Saturday, October 24, 2015

What is it for that You bless my barren land? by Matasha Y. Lee

This land is barren, unfruitful,
cast it away!
there is something buried in the corpses that can live.
The dry bones can breathe again.
Breathe, do you not see the carcases scattered,
the flesh has left its home
and returned to dust?
You bother to waist your time
on what cannot give life into this world.
Cast it away,
we must carry on,
time is ticking.
No, I will not give up on this land.
I've seen flowers grow in dark places
Water run in dry places,
through the belly of a rock
I gave drink to the thirsty/
You see drought,
but I see potential.
I see growth.
In My wings will I cover this land
and soon it will birth life,
the people will rejoice at the miracle performed
for opening the wound of the childless.
Releasing the pain of the broken hearted one.
Sheltering the homeless from another sleepless night.
I will rescue My people,
the forgotten ones.
The ones who sowed in a barren land.

Death's Residue by Matasha Lee

Where is your sting death?
Where is it?
You were suppose to take me out,
On an assignment to defeat me,
you watched my last breathes as you examined my chest lose its motion,
but you couldn't keep me from choosing life.
You couldn't keep me from being free.
You tried and you almost succeeded.
You wanted to control me.
You wanted me to be buried beneath the stars and the sun that provide light.
You wanted my voice to be silent
where no one could hear my scream.
You tried,
but I'm still here.
hahaha, yes,
I'm still here,
stronger than ever,
braver than ever,
What are you going to do death?
What are you going to do?
Don't you get that?
Don't you know that no matter what you throw at me
I succeed, Victoriously!

I am the residue from death's collapse.
Sticky mess from what is left of me.
Shattered pieces upon the floor.
In the pits of trail I laid crying out for help
begging for life to rescue me from your daggers that pierced my side with no mercy.
You showed no mercy
so I spare no laughter
While you think I succumb to your violence,
I have risen like a Falcon,
unashamed of the residue left behind me
sticking a sword in your back
to show others what a warrior
I Am!

Sunday, October 4, 2015

Late Night Inspiration featuring Goapele

This song will touch your heart if you are still pushing for your dreams to manifest this year.
I don't care if the clock is ticking. It is still 2015 and I'm not leaving without my miraculous breakthrough and blessings.


One more push (crime fiction) pt. 3

She lay on the cold floor from hitting each step on her way down. Blood covered her and a Band-Aid couldn't protect this blood from leaking. Each spill of it stained her carpet. Her walls where no longer white. Her body laid helpless. The floor washed over with red and bruises began to join the fiasco.

She laid with no hope, her breathe kept leaving her lips, and she grasped to remain controlled while her life slipped. She had never felt lead pierce within her skin to dine with her flesh and then leave to discover more of her body parts daring to leave her without her last breath. She never smelled the smell of the smoke from the rush of shots rushing to her body with no warning to stop and turn the other way. The gun, once pressed, had no apologies, did not stick around for empathy and didn't care who it effected once it left its chambers. She had visible holes that mysteriously didn't reveal that she wasn't whole and complete.

She laid believing that this is it so she had no need to scream to release a vibration for a cry for help. She probably would have cried out if the murderer would have given her a chance by leaving the door open for someone to pick up on the signal, no, she shut the door behind her, taking her time not to be afraid of what she had done. She had laid her burdens of weight upon her victim to walk away beaming in her victory with the opportunity to see the sun that reminded all that a new day had come.

She left her hopeless because the moon lit the sky but she laid by no window to receive its light to let her know that she can get back up again. She laid by the shut doors that she frequently knew. She laid with her own soul that wouldn't let her go and fear stood over ready to show its ugly face, but this time she dared not close her eyes, one more tear needed to escape, and when it did, she took her last breath and cried no more.

As she lay within her thoughts that looked like purgatory, she witnessed a small voice minister unto her and said, "One more push." She would not listen to the hypocrisy that came along after she had given her last wave of the white flag. She dared to argue, "Where were you before my eyes witnessed an unapologetic stranger with no reason why to take my life?" Where were you, huh," her anger still living with her mind serving her with doubt as the voice dared not give up on the child that He knew possessed a great future, "One more push." "I can't," she said as doubt held her hand and sadness laid over her body sinking into the open wounds. "You can and you will."

Her eyes immediately shot open and the light left in the room caught her eye and the cries where released out of her voice, and the strength that remained pressed her to press through as she scooted her body across the floor as she began to feel every pain her body offered and she saw her phone lay next to Vogue and with all her might she reached for her promised land, dialed a 9 then a 1, and another 1 to follow and as soon as she heard a voice she cried with a loud roar, "HELP!"

One more push (crime fiction) Pt. 2

She couldn't leave the smell of the perfume scents featured within the pages that gave her a breath of fresh air each time she would allow herself to witness its beauty, but her belly really wouldn't keep quiet for her to remain indulged in her one acceptance into the world she craved to be in. She had to go and prepare her something to eat.

She slowly placed her magazine down and dared to keep blind to her sight, but she was needing her daily fix into her reality. She felt as if the clocked ticked louder there and she was married to routine that beat her whenever it had its chance. Routine had its way with her, and the only time she could be free is by being still.

She entered her kitchen, and stared at the legs that stared back at her, and she asked herself, "Boiled or baked, fried or sautéed, hmm." So many choices that she had tasted all before. She could feel herself wanting to skip dinner and stay within the editorial skies of zero limits and to discover something new, even though she opened, carefully, don't let it get old pages of her drug of choice.

Her vegetables she had witnessed before. The same colors and textures fought for her attention. She dared to say not today, but she lacked the ingredients to try something new. "Okay, I can do this," she said. She thought that this time she would have to endure the fist of routine again but what it didn't know that she was numb to the chaos, and a true change was about to occur.

She cleaned her dishes and took in the scent of bleach and her hands endured the pain of hot water, but she actually enjoyed the stains being removed so fast that she welcomed the injury of the burns. She had her pots boiling with water and she sliced the cabbage and prepared the olive oil to go in after she placed in the cabbage. She decided to bake her chicken today and place bar-b-que on it, sweet honey. She cleaned the 20 day old pan that sat within the refrigerator that she kept putting off till she couldn't take not fixing a golden batch of cornbread and wheat bread just will not do when the cabbage is ready to be eaten. "Ouch," she said. The knife had moved across her flesh and she saw red. The blood was leaving what once covered it and she needed to aid her pain.

As she searched within her medicine cabinet for an antibiotic and Band-Aid, she heard her front door shut. "Hello, is anyone there," she wasn't expecting anyone? "Shoot," but she did forget to lock her door. She walked out of her room to enter back unto the stairs to go into her kitchen, but she couldn't past her second step before her eyes met a stranger who masked herself and wore all black. She lost all words as she stared at a gun pointing towards her. Her body froze and her voice abandoned her. She heard the first shot, but didn't remain awake to witness anymore.

America's Next Top Model


One more push-Short Story (crime fiction) Pt. 1

She sat reading the pages of Vogue, scanning through images that had no words.

She took in every scent upon the crisp new pages as she embraced the clear colors of a new adventure into the life and style of what could be, but she dare not leave the fashion bible without inspiration to help her improve her wardrobe and to learn what new styles could work together as her intelligent eyes went lurking throughout the images beaming on the next possibility of trends she will sat.

She had come to love fashion when all she owned was a Barbie-sketch toy that her mother purchased at a garage sale. It had become her world and she couldn't imagine leaving fashion to entertain the notion of even being a mom. She kept her secret passion hidden within the walls of her mind and she made sure she protected her dream from the destruction of her childhood that cling to destroy her before she reached her rebellious teens.

She did not sit with coffee, but since the leaves were transforming but the sun still song a morning tune and shined with the sting of the day, her choice of drink was still the soul of summer: lemonade. She had just learned to make a batch of its sweet goodness and couldn't imagine why she had never chosen to drink from her own creativity once before, but she didn't dwell on her past choices instead she took in her moment alone and stayed refresh with her meditative state of witnessing who got their spread and what talents they possessed to keep her intrigued without uttering a word.

It seemed as if nothing could be bothering her. Her life viewed as the perfect set-up for happiness and a well-balanced life but she did not read Vogue for enjoyment, instead it was her escape from the madness that her life had brought her too. She would go deep into the pages that she would envision herself into an entire new world where everything for her was the way she saw herself, but as she continued to flip each page and dine in with culinary tastes that may show up from time to time, her belly sat rumbling and she wondered what meal would satisfy her taste buds that longed to travel to far countries just to witness an experience upon her tongue. Chicken seemed to be the cheapest meal to prepare and she was not able to afford anything else, and she was running out of ways to taste its white and dark meat.

She not only had to face the pain of being hungry and eating just couldn't satisfy her need for change, she also just shed miles of tears from having to lay her pride down and face the reality that she just wasn't where she desired to be. Even the remembrance of her having to ask her mother or father for a dime to escape another month of bills being due let a tear slip every time. She wanted to be in her vision, reality stole her joy, and she knew she had to visit when clocks struck before 5pm, and the calendar would change the date to the first. She was often reminded that she wasn't there yet, and each time she tried to lift upon her feet it seemed as if she was being knocked back down.

Fear sat next to her as she read, but she dared not look over to it because she knew it had nothing new to share and if it did she didn't want to see it. The magazine could not cover her enough without her glimpsing to the interior room she had to call her living space as only pictures sat on her wall of what she wanted her life to be. The stray jacket lay awake for her arrival but she just couldn't take the notion of losing her mind. Her will power cling to her heart and soul, and deep down inside she really wanted to be alright and witness the other side of life. Could she one day rise to not sink again?

from Oracle Fox