Passion and love have always been difficult emotions for me to process. As an empath, they can both overwhelm me, confuse me, leave me vulnerable and insecure. But I believe in order to live my best life, I must allow the fullest expression of myself to reach the surface. Balance, boundaries, an early bedtime help me not feel some of the weight. I wrote this a long time ago, but every time I go back to read it, it speaks to me like I penned it yesterday.


Turbulent seconds rush faster than my heart can beat
Quicker than I can run to meet love halfway
I try to avoid these floating moments of ecstasy
The mad craving for your skin, your furious breath in my hair
Wanting to travel through nirvana with you
Dripping into each other like sizzling rain

Keeping my back against the wall
makes it easier to sleep alone
tracing memories
where love learned to leave
Creating devotion in letters and
moments of pure intelligence
Because love makes no sense
to the trained eye
It creates chaos that
leaves the bathwater dirty
Fleeting joy running naked
through a den of clouded rooms
panting like dogs before supper

Waiting for our passion to collapse and then near reunion
Probing over and under each other
For handles to hold and attach ourselves everlasting
when my fear wants to take up strings
to lift me away from you

I try to receive the concrete of this need
for your hands and heart unshielded beneath my heat
wherever you end up in my life
letting that be a place I can go to
for reconciliation

photo by Janie Vinson

Black women are SO beautiful

I knew this when I was a child, watching the women in my life glide across rooms in beautiful colors, dancing in bare feet, hollering so the neighbors could hear and join in the laughter; in salons, in church, on the stoop, at the movies (being shushed), and all over the corners of my life. Growing up, I received many messages that this truth was dead wrong and I struggled to believe that the beauty I saw in the women in my sphere could also apply to me. And when I did believe, I was able to embody it at last.

We are Seeds

Accept that you are a beautiful thing
The kind of creature only poetry can convey
And when you transcend from this world
And into the next
Your skin will still be the color of earth
Your eyes the color of mountains
Your hair the fabric of grain
Your heart the cradle of children
And your womb the soul of the world

when they try to jail your mind and
hide this precious knowing from reaching your feet
you live half a life with half your staff

We are the seeds of the ancestors

Beat back the strangling envy
its ignorance and irreverence 

Mon cher, they want to love you
but would rather battle this need
than be buried in its treasure

photo credit: janie vinson