I affirm that I am on the path to reach my goals. My goals as a writer couldn’t be obtained until I obtained stability. I have shared a ton of personal things about my life here on this blog, and if you’ve been following then you may have seen not only an improvement in my writing skill, but in my ability to go beyond the tone that my blog initially displayed. The appearance and professional accents of my blog stand out a tad more now as well.
I have a poem that I enjoyed writing recently, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it outside of posting onto my personal social media. Because my blog is home to me, it will be shared here first. As I continue my self publishing journey I’m sure that it will be seen again. Very soon. Thank you for viewing.
Here is “Resolution.”
I also realize that I don’t often share information about my latest poetry collection. But now that I know a little more about blogging and settings and links, here is a link to The Girl is Awake on Amazon.
I went to visit my grandmother yesterday and I took a belated birthday gift to her. 74. Amazing. I call her my tree, and she calls me her acorn. I tell you, all my life I have been making clever connections as to why I would be her acorn. I have heard funny stories of her that remind me of my own rebellious nature. I have ticked her off enough to feel her tough love. I have always wondered so much about her: her strength and where it comes from, how she always keeps it real no matter what, and whether I, too will be handed down the ability to not stress the small stuff and continue to take in all good things that maintain gratitude.
My tree, her roots dig deep into the soil.
Within the strength of her branches:
Memories,
Maternal empathy,
Wisdom,
Heartache,
Strength, she has never had any other choice but to be rooted in strength.
My tree,
In her eyes I see many things,
Stories untold,
I see power. I see –
An undeniable appreciation
For life,
I see many nights that she most likely did weep,
But the best of trees stand tall
And don’t let the winds of a storm uproot them.
I
Had a dream last night
That she and I wept together
After she told me her own
Hurts and mistakes of the past, and I thanked her for she had healed me.
And while that conversation need not ever truly take place,
Within that dream, she helped to solidify
Depths
And years
And generations of healing, respect, and understanding.
I will always take pictures of captivating trees wherever I go. But, the most amazing one – well, just take a look:
I have just recently returned to using Instagram as social media was previously one of my biggest triggers. I am affirming my purpose as a writer, and there are always going to be moments of questioning self. Even if it’s just to gauge your message.
I just so happened to join a small group of poets who are immensely talented. Yes, me quirky Jessica trying to be a little more social and confidently goal driven.
(Fun fact, if you don’t know what to say during certain moments and conversations, it may be best to sit still, and every moment isn’t the moment to act. )
This group has been sharing poetry prompts and inspirational chats in a way to keep us all motivated to keep writing during national poetry month.
Disclaimer, I kind of sort of always correlate my hometown with negative experiences, as if there’s not one positive to good ole Winston-Salem, North Carolina.
Any location is what you make it, I’ve learned, because I have run from state to state habitually instead of facing my problems.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a journalist. I wanted to write about social causes and feed my humanitarian spirit. It was just something that I knew since age 11. I always knew I was a writer.
I want to pay homage to this group and to the immense talent that I’ve seen within it. Naturally, after several odd and impulsive regurgitations of blabbering messages and a few moments of “unsending,” I felt the need to revisit the topic of things I love about my hometown. Rather than allow a forced and reckless ego driven spew of “wanna be gangster chick,” or whatever that was… I actually do have some good things to say.
James White , my late paternal grandfather
Stingy old man?
Living in the south but occasionally questioning motives of church offerings
Collections of cars
Rings on each finger
Wads of cash secured by rubber bands.
School bells rings. “I wonder what Papa is driving today.”
It wasn’t so much a flashy one but rather a deeper message:
Work hard.
Seed.
Honor roll.
Award.
Award.
Award.
Papa’s proud.
Seed.
McDonalds. Chicken nuggets. With the dark meat, too.
Sweet & sour sauce.
Dr. Pepper.
Fries.
Better make sure they’re fresh.
Speak up for what you want.
Seed.
Lectures about jail, drugs, boys, but what young teen retains all that!!? Warnings of what takes place at wild parties. Eh, I was already doing the worst.
North Carolina School of the Arts –
Dressing rooms.
Seed.
Beautiful campus, worlds of art.
Seed. Seed.
And then we went from house to house and I saw him cleaning, scrubbing, telling me the value of work ethic.
“Are these all his houses?”
Seed.
Stubborn old man, refusing to walk with a cane.
Save money.
Seed.
But look at what you can instantly get with it!
Shallow absorption.
I joined the Navy, just like him,
But what a wonder it would have been if I simply understood
Why he taught me to hide a little money in my socks, and tell no one about it.
