Reflection

Could I breathe in the blessings you have for me?
And exhale the backbiting scrutiny I see?
Could I take in my hands the plans I've made,
write them down on paper,
stretch them on my bed,
sew them together,
and make a quilt I could use to keep comfort forever?
Can I read with illumination the book given from inspiration
Catapult it to revelation,
make it my occupation
to make it my heart's dedication,
Dedicate this life to you who died for me?
I tried running this race on my own,
But my feet got tired and I started walking.
If I came with three heavy bags that had two heavier bags attached,
Would you still carry me?
If I had scars, tears and scrapes,
Invisible to your eye but recognizable to my heart,
Would you still rescue me?
If you knew where I could be found but I was avoiding you,
evading you, ignoring you,
Would you still look for me?
Shout for me?
Scream for me?
Send someone after me?
See,
I've got this overwhelming need for someone to look after me
To avoid history repeating
To keep my feet solid,
My mind in solitary confinement.
See,
Sometimes my reflection doesn't reflect me,
Doesn't feel like the me I see
Need Him to intervene
When doubt and fear try to infiltrate me,
And I don't see the me you see,
trying to get me to wallow in self-pity,
thoughts coming to interrogate me
From being the bigger me,
The beautiful me,
Trying to make me forget His reflection eternally,
shines on me,
Don't need Talib Kweli to remind me of me.
Even with bags that try to hold weight on me,
Scars that try to disable me,
Breath that tries to escape from me,
Tears trying to blind me
From the me you see.
Can the mirror show your reflection in me?

Boxing

A broken connection,
Widening the space between our space
System moving at a snail's pace
Seem like it's a cat and mouse race
And I'm always giving chase
Phone calls coming way too late
and further in between
Changing my strategy in this boxing ring
Body shots starting to sting
Bruised on the inside each time that bell rings
Unlimited rounds of going round and round
That sharp, piercing dreaded sound
Who's the referee?
Is my opponent even in the match with me?
The seed is here,
But she needs food
Sun AND water,
Water AND sun,
Can I subsitute sun with His only begotten son?
Because this is no fun
And this fight's not won
When no one has won
And I'm guilty of throwing cheap shots
So my words can be known as 'forget-me-nots'
Could this fight be declared a draw?
My eyesight is impaired and I can't see clearly
My arms have grown weary
Cramp in my hamstring
Ready for the fat lady to sing
My fluid maneuverability has gotten the best of me
Bobbing and weaving trying to get the best shot...
It doesn't become me
Take the gloves off
My wingspan isn't far-reaching enough
To reach you,
And not bruise her.
So,
Today I'll stop fighting,
No more boxing.

Poetry in Music: Tamia

A Bit of Spoken Word: Shihan

Heart Attack

Slow motion, fast heart,
Palpitations of a broken heart.
I've got broken fragments of my heart scattered across my pillow,
I call to them every night.
As night falls is where my peace comes
For with peace I find God when there's no one.
Slow motion, fast heart,
My heart bleeds for my dreams that have yet to find escape,
Putting pen to pad
Fingers to type,
Visions to inscribe
Hearts to ignite.
Whose says I can't be that one?
Breaking past the opinions of that "someone"
People putting hopes on pause because of that "someone"
Black and white lives lost because "someone" said they'd be no one...
So dumb.
My song is tied in the heart of my mother, grandmother, great-grandmothers
Who prayed as slaves, bodies in unmarked graves,
That song that stifles in my chest,
Burns like the heated fire that I lose sleep over,
No contest.
That same song is the same one that aids my heart to beat over and over,
Still I,
put in on the desk,
Put it aside; punch in my 9 to 5
No late nights, my body needs rest.
Distractions, dramas,
Slow motion, fast heart
Looking up, wondering when's my life gonna start?
But I'll start now
Because they're no time like the present time,
Older but not dead,
Sleep, now I'm awake
My example is at stake.
Trinity's sleeping in her bed
Mommy's up, knocking at that dream bed
Late nights, early mornings
Because forever God speaks to me
Slow motion, fast heart,
Rewind, press Start.

The musings of my heart are beating at a highly irregular beat.
A heart murmur out of the ordinary, can hardly stay in my seat.
That 80 beats per minute guideline
Is undefined in my time,
My heart is racing when it's at rest
Muscles tight, heavy chest.
And then sometimes it's slower than usual
Never want to be too quick to go
Away from the source
That has replaced my fear of failing
For the hunger of sailing
To the top of my potential
Pen to paper is essential.
But my pen is no longer a necessity
I trade it for the typing of my keypad,
stroking so rapidly
Carpel-tunnel in the making.
My hands do the talking for me,
It's seems this is the gift that so burns in me,
Churning in me,
Awaiting the harvest after planting season me,
My hands do the beating for me
Explains why my heartbeat is beating rapidly.
Hand to heart, heart to hand.
God to man,
Here I am.