love day #1: my eternal struggle

>> Saturday, October 2, 2010

this is the poem i wrote and performed oct 1, 10. in a flurry of anxiety, fear, and sadness...pain was there too. i hope you feel what i wrote.

my eternal struggle

there was little girl, born in sun, and pain
birthed from the womb in the midst, hymns, and worshipful melodies
she lived happy, and loved freely,
dedicated like Samuel to the one who created her beauty,
life was grand until...

that one day, that one minute like the happenings of most life shattering things
the roof tore off her house, and just flew away
and she should have gone with it
because her childhood as she knew it was now over
forced to move away from all that kept her safe
she embarked on a journey to the land of promise
she went looking for butterflies and fairytale dragons
leaving her daddy and meeting a farmer on the way.
and at the precious age of 6 she dreamed of conquering the world
and making everyone love her,
but instead she was the one that was conquered
in that bed. in that pink room. under those covers.

kisses, hugs, grownup passionate rubs
too young to be taught otherwise
never feeling confused, because this is what she knew
the sensations seemed right
and when told to shhhhh!
she didn’t mind, because she knew that all little girls played love in the dark

but how could no one see?
how could no one see that she couldn’t even no longer sp...sp...speak

grade one to five this little girl never understood
why other little girls wanted to kiss her...too young to be taught otherwise
she accepted the love she no longer was given in the pink room.
now she was searching, eyes quietly asking ‘why don’t we play love anymore?’
because they didn’t kiss anymore
and they didn’t talk about it was like her death never happened.
life happy, love freely... not anymore

high school...all the boys loved her
wanted to score her, they reached out to touch her,
never the easy one the boys never got the best of her
but she fell in love with one, with a smooth one
who taught her love the right way
he loved her unconditionally and she wanted to marry him
but a confused heart is an unfaithful heart

and that one year at summer church camp
when a boyish she four years younger than her declared ‘i want you to be my girl’
her mouth said no! i don’t swing that way,
because she now knew that way there was hell to pay
but her heart mouthed her consent
and loving her boyfriend, this girl played body games with she
in the back the countrystyle way

all the while struggling to fall in mad love with the one
who knew her most ugly being. after all she was the daughter of his servant
and like a good PK she never even questioned if he had designed it
because she always knew that somehow, she had deserved it.

coming out to her boyfriend one thanksgiving,
a pastors son, hoping he would right her wrongs
and drag her if kicking and screaming towards the light
she made the call...
ring...ring....hello baby, i think i’m bi, and that was lie, because she knew
but he didn’t pray for her, he didn’t stand ainst her pain,
he didn’t rebuke the gain of hell and loss of heaven,
he wronged her when he loved her unconditionally
‘cool guy that’s ok, i’ll love you anyways, but i’ll be devasted if you leave me for a G’

the men she would come to know, never called her nasty
was never disgusted by her, but loved it
and wanted to see it in person after their church service

and then she realized she was alone. left in the dark room
to fend of her demons, she prayed for herself. stood with herself.
kept to herself. fasted by herself. and rebuked the sinternet by herself.
unable to tell her blood bought friends for fear of hugs lacking
genuine love and filled with shallow scriptures and tight with judgement,
fear of steps retreating to her open back, armourless absorbing words
and cold stares‘ i always knew she was like that’

at night i hate that i am that girl
at night curled up in a ball of distress
bawling out my distress in prayers and my most painful sincerety
i think God, you hate that girl too
because i’ve fasted, i’ve prayed, i’ve filled
my time with things of your design
worshipping freely, dancing in your liberty
you love me? but not enough to rid me of my love of she

so i look to paul who tells me to take off the old man like a worn out baby tee
but this tee fits too tight, stuck on my body anchored by this thorn in my side
like the woman with the issue of blood, i’ve been bleeding
i’ve been crawling, but is the crowd to loud
i think so, because i can’t hear my healing
my deliverance has been years late
i want to be 6 again, still in the sun, with my mommy and daddy
living happy and loving freely
deliverance i can’t reach. but deliverance i can achieve
found at the blade, breaking open my wrists
and letting the red redemption drain me

and even if you hate me, even if you ignore my blood stained tears
i will continue you to love you. i will continue to cry out from my infirmity
because it is death to me and you are life, so to live, i will die.
even if that means to pluck out my eyes to see only you, i will
because you are altogether lovely, althoghter worthy, altogether wonderful to me
and in this death, i will once again see heaven the way i did when i was 6
free from my love of she.

i’ve since forgiven the girl in the pink room, though we are family
only a few years older than me, i understand she was searching
for her love too. and though i am still broken, this new man will hold me together.
and one day it will be like that first death never happened.
live happy, love freely, i will once again. oct 1, 10


Da_Kween Sunday, October 03, 2010  

I held it together emotionally...until I saw your pic. I can see why this was scary to do. I too, know this kind of pain. I think this is the first time I "speak" it to anyone. Somehow, I knew this challenge would be emotional.

Prayers for you. My love for you (too big for this box). I heart your heart. That is what comes to mind to say. My little Brave Face :)

Reneecrooks Monday, October 04, 2010  

I don't want to muddy this with my words. I just want to say thank you and everything in me feels saturated after reading this work. The pic. . .

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