near the crowd in town,
kites fly in the sky
pulled by calloused hands
and worried hearts…
she found her love
standing, an onlooker of
things not yet
to come.
there, within the crowd,
she lost herself.
he found
her.
Category: Art
I Mother No One
For Mothers Lost, Mothers Yet Still Mothering, and Mothers Who Mother Others
It is Mother’s Day and I am outside walking the dog, listening to the sounds of the closest highway, hearing them, there is nothing that I can say that I have not already said about this day. But, I will say what I can. Mothers, you have a gift. You were given the knowledge to raise and keep up with little versions of you. How tiresome that must be on a daily basis. How incredible the strength must be to last for days on end. Knowing that you would be someone that someone else would look up to is a pressure and a weight that I cannot even bear.
Mothers, I appreciate you.
As I walk the hills of my apartment complex, I envision the days that my mother and I had our outs. But, we survived and are surviving. I am grateful for the chance to say that we moved through a tumultuous time and we are rising to the top. It is 2019, and I have entered my 39th year, and I still mother no one in the actual defining terms of a mother — one who gives birth to someone. But, I did mother. I do Mother. I am mothering younger versions of me, my cousins, and others and I get to see what this life could have been, but only part-time. And that is best for me. The older I get, the more I know this to be true.
Part-time mothering of others is significantly different from Full-time mothering of your own.
On this day, I wish you peace, love, light, a home-cooked meal that does not come from your hands and toil in the kitchen, and the overwhelmingly powerful gift of appreciation. You deserve it. If you are mothering the way you should — you deserve it. If your children can say positively that you are their mother and they say it proudly — you deserve it. If you have given your all, including everything left after it — you deserve it. If you messed up, lost track, received help, and are on your way to the betterment of both you and your children — you deserve it.
I wish I could make each and every one of you smile, offer a hug, a kind word on more than just one day of this year, but here are a few…
For those of you yet still mothering, those who mother others, those who are growing from the pain of not being mothered, and all others who fall in the category of mothering and the mothered…
We are sending you a heartfelt Happy Mother’s Day.
I loved a woman once…
And, I thought that perhaps, she loved me too. We find out the strangest things when we confess–when we reveal our feelings to others. What seemed to be a connection built from words and learning the backgrounds of our lives’ pasts was just… two people sharing a oneness and the similarities that surrounded us were not meant to be taken and held up to a promising light. There would be no romance, no spinning of the times, no eruptions of heart-throbbing, pulsing love-making, and nothing else that would classify in the realm of labels, a relationship.
Communication, I was always told, is key and when I communicated to her my feelings, that proved to be my doom. It was not the only time, for I am a knower of rejection. It has laid up with me, it sometimes has a home when I do not seek its company. Yes, it was not the only time, but it was the last and it hurt like hell. I still see her in my dreams, hear her voice, know her words. When you love a Writer, you know that they have the power to build you up or tear you down, and they do not do it as a courtesy to you, in your face, it comes in their work. And you, being a Writer yourself, you do it too.
I loved a woman once…
And, she taught me that it is not always best to share one’s feelings, that the tides have various shifts and changes and if you are not careful, you will be swept up with the seashells and gritty sand. I do not know what it is like to turn off my heart. I wish I did. There are days where I wish I did not know her voice, did not know how common words such as “caress” and “safety” sounded as they rolled away from her tongue. We take things along with us from the hurt places. Unknowingly, sometimes we keep them and when they see fit, they raise up at the wrong moment, reminding you of just how sharp that pain was.
I loved a woman once…
And I have written fifteen poems about her, only sharing two of them when asked, and reminded of just how close I am to dying an early death in the game of love. She would have no remorse, and why should she? The line had been drawn and I watch where it lies, mindful not to cross it. What have I learned? That the heart wants what it wants yet the mind has to remind it that sometimes, it cannot have what it wants… And sometimes, without its knowledge, it is for the best.
I loved a woman once…
And she loved me enough to not love me back.
Featured Writer for May
He is a recently added contributor to A Cornered Gurl via Medium and as far as I can tell, he uses his words wisely. Innovative and unique, Roy brings something to the publication that I am quite happy to see. Of African descent, he weaves a bit of his culture into his words as well and learning bits and pieces about his world is intriguing and knowledgable too. His poem, Mrs. Middle Lane struck me as incredibly sound, well-written, and a mind-bender. It is worth every second of the readers’ eyes. And now, the feature:
Mrs. Middle Lane
Somewhere between left and right,
there’s space for her.
Perhaps just a thin line of imbalance,
but that’s fine; she maintains her stand.
She’s neither black nor white.
Not that she’s confused. Wisdom indeed sits in her matter.
She wears neutrality to blend with every colour,
yet her tones never match any other’s.
She’s grey. She’s singular.
She doesn’t have your back, she doesn’t stab it.
She won’t turn you on, she won’t turn you down either.
She understands you, but doesn’t stand with you.
She won’t bring you down, she won’t raise you up.
She runs in between.
Sometimes there is only so much she can care about.
Sometimes she chooses to not choose.
She sees you on one side, your opponent on the other.
She sees where everyone is coming from.
But she would follow no one to where they’re leading.
She doesn’t take sides, she’s faithful to Middle.
She’s Mrs. Middle Lane.
Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.
gathering peace
Lune, 2 Parts
thankful for sweet peace
and new love
of fresh mountain air
I have a new goal
settle there
one day very soon
Catching The Sun
Haiku, 3 Parts
caught the sun today —
placed it on a pedestal
and watched it burn bright
perfect clouds hovered,
waiting for their chance to shine —
sun would not bow down.
clouds questioned the sun,
“when will your reign be over?”
sun did not respond.
Originally published in Intimately Intricate on Medium
A Cornered Gurl 
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