We are soon to see the doom.


When God is generous,

Man is greedy.


X Equals You

Spend countless time looking in the mirror
Counting the minutes before the image
reflects an unfamiliar yet desired change
When the glass of actuality laughs of your shame.
Feel protected by what is damaging you.
Like thorns from a rose, your hidden insecurities
turn your insides into a bloody scatter
Your intelligence works as though it were sitting
on idle time, watching you speak sleeping words
with not any substance.
Are selfish like mother nature. You go around
advertising your powers, abusing your ability
to take the sun away before one is ready to
embrace the sunset.

Short Poem- I Am The Night Shine

I am the night shine.
Divine wine
Preserved through the day time.
Though life can be sour like limes
I am up and at it, running to get
my next dime.
I am the night shine.
My mind is my temple
Feeding my hunger for more experience
with each year’s climb.
Taking in the good and bad,
Never to whine.

Women In Color, Covered By Fascination: Alice Walker

This is not a fancy shmancy article so forgive my errors, but I question…how it is possible to celebrate ALL that is Black History in one month out of the year? With so many fascinating stories, people, and movements? and it’s not just the slavery, struggle, or fight. It is the people who lived through the stories and have made Black History the very essence of what we should be proud of.   There is nothing more special than spending time getting to know those who have raised their fists in your futures honor. The artists, activists, speakers, and all of the above’s, they should be celebrated.  I have decided to take a few hours out of my day and spend time writing on a different Black individual and their strides. I’ve decided to start off with a Black feminist who wrote a strong story and led a very powerful path for writers and revolutionary women alike.


A name that rings with all intellectuals and followers of history, Black and White. She penned the story of “The Color Purple”, giving a passionate real life view and understanding of the struggles in Black slavery, love, relationships, and abuse to the modern-day individuals who may not have been able to study or learn it from their family members. Before she wrote “The Color Purple”, a Pulitzer prize-winning novel, she began penning poetry, writing her first book of poetry while a senior at Sarah Lawrence. Women like Alice are a goldmine for people like me, those who appreciate the birth and life of real life artists, and have been able to write their name in the sky of history for the world to keep forever. I hope that I can pass a message to promote self-awareness and pride in our future. The stories of the people being pointed out in my 29 stories of Black Stride will surely get anyone interested in doing something powerful to get on their feet.


AKA Alice Malsenior Walker
Born: FEB 9th, 1944
Birthplace: Eatonton, Georgia
Gender: Female
Religion: Buddhist
Race or Ethnicity: Black
Sexual orientation: Bi-Sexual
Nationality: United States
Most Notable Work: The Color Purple

a BB gun accident blinded and scarred her right eye. The experience of this disfigurement profoundly influenced Walker’s life, leading her into a self-imposed isolation that was open only to her thirst for reading and her love of poetry.(Read more: http://www.answers.com/topic/alice-walker#ixzz2AAFqvVb9)

Alice is the author of several literary pieces, with a lot of them being poetry and short stories. Although I have not been able to read them all, I have come across one particular poem that stood out to me titled “Our Martyr”:

Our Martyr

When the people
have won a victory
whether small
or large
do you ever wonder
at that moment
where the martyrs
might be?
They who sacrificed
to bring to life
something unknown
though nonetheless more precious
than their blood.
I like to think of them
hovering over us
wherever we have gathered
to weep and to rejoice;
smiling and laughing,
actually slapping each other’s palms
in glee.
Their blood has dried
and become rose petals.
What you feel brushing your cheek
is not only your tears
but these.
Martyrs never regret
what they have done
having done it.
Amazing too
they never frown.
It is all so mysterious
the way they remain
above us
beside us
within us;
how they beam
a human sunrise
and are so proud.

The thing that stood out the most was her poetry scrap-book from when she was 15 years old, “Poems of a Childhood Poetess”. It reminded me of myself, because I wrote my first poetry book when I was 9 years old!

Alice has so many accomplishments, which include activism for womens rights, anti-war,  countless literary pieces, and SO much more. She is a hero to aspiring writers like myself and I hope that one day I will be able to touch people the way she has done me.

-Keep uplifting Alice! ❤


Relationship With Arts

  • This is I,
  • Your yes person serving every satisfaction under the sun,
  • As I wait with open arms in my kingdom come
  • When trust should be in itty bitty pieces, This is I
  • trusting your unforeseeable betrayals
  • when the proper move would be
  • to pack my shit and run.
  • My index finger holds a flame at the tip
  • Blown out by excitement,
  • I draw a silhouette of naked promises intertwined leg to leg
  • and lips to whispers
  • Hollowed center leaves the unexplainable possibly
  • and you paint in bright colors and passions
  • We make love in artistic fashion
  •  This is a scary space…
  • Will it forever stay in place?
  • This time I am no longer afraid
  • because this is I,
  • and together with imagination
  • I become we, with or without you.

Letter to myself

If you had to write a letter to your previous or present self, what would it say? Do you know? I sure didn’t! And the idea was both creative and comforting. I was told that you really wanted to get an idea of how you feel, you should write a letter addressed to oneself. Here is mine….

Dear Me,

Wow, this is weird. Trying to find the correct words and ways to say something to you without sounding too dark or too negative. I recognize you for who you really are.You hate to be exposed, unclosed because you know the territory with having your heart ajar. People are tricky ones, their faces and eyes can be either deceitful or reprehensibly judged just because you can never tell. I know what happened to you during childhood, the few memories that you do have. The ones that make you feel some type of way, even until this day. I know about the people who have taken your innocence away and the teachers who didn’t believe in you. The kids who called you “crusty” , the ones who have made fun of your African descent, the boys who didn’t want you, and the family members who believed you weren’t good enough for them. I know all about that, I know how it aches you until this day. You don’t really hide it well. You have a crumbling wall, you are strong but for how long? Being at your age, hating love and loving to hate doesn’t make for a “normal” bout of intimacy, which all together is a puzzle. Your twisted heart causes pain to those who give themselves to you, and you interpret this as power of psyche and trust from the other party, only to leave them with a broken spirit. Temporarily of course.  It is because you have a lot of things that you need to let go. You are a shield, protecting yourself and others. You are passionate but indifferent, A confusing oxy-moron in the form of a woman with a contorted confidence. What I would like to know, is how do you expect to move forward if your present is so distorted? Living in motels for the a few years has created an almost destructive form of strength, the kind that has boxed up with the rest of your emotions, that is why your head is throbbing at this very moment. Being unstable is a very scary thing for you, because you know you are alone. Come clean to yourself. You are also very confused about your spirituality, it doesn’t take a lot to break it, It is very weak.  At your age, you are starting to feel the urgency of change. Being sunken underneath repeated layers of mud you will guaranteed to come out very dirty, But the good thing about coming out of the mud is you will then have an opportunity to clean yourself, clean your soul.

If only we could bathe ourselves in the worlds beauty.
Bite into a fruit to clean our souls.
And our eyes could only see what made our insides smile.
If only.



My hands bleed from digging up my remaining pride

you carry me away with confident stride

keeping me at bay, You are an everlasting everything.

I am chaotic peace shaped in the body of a woman who yearns

My heart is the moon, a red moon that burns.

Sprinkled acceptance from you causes me to bow at your feet

I am your servant in true form, your every need I will meet.

I am captured at any distance, is this love? Or simply me accepting defeat?