When I started this blog many years ago I had this idea that to engage people I had to make my blog like everyone else’s. Scheduled posts with updated pop-culture tidbits and such.
I admit, that was like sitting down and doing calculus. I hate calculus. It’s theoretical math. And reading back over some of my older posts I can feel the resistance in my writing.
My old blog over in bloggerland (Poetically Wyld) was full of me, raw emotion and poetic sensibilities, while figuring out this thing called life. This figuring out part sucks. It’s like driving to a new part of town and the GPS is broken. Yet, more adventures and more interesting experiences are had by not knowing where you are going even as scary as being lost is.
So, I’ve decided that I am returning to my old blogger ways. You’ll be getting more – well, Me. More relaxed and unfiltered stories and I hope you enjoy them. I am beginning the close of my 30s and preparing to enter my 40s and I don’t want to drag any old, unproductive energy into my new decade with me.
I’ve spent the last two decades trying to get this whole love thing down and so far I have been very unlucky. I’m not happy about it but I’m not dead yet either so that’s a win. It’s been suggested I try Match.com but I’m a skeptic at this point. So if you have any suggestions for meeting new people I am open to listen. Until next time…
– Why Yet
I found one of my notebooks in my desk at work today (I have several notebooks stashed in various locations at home and at work). Looking through that notebook I discovered some of my poems that were written about six months ago.
Talk about surprise. I am caught off guard sometimes when I re-read my work because the intensity of my poetry is amazing. But alas, it is my poetry, right? This one particular poem, Imperfection Perfection, is one of those poems…
Staring at my reflection
at the results of bearing life
stretch marks gracefully swim
across my abdomen in waves
of caramel kisses.
The low slope of my breasts
reflect the nourishment
I provide for all who came forth
from my body.
My body is imperfectly perfect
in it’s own way
loving me as I love it…
– Why Yet 11/29/16
Memory overload. I need to dump some of these mental files I am storing. Forgot that National Sibling Day was yesterday. Was reminded that Easter is this upcoming Sunday. Today is only Tuesday.
Okay, I had to let that out.
My children get along and enjoy each other’s company (for the most part). Well enough that I have pictures of them together. So here is my tribute to National Sibling Day…
I just finished reading Mini Habits For Resilience by Tom Meitner on my way to my day job. He breaks down little ways we can develop a stronger resilience in our daily lives. I came across Tom’s book accidentally while searching for free books I could download for my children. (In case you are new to reading my words I am a word nerd, book nerd, however you’d like to describe it – I love books).
In life we tend to be harder on ourselves than anyone else, especially when we fail to reach a goal we’ve set for ourselves. This book shed light on the truth of how set backs can effect our view of ourselves and our abilities. Tom also offered ways to build resilience so setbacks aren’t as devastating to our sense of ability and accomplishment.
I think everyone should read at least one self-help book a year to improve in an area of life you may feel needs sprucing up…
Too many times I have encountered individuals who behave as though only they have a right to exist on this planet. As big as this rock is… really? I can’t say I’m surprised with 45 fueling the flames. But I was inspired by the words I’ve been reading on here tonight. I wrote this poem, Black Without Apology, as an in your face call out to those who are closed-minded about anyone who is different:
Does my skin offend you?
Has my DNA mocked you?
Has my resilience taunted your very existence, pushing you to hate me?
Does my intelligence frighten
the very idea of your
subsistence on the degradation of my genetic make-up?
I guess nightmares and dreamscapes of terror
encourage you to intake artificial courage
to defile the image of my being
solely because you can’t bear
your child-mind of feeling inferior,
that gestating seed of uncertainty
that gnaws at your immorality
while you justify your (lack of) humanity
to your brotherhood of nonsensical brethren…
But I digress…
Your inability to come to terms with your ideas of the world
belong to YOU.
I am my melanated self because I am
and always will be
Black without apology.
– Why Yet 4/3/17
Poetry month has returned again. I always find myself enthralled reading other’s words and feeling surprise at someone being enthralled by my own.
Don’t misunderstand me. I LOVE my works. My poetry is my therapy – therefore it is very personal and raw for me. Which makes me shy and proud to share it.
The first poem I remember having to memorize was Langston Hughes’ A Dream Deferred. I didn’t understand that poem at the age of ten but it stirred something in me. That quiet stirring continued until I read Maya Angelou’s Phenomenal Woman.
Maya Angelou’s passion ignited the stirring in me and I began to slowly release my words onto paper. Not ever did I think, “I’m going to publish these poems and sell books.” But here I am, poetry collection published, writing more for another collection and pondering what to do next.
But every April for thirty solid days I am reminded, by myself and other poetry friends acquired over the years, that all poetry has beauty in it and speaks to someone somewhere.
Poetry is appreciation of life in the raw. Simple. Elegant. Rough. Raw. Love. Hurt. Deppressed. Happy. Excited. Sad. Mournful. Erotic. You get where I’m going with this.
Should you be a poet or know poets, show them some love this month. Read, share and/or review some of their work. Let them know their words mean something to you. In the meantime, I’ll keep writing and expressing my emotional transitions for all who choose to enjoy them!
I was chatting with some online writer friends the other day and the topic of branding came up. I read the commentary in silence because I understand it is necessary – I just hadn’t figured out what my ‘brand’ is… yet.
Basically, what I took away from that conversation is that your ‘brand’ is your message. What message do you want to relay to your client/customer/follower/audience base? How do you want your base to perceive you? These questions helped me further understand what a brand is and why it is critical to any endeaver you engage in. How people perceive you determines how they interact with you.
Fair enough. That got me to thinking about what message I want to project. I immediately thought of my favorite t-shirt with the saying, “I’m A Hopeless Romantic With A Dirty Mind”. That t-shirt describes me perfectly! That’s why I love it so much.
That’s when it hit me! That’s my brand all the way down to my poetry. I’m a hopeless romantic with a dirty mind. And with that, a new poem surfaced that I had to scribble down on my way to my day job this morning:
Fantasizing about you
brushing my hair away from my face
with fingertips that set fire to my soul.
A flamed blush
coursing through my veins
as thoughts quickly skate
south of the border of your waistband,
mentally encouraging this inferno inside
to become contagious
and catch you like a whirlwind
of Caribbean heat…
– Why Yet 3/16/17