She hangs on
Like a broken clip dangling on her split ends of brittle hair
Thirsty and dry for revitalization
Her sandy scalp parallel to the filth that fills her temple
Each scratch in her scalp is like each one of her unfulfilled dreams
That never satisfies her craving to be soothed by the feeling of relief
And release. Just dirty nails.
So she hangs on.
To the thoughts of aloe, cocoa, jojoba, and shea butter
That are so heavily advertised in her sight
But richly out of her reach.
And the only thing she can think about is
How can she bleach away all her dryness.
Because of dry hair and down there, lies no form of moisture
Only solid thick painful frictions of rippled fractions
of passive rape and subconscious, unwanted touches
from her hair on her head to down there.
From her angry nails to his—down there.
And there in her despair she realizes the impossibility
of covering up,
Such fragileness with shades of chemical boldness
That can never give her satisfaction and neither the scratches
From her angry broken nails that are painful as his—
And there in her despair she realizes the impossibilities
Of an instrument made to reproduce, that can’t ever
Give her aloe, cocoa, jojoba and shea butter
For it is far too disconnected from it’s soul to be free.
So she hangs on
To each entrance of his that penetrates her walls
Like each itch that seems to never rectify her drought.
But to leave her mind paranoid from late night
phone calls and texts and long hours away from her
that he gives her – and the only thing her mind can grasp
is he’s sleeping…spiritually, mentally and physically sleeping around.
Leaving her haunted by the possibility of why her up-scalp
And down-temple feels so irritated and…itchy.
The only thing her mind can grasp is how two bodies in one room
Don’t necessarily equal one but how it feels like only one for
Loneliness eats at her like gangrene.
She hangs on to the no amount hugs and no amount of kisses will do
That leave her short and baritone low. That leaves her with
An empty well that once overflowed. That now leaves her penniless
When once she through away copper to the ground.
But she hangs on to the memories of her abandoned cents (sense)
Grasping the personifying and empathetic illusion
that those coins were probably alone but they’re probably
better off than she is, joining others in time to make a dollar
out 15 cents.
But she hangs on
Hoping that each masculine encounter will bring
her to some euphoric ecstasy without taking ecstasy
just taking sips of death and giving her soul
only to hope to fulfill emptiness.
But emptiness cannot beget emptiness
Like brokenness cannot repair brokenness
For he is as shallow as shattered glass
Broken in a pool of blood and he takes her hand
And guides her to walk with her, bare feet
Onto shards of glass so small, she didn’t even know it hurt
And what’s even worse – is that he hates blood.
But he would rather her shed hers and walk upon it
Just so that he can hold on to her sacrifice of true love
And walk cut, bloody and blinded.
This she will remember as her commitment to him.
As such deep mockery of the One who truly loves her
To the point of even shedding His blood. His Father who sent Him.
So she hangs on
To the miscarriage of God’s word
Hoping that there will be another day to conceive His word
So she hangs on
To the possibility of gaining back her sanity
And faith in love.
So she hangs on
To her self esteem and false hopes of dreams
That this man who lives in her temple
Will transform into Holy and stop her blood flow of 12 years.
Oh how oh how oh how she hangs on
To bitterness that fills her mouth like cigarettes
And blacks and marijuana so strong
To the point that it became her ecstasy
But then it became her insanity
As it filtered out her hopes and planted in damnation weeds
So she began to hang on
To darkness that too penetrated her but her mind and spirit
Getting her to believe that the Sun won’t rise
But that the months will seem long
So that the years seems wrong
And her ears turn deaf
And her lips are sealed while her head is turned left
Like her spirit left
But some how she still hangs on…
Some how she still hangs on
Though darkness crept up on her through the illusion of love
An every good image of light she had transformed into broken bulbs
She sits in a room, by herself, being tormented by the strong will
Of her thoughts. Now feeling that the only reason why she can
Feel her heart beat is because it’s the only thing that reminds her
That’s she still alive.
And with that thought,
She got one finger hanging on
And in her mind her finger seems like the strongest thing in her storm
With an already lost mind she thinks how much more can she lose it
if she just thinks about energy going through her one finger that hangs on.
So she hangs on,
On to that immediate thought caught in the chemical reaction
of her mind’s synapses and her lightening thunderstorm
Causing a new ripple affect of mental friction mixed with her small doses
Of hope…subconsciously and consciously she wants this new love
that doesn’t rape her but clothes her
Her bitterness begins to turn a bit sweet like fruit
Conceived like a mustard seed – the smallest ration of faith
But when it blooms, it grows to be the biggest tree –
I’m mixing fact with poetry
And all of this, this is her praying
Crying out to God to save her for own will is too weak to stand
But that he would rescue her from the enemy’s traps that ensnare her
And all of this, this is her dancing,
For though she ran out of words, she still hangs on
As her feet move and within her illusions, she imagines
Every movement giving off energy that touches the heavens
Just enough for her to get healing and deliverance
And she falls…
Because she failed once again and the darkness snatches back
And she finds herself laying there with him
On top of her, in her temple, and she swarms around
Fighting him off yet wanting him at the same time
But light begins to swarm around her
And in her belly she roars a cry that leaps out like water
Shut out of a well and then release after a long while
She – no longer dry
Doesn’t realize what is going on but grasps for her life
And as she releases all of her drought,
He tries to console her in his own confusion, thinking that this
Time he can deceive her once again with his short lived imitations
But something within her will not let him hold her
But pushes him away with her arm that seems to have a heart of its own
And in the mist of her hanging on, she releases and she wrestles
She releases and she wrestles as tears flow like river falls
Out of control and uncontrolled by him and every enemy,
She now feels under control by the power of God invested in her
And the only words that leave her mouth, but unknowingly, unknowingly
in her mind with surprise as she is knee-bent in reverence and surrender
is “Yes Jesus” – who would ever thought such a name would freely flow?
who would ever thought such a name would hold so much power
And who would ever thought that the love we all claim for Him to
Have for us, would really be for us – who would of thought?
That New Years Eve,
She grabbed back her light in warfare prayer
Picked up herself up and grabbed her things,
And the first time ever in her entire life of living,
Did she ever gain such strength to grab her soul back
Only if you knew how weak she was.
And her prayer was a miracle and a miracle it was
Because not a desire in her craves his bloodshed but His bloodshed
She then knew she was washed because she has never looked back
Only if you knew how weak she was
For the first real time, she learned who God is
And for the first real time, she could look way down, miraculously,
While standing…at where she used to hang on.