Tag: writing

angry black woman #1

*Disclaimer* I wrote this before healing. My view still remains the same except, before healing, white people were easy targets. That is not right. It is how I felt.

where is this place with limited space

this demon has rode my back before

how many times will I let it ride

I am getting so tired

do I have to change me

for you to let me be

I am misunderstood

I never thought I would

be here again

thought I had grown above this

I need relief quick

when will I take a stand

get me a plan

and proceed beyond this

time to make choices again

between darkness and your face

I need to stand on faith

believe in myself

why am I required to reinvent me

to be what others want

conforming to their needs

fitting into their plan

molding me to be whatever suits them

I need to eat

but I cannot breathe

with your hands around my neck

choking out anything that doesn’t resemble you

things you’re uncomfortable with

offensive to you

because they make you see your own ugly

get your foot off my back

why are you trying to stomp out the glaring reality

of what you are

you pretend to be a star

but inside you epitomize darkness

take your fingers out of my eyes

you can’t put out my light

or take out my fight to continue to be me

you failed to realize that I am a proud black woman

you thought I was from the school of yes sir massa

whatever you say I will do

you thought my life and livelihood depended on you

I hope now you recognize, that I am not the one

to bow down unto you as if you bring up the sun

couldn’t you tell by the look in my eyes

that I was not going for your lies

I smiled and laughed at your tired ass jokes

because my mama taught me how to be polite

you thought because I worked so hard

much harder than any white

that you could walk on me

use me up and expect me to shut up and put up

now you see what I really am

and your fear makes you retaliate

whether conscious or unconsciously

you think you deserve the best

and then you throw me your scrapes

on, on and on

not this black woman

the breath I breathe and the very life I live

was not a sorry gift from you

I know now you are just too through with me

I am making you get a glimpse of your ugly

and all this time you call yourself white

when your heart full of hateful superior intentions is black as night

because I speak up for myself and still do my work you are confused

you thought I had that slave mentality

when I called you on your racism to your face

told me I was out of place

you obviously do not recognize

that my place is in your face

anytime you flaunt your race as better than mine

it shocked you when I wouldn’t conform

rejected your standard of beauty

and strutted my own

your questions and remarks were ridiculous

do I wash my hair

do you wash your ass is what I should have asked

because it was smelling from all those lies

and pasted on smiles

don’t you get tired

of playing like you smart

are you ever going to get tired

of claiming everything you got

from the sweat and strength of our backs

I worked hard cause that is what is in me

I do not need you to be strong

you saw to that

the survival of the fittest is where I am from

the cream of the crop

top of the line

can’t get no better than this

that is why you are always trying to impress

me with your red burnt tan and curly hair

if I am so bad why are you trying my flair

don’t you see I do not care

how much you try to be like me

cause you will never ever be me

I am from royal blood

my ancestors numbered the stars

your heritage is so weak that you rob others and call it yours

you say columbus discovered america

how can you come into my house and claim it as yours

and then take my people and build it up with our blood

your ancestry is perverted

why are you so shocked that this country is so violent

oooing and ahhing when your children shoot up each other

is not that what you have taught them

when you cannot get others to do what you want

with manipulation and lies, all the time smiling

you kill them

is not that how america was built

not beautiful but profane

still trying to convince us that god

has shed her grace on this mess

where the good at so I can be the first

to crown them with brotherhood

from filthy polluted sea to filthy polluted sea

by mozayik the souls’ poet

1999

Again I write

My body is hating on me today,

But I won’t let pain get in my way.

There is still a lot to say

so, again I write.

Writing is my saving grace.

Without her I would give up running this race.

My lips and tongue betray me.

My eyes mock me, I can’t see,

but, again I write.

Braces on my hands, wraps around my knees,

thunder and lightning cloaked in 100 degrees.

I’ll let nothing stop me, because I believe

I was born to write.

Writing for me is breathing.

Take my paper and my pen,

turn out the lights tie my hands,

In my mind

I write again………

by mozayik the souls’ poet

Fight is my middle name

I’ve fought all my life

Coming here backward after 64 hours of labor

was a glimpse of my fight

I came feet first 

I was born fighting 

There have been times when I didn’t want to fight

But because I am fight

I fought

Again, and again

I fought

I have fought for rights

Fought for love

Fought for and with my words

I have fought for children that nobody wanted

There has been infighting

Out fighting with only two of us

I’ve kicked down doors with my fight

Been speaking my piece to gain peace with my fight

My fight has won tons of progress

I fight for the ones that don’t have any fight

They can count on me to fight

I stopped fighting one day

I tried to keep the fight at bay 

It did not work

God called me to fight

so, I fought again once more

I fought the professor along with the university, 

making them see my invisible disability

I have fought directors, presidents, public officials,

doctors, lawyers, even religious individuals

Shit, I have fought anybody telling me no

Growing up all I saw was fight

Fight to smile

Fight to keep the tears away

Save those tears to fuel the fight another day

I am going to keep on fighting

Fight is my middle name

by mozayik ‘the souls’ poet’

2.21.19

*****Shadows****

I wrote this poem when healing from narcissistic abuse. My therapist asked me the question, “Who was your first narcissist?” This is the epiphany.

I kept marrying my mother

Over and over, I begged her to love me

To hold me, laugh with me, instead of mocking me

She abandoned me and I never knew

When or if I would ever see her again

So over and over I begged her to love me

To hold me and never let me go

I kept marrying my mother over and over

The all behaved just like her

Intently looking for places to dagger me to death

The buildup, the let down

Lying on me so the story sounds

true for those in the neighborhood

I am gifting, finally

My permission to hate who you were

I will take that hate and transmute it to self-love

Accepting

It is not me

My guilt was that I destroyed my children

Because it was so hard to be a mother

When the first time I can remember

she abandoned me when I was three

she called me a murderer to hide her degradation

I was scapegoated while she lied on me continuously

This is why, I keept sacrificing everything

Begging her to love me

the same narcissistic cycle

my brain was programmed that way

narcissists loved bomb me without apology or acknowledgement

of the blood drawn from my soul

I was the best ever

Until they got cold

After that, I wasn’t shit

I just waited until

I was the bomb diggity again

Soon we would be out on display again

Outside the doors life was grand

Within those walls though

Your ass was a (female dog)

3.14.2020.9.50a

Christianity and Abuse

I was torn between being a good Christian and a good citizen.

Wanting to please God but needing to protect myself.

That was the dichotomy of my faith.

“If he wants you the bible says you must stay until he doesn’t.”

My faith was being tested, that is what pastor said.

My question to pastor?

How do you love someone that has left you black and blue?

How do you love the you that allows the abuse?

Mama said shame on you if let them hit you twice,

the first time should be enough.

Mama never talked about the fight or flight into myself.

In my crib I was programmed for trauma bonding.

I became addicted to the rush of chemicals from my own brain

as she participated in the disdain of herself

only to allow it to happen again.

I was wired to repeat the cycle of pain

God forgives

But a price must still be paid for the abuse.

Charges should be brought against all perpetrators.

The pain they cause not only break our hearts,

it leaves a stain upon our image of self.

Now we understand.

We can get some help.

#GirlGetYouSomeHelp

By Zuri Savage

8.8.2021.10.13a

Sweet KARMA

Karma is not a bitch.  Karma is sweet.  Karma is fair. 

She will give you what you deserve.

About your feelings she doesn’t care. 

She will pay you in love.

If that is what you reap. 

Sowing seeds of love and positivity 

will keep you out of the path of Karma’s negative proclivity. 

Karma will be your friend, until you make her your enemy.

Whether you acknowledge her or not

she will bite that ass no doubt.

It is an absolute guarantee. 

See, me and Karma go way back,

to a time when I did not know

or respect

her affect.

 I finally woke up when my love debt was past due. 

I had burned too many bridges,

so, a reckoning with Karma I had to do.

That changed my views. 

Everyone will get what they are due, 

no matter your hue.

Now?

I love every day my very best.

I am reaping love in abundance, cause I let go of judgments.

No more right or wrong.

 I am living the moments of my life’s song.

I have created a life in love for myself. 

Now?

My journey is filled with valley blessings.

I am receiving my wealth in love that Karma has dispensed.

by Mozayik “the souls’ poet” © 61917

I have held on to the idea that I could heal without forgiveness. It is what a therapist told me. I now know, at least for me, healing can be started without forgiveness, but it will not be complete without forgiveness of self.

Forgiving myself has been the hardest. I really thought I had forgiven a lot of people but if I have not truly forgiven myself how could it be true that I have forgiven others?

All month I have been quietly contemplating the things I need to let myself off the hook for. The past is a memory, and the future is imagination. I am learning how to live now.

 I forgive myself for thinking that I could really heal without forgiveness of myself first. I let go of hoping for a different outcome that is insanity and a total impossibility. The guilty seek punishment. I am not guilty. I have punished myself enough.

Now I can really be free of the past. It may appear I have prolonged my healing but all things in due time is what life has taught me. Only now is important. I release myself from the prison of unforgiveness so that the rest of my days on earth are heavenly. Anyway, that is what I wanted to say.

erroneous core belief #1

I had a core belief that I did not deserve to be treated well. Of course, this is an expected response to abandonment, neglect, rape, and abuse. How else was my psyche able to allow this assault on my person, on my innocent soul?

It killed my healthy self-image. Convinced me that, I, the victim deserved this because I was bad and nobody cared. I had been programmed to expect to be traumatized.

I was guilty of not being enough. I was guilty of everything that had ever happened to me. I was guilty of ruining everybody’s life. I was fucking guilty if I did not buy the right toothpaste.

guilty felt normal

grandma said my mother did not want me

so I was guilty of being a burden

guilty of being unwanted

guilty of needing love

guilty of not adequately paying the debt I owed

for  never being enough  no matter how hard I tried

mother said I was crazy cause Mamie j  raised me

after she abandoned me

it was my grandmothers fault for doing

what my mother did not

I was not enough to be kept

I was not enough for her to love me unconditionally

so I kept running into the arms that made me

feel like my mother

so I could one day be enough for her to love me

but just like my mother

they abused and abandoned

they were narcissistic just like she

but that was then

now my boundaries abound

I see the  truth of who I am

I no longer need trauma bonding

my trauma brain synapses are rewired

the holes in my soul are filled with self-love

by mozayik thesoulspoet.com

5.5.2020.1.33p

 

 

 

music is my lover

music is my drug of choice

my constant companion

through all of this terror

it saves me minute by minute from madness

I turn it off , it keeps playing

I get lost in thought,  it keeps swaying

soothing me with lyrics of the last song that wooed me

music touches my soul, my hair follicles, my toes

I start groving and the next thing I know

me and music are rocking and rolling

until I am totally holding

freedom

in the palms of my hands

my fingers keep poping

while I drop it like its hot

before I know it me and music are in love

and we ain’t to proud to show it

music is my lover

my drug of choice

call me a gleeful forever addict

i get high

so i can fly

away on my lyrical horses

above the noises

by mozayik ‘the souls’ poet’

circa 4.2020

I finally killed George.

Healing is amazing. The man that raped me at 5 was named George. Before therapy anytime I heard the name George I would immediately be transported in my mind to him raping me. So I avoided George at all times. If I overheard the name I had to put my armor on. Without even knowing it that name had the power to send me to my bed for days.

Where I work the Fitness Instructor’s name is George. We were in an African performing arts group in the late ’90s together but I knew him by another name then.

I do believe that my steps are divinely ordered.  I believe this situation was tailor-made for me. When I first heard his name I did not run home to my bed. I don’t even think I recognized it as a past trigger.

Because he worked there his name was called out frequently. I would sometimes give George a ride home. On one occasion he asked me to take him to Walmart and then we would go to lunch, his treat. Well, the place “he” had chosen objectified women. I felt uncomfortable because of the staff’s attire. Most people’s bra and panties have more coverage than these young women were wearing.

He started going on about someone he knew really liked asses. I stopped him mid-story and told him that I did not objectify women. After that, I had to set some clear boundaries with George. The women at work say he was testing me. I stopped being chummy with him.

George had a stroke. Every day now his name is called out by people asking how he is doing. I am the person at the front desk. I am usually the one giving an update about his progress.

The George that raped me at five is dead to me now.

I have become desensitized to that name. Flashbacks, nightmares, and hypervigilance caused by George are a thing of the past.

This is what healing feels like.

The George that raped me at 5 was murdered in prison. I don’t know this to be true but my memory is that my Father got the word out that he had raped his little girl and they killed him.

Before therapy, he was still alive for me. I wanted to kill him so badly. I thought that it was unfair that he was dead. I was angry because I could not make him suffer.

As I write this I take deep breaths and release any residual energy still tied to that event in my life. I made it to the promised land of happiness.

Ding Dong George is Dead, Finally.