Welcome (Spoken Word Piece)

Writing is a form of catharsis; it is a form of healing and expression. Writing  is my happy place. On paper, I can say everything that I can’t express verbally. Through my hands on the keyboard, I am able to bring my thoughts, my feelings, my expressions to life. Through my words I am somewhat allowed to play God. I determine the laughs, the tears, the anger, the sadness; each word that I type invokes an emotion that I provide. Through these words I allow the light that is within me to shine, to heal others.  My words are a truth serum, sprinkling you with a bit of wokeness that cannot be found in any other place. It is through this sacred space that I tell my truths; my truths are often times ugly, painful and hard to swallow. My truths allow room for the real me, and the real me is a flawed, messed up human being. She is not poised or elegant or often times articulate. The person behind the words is a woman who has been hurt, who has seen more than her fair share of pain. I am a cynic, I do not believe that the world is a bright and shiny place; I have little hope in humanity. My words sting with a crassness and a bluntness that is unashamed and unapologetic. I am the glass half empty, I am the unhopeful optimist. My words are painted with an unexplained intelligence and shards of pessimism. Basically, if you’re looking for a blog about lots of happy things, this isn’t the blog for you. Yes, I do write things about hope, but more often than not, I write about things that don’t necessarily have a happily ever after type ending. I write about harsh truths spoken from a place deep within, a place that resonates with cries and pains that only a woman who has walked the same path from darkness to light as I have. In the midst of the raincloud of words that I speak, lay a silver lining of faith and hope that I had to learn  the hard way. In these beautiful and bitter words I type, lies the antidote of how to bounce back after you’ve been to hell and back. I must forward you, I curse in my writings, I say unpopular things; I am the epitome of an angry Black Woman. My words are like poison, they spew out like venom at oppression, stupidity and ignorance and downright bullshit. I am not a lady; I have never professed to be one. I am the woman with the issue of blood, searching for answers, for an absolute truth. I am the other Mary, the one with the tainted reputation, who searches for Christ’s redemptive and unfailing love. I am everything people wish that I wasn’t, but what is inside me cannot lay untold.

So with this well-informed introduction, I say…



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