine gyal whine, taking the attention from those who post up and be cute. People love people who living and having fun. And if I was out I was dancing and having fun!

That’s it right God?

He had another plan. Sing these songs . so i wrote a few. Can’t be verbose in writing poetry and not make a few verses hooks and choruses.

And then I went into the studio. And then I said forget that. My voice is too weak from packs of Newport’s 100 I smoke almost daily.

But before I forgot about it I sang for a childhood friend. The same man who used to ride my back as a baby, terrorize me with all his pets as a child, tease me and call me radiation and radon. Then as adults got high in bathrooms together, listening to Lil Wayne while sipping lean together, even stayed in the same place together scrounging pennies to get turkey rolls and rice making gravy together. Playing Soul Calibur together. And only ever being homies. His words. “You’re like a boy with boobs, Rae.”

But this man had never heard me sing.

And he said he couldnt believe I had been hiding my voice all my life.

I had been hiding me all my life. My poetry, my voice, my personality. I settled for a quiet existence only coming out my shell for the people who knew me.

Or the dance floor with a little liquor in my system.

But last year. I sang songs for God. Still in the background. Did a spoken word piece for my church’s thanksgiving service. I put all the substances away and learned to get high in the presence of God under His wings. And had more female friends putting tomboy behavior on the back burner.

I’m just saying, I stepped out my comfort zone.

Fighting the good fight like a good soldier. But my memories are like my battle scars. It would take a trilogy to tell all the tales of what I’ve overcome.

Lord give me the strength to finish what I’ve started. I love my quiet existence. Turn up every once and a while. But quietly learning and researching.

So today I got a purple heart. Remember I said yesterday I was going to be high under Gods wings. And I got a purple heart with wings reminding me to stay covered under his wings. But I did my research on purple hearts.

Purple hearts are awarded to those in the military who are wounded in battle. Every scar that was designed to debilitate me. Wounded me. Hurt me. And here I am being reminded in prayer this morning, that I didn’t lose anything. And my purple heart in recognition for my wounds. And to stay under Gods wings.


Again, no stooping like a pigeon. I have almost forgotten these things only remembering when I write as a testimony of what God is able to pull someone from!

Now I soar. I used to say like an eagle. But now I want to soar like a hawk. With keen vision. Like spiritual eyes to see the things I’ve been missing all my life. With a broad wing span able to expand so much. Like my thoughts, and abilities.

There have been so many blessings for me stepping out my comfort zone.

What will you get for stepping out of yours?


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