I’m getting better at the blogging lifestyle and letting vulnerability coax me away from fear.
I am stubborn when it hurts me most.
If pride is the devil then he surely taunts my humility.
But I don’t always know the difference between confidence and arrogance
So I tend to filter myself a bit – I guess I, too wear a mask
I don’t know whose lens I am seen through, and if perception of self is most pivotal – well then.
Shape shifting and blending in I felt once protected me.
But now I see the internal aftermath.
*** For those who enjoy my posts: thank you. I really enjoy the different voices and talents that I read and interact with here. I have made many strides and improvements to my blog, please do consider checking it out. Many of you have been consistent with this for years and it’s just very refreshing to receive inspiration and feedback. I value this community and it keeps a fire lit in my spirit.
If you would like to connect across platforms, please see my links below.
I previously shared some really good pieces that I wrote using poetry prompts from other talented writers, poets, and creators on Instagram. Here are just a few more that I meant to share. Thanks for viewing!
Please see the link at the bottom of this post to go to my previous post of National Poetry Month pieces.
(Please pardon if any of these shared are repeats.)
Here is the link to follow to read my previous post from National Poetry Month:
Sometimes I feel that people choose not to heal because they reach a point where they see no purpose in doing so . Although being trauma bound and stuck in victim mentality can be tricky to escape from, it is more difficult to consistently step out of it.
Personal Reflection:
Starting a healing journey will not lead to the arrest of your childhood abusers. It does not make toxic people in your life see the light. It does not guarantee any apologies. It does not make family look back and go, “Hmm. That’s why he or she is that way.”
Unless you’re a notable member of society with high status and a wonderful reputation or a ton of money, many people of society don’t care what happened to you. Many people do care, but it’s quite often not the people you’d like to care most. And there are times when those we want to care actually do care, but they may feel powerless as to how to address the taboo topic. They also may be simply trying to keep themselves balanced and may not have the capacity.
My point:
And that’s okay. That’s why we create safe places for ourselves. I have been in therapy for over 10 years. And while I often long to shout things from mountaintops in hopes that my recurring nightmares dissipate, I would much rather be driven by the dreams that I enjoy. The dreams that are leading me to my destiny. My soul’s purpose. Besides, I have a fear of heights.
Some secrets pass away with us. And while I was so close to something by sharing my own secrets, I now realize that I don’t have to. I just needed to forgive myself for my own role in my suffering. And let go.
I got to this point of acceptance: that even though my feelings are valid, it holds no true value to my growth to make a long list of who done what when and why, nor is it acceptable to use that list as an excuse for all the wrong that I have done to others and myself.
The only thing standing in my way at this point is me. And from this day forward, I am going to write my way into the future that I have dreamed of my entire life.
And I’m going to do it right here on this blog.
You may find me floating around on social media, posting many cool and seemingly odd things, but I refuse to stop writing. Thank you for viewing, and please do share any parts of this blog or any of my social media posts with whomever you desire.
Facebook: (New Page) Jusjess Poetry page (@jusjesspoetry)
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.
