Touch your toes,
Bend your knees,
And pray for peace.
Touch your toes,
Touch your toes,
Bend your knees,
And pray for peace.
Lies I’ve heard
From the start…
“Not that smart,
Ain’t got heart,
Plays no part,
Slow to start,
Below the chart,
Many of you likely love to brandish your American patriotism in some form, especially on July 4th. Your team spirit declaration may be expressed on hats, headwraps, t-shirts, fingernails, fanny packs or sneakers, just to name a few nationalistic accouterments.
But not so fast, patriot. If the United States flag is printed on any of these accessories or apparel, you may as well as be pledging your allegiance to Al-Qaeda.
Dear Media, I’ve endured your clickbait headlines that mislead. I’ve sorted through your articles that are nothing more than ads. I’ve even suffered your racist code words that are subtle yet effective to perpetuate stereotypes. But what I cannot and will not overlook is your obvious glee to purport images of slain or injured black and brown bodies as if we’re no more than eviscerated roadkill. Please stop.
These dreams, these fiends, these tweens and cut scenes,
Expectations of momentum and necessities of a spleen.
These winter Monday’s in June are reminiscent of a fifth quarter.
Should I slay myself again or ask a bigger God to expand my borders?
These sorrowed nights and broken glass and drafts from underneath,
Give greater cause to perpetuate and strive for more than just to be.
Oh, these falls, these stalls, these empty halls and caterwauls,
Apprehension’s got me hopeful, while my bladder has the gall.
What if Trump lost the 2020 election, but rather than concede the office to his predecessor, he ordered the military to defend his post in the White House. All of his political opposers and those who sought to physically remove him were detained, assaulted, humiliated, raped or murdered. Sounds crazy, right? We’d have a global human rights issue on our hands. Well, it’s not a “what if” nor is it a Netflix movie. It’s happening right now in Sudan.
June 19, 1865, the news was delivered that slavery was over. Hallelujah! Freedom at last! The problem is there was a bit of a delay. Two years, in fact, since President Abraham Lincoln had signed the executive order of the Emancipation Proclamation. Talk about showing up late for the party.
Typically indulging in any type of entertainment — be it music, books, sports or television — is a form of escape. Work, school, bills and the doldrums of the day are temporarily put aside to occupy a different space of thought and experience. Watching an emotionally heavy mini-series about how our justice system failed five teenagers is probably not most people’s idea of a good time.
When They See Us is a four-part Netflix mini-series which chronicles the horrific, true story of the Central Park Five case of 1989 where five teenagers were accused and wrongfully convicted of the rape and assault of a female jogger. The series is presented from the perspective of these boys whose lives were upended by a miscarriage of justice and the viewer is left wondering, “What if all boys were created equal?”
Dearest and beloved, it’s been a matter of busied hours and circumstance for which I have not been able to communicate as succinct as I would have preferred, but inevitable destiny abounds as this transmission reaches you now. Know this. Your existence coupled with your presence means a lot to me. Your availability and support humble me. You mean more than you can know and I’m thankful you are here.
So far this year, eight states have passed bills to limit or criminalize a woman’s right to abortion. At this rate, we’re very quickly headed back to a time when “a woman and a Negro knew their place.”
Remember anticipating Spring and the life it would avail?
The baby birds, innocent words, and how clouds could grow a tail?
Remember the smell of honeysuckle while the earth was dark and moist
And the ice cream truck peddling its wares reminded us we had a choice?
Once upon a time, there was a young boy whose name was… well, let’s see.
To protect the innocent, we’ll address young Kenn discreet and anonymously.
So this shy, young boy who lacked no love, grew up in a loveless town.
Shy though spry with a detailed eye his imagination knew no bounds.
Then teenage years and the furlough of tears and more than his share of rage,
Young Boy departed from Nadine and pristine to work where sin offered wage.
Gravity like lead, could I be dead?
Can’t focus my mind, can’t feel my legs,
Worn down to the wire and way past the treads.
I’m beginning to think I’m whatever they said.
Imagine the sun is shining, the sky is blue and you haven’t a care in the world. Not a single care. What I mean is: you don’t care — about anything. You’re unmotivated, unenthused, restless and easily agitated. If these feelings last for long periods of time, you might very well be depressed.
Dearest daughter of all daughters, beautiful apple of these eyes
It is with much longing that I write you through blurred words and lines.
My transgressions and digressions and diversions are allayed
That you may hurry to me quickly that my heart not lose its way.
Three black churches were set ablaze over the course of 10 days in Louisiana and the charred remains are pretty much the sum total of how much we seem to care.
If you’re solely informed according to what popular media has presented, you’re likely to believe the demise of police brutality and misconduct that was hotly reported in the news a few years ago. Unfortunately, the loved ones of the 2̵3̵2̵ 240 people who have been killed by police thus far in 2019 would dispute that idealistic assumption.
Does a nagging voice of negativity ever just show up uninvited to wreak havoc on your otherwise, healthy mindset to draw doubt as to whether you’re good enough? You are. Enough already! Kick that voice out. Call the cops on it. Fight it. Or do whatever is necessary to stop questioning everything about yourself. I mean, it’s a great attribute to be self-aware, but come on. You’re taking this cognizant thing too far.
We all know fear. It’s that deep and foreboding sense that triggers us to fight, freeze or flee. But fear isn’t all bad. It can actually help dictate the actions we take next. Often, it can nudge us from a space of comfort and complacency that stagnates our growth and progression.
All that you desire is on the other side of fear.
Biblical scripture teaches to ‘love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,’ but what about your frenemies? Isn’t that a little more difficult? Where does any sacred text mention the word? How do you even pronounce it?
Pronounced frin-uh-me, a frenemy is a portmanteau of friend and enemy, like smog is a combination of smoke and fog. Fremenies portray friendship, but their motive is something much more sinister and akin to a rival. They comfortably enjoy the occupation of ally all the while exploiting the very trust that positioned them as close.