Letter to My Unborn Daughter on International Women’s Day

poetry, talk, Uncategorized, Words

By Katie Harvey

riley

To my little girl on International Women’s Day:

Today we celebrate & honor what it means to be a woman. We celebrate the women before us who fought for our rights. The women who got arrested trying to vote, the woman who refused to give up her seat on the bus, the women who let the credit for their work go to men while they quietly landed men on the moon.

But really Sugarbean, we honor them every day. We honor them by being the most true form of ourself. We honor them by empowering our fellow women everyday. By helping our sisters in need. I hope you’re never afraid to speak the truth, even if your voice shakes.

I hope you know that if women had stood quietly by and asked politely for equality, it never would have happened.

Women roar.

Never let anyone make you feel inferior, because chances are they came from a vagina.

We are the creators of life. Do not back down. Do not be afraid to be loud.

Do not be afraid to be called bossy or intimidating.

Those are just labels slapped on women of greatness. Never be afraid of your wings, and never forget you can always come home to mom & dad. We love you sweet girl.

The future is female.

The future is you.

The world is yours.

 

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Walidah Imarisha Talks Punk, Genrecide, and Her Racial Ideology

Art, poetry, talk, Uncategorized, Words

Interview by Alyssa Campbell

kaylaartArtwork by Kayla Gutierrez

“I think writing should be less like a factory and more like a garden, nurturing and watering, but allowing what is growing to take new, sometimes surprising, and often beautiful shapes,” Walidah Imarisha tells me.

The first time I met Imarisha was in January, 2015, when she was featured as the keynote speaker to present “Oregon’s Racial History and King’s Vision of Justice,” for a Martin Luther King Jr. Celebration at the Majestic Theatre, in Corvallis, Ore.

You couldn’t deny the power of her presence when she spoke: she was confident, fearless, and completely unapologetic for who she is and what she stands for. I remember the instant goosebumps when she kicked off with a spoken word poem, and by the end of her presentation the entire theatre stood for a round of applause. I thought to myself “I want to be like her one day, I want to have that kind of impact with my words.” Since then, I’ve attended a book signing, multiple lectures, workshops, and have been lucky enough to sit one-on-one for a personal interview with Imarisha.

Imarisha is a public scholar, spoken word artist, writer, activist, journalist, and educator, who currently lectures at Stanford University’s Program of Writing and Rhetoric. She’s taught at Portland State University’s Black Studies Department, Oregon State University’s Women Studies Department, and Southern New Hampshire University’s English and Literature Department.

Growing up on military base, Imarisha says the support from her mother showed her the possibilities of what she could achieve.

“My mom has been very foundational to me. She doesn’t necessarily call herself a feminist, but she absolutely is where I learned feminist principles,” said Imarisha. “She was like ‘We’re going to travel, we’re going to see the world, we’re going to do what we want to do, and I’m not going to let someone tell either of us what we can or can’t do.’ She also always taught me to be true to myself.”

She is well known for her statewide presentation: “Why Aren’t There More Black People in Oregon?” and for creating the expression “visionary fiction.” Some of her work includes but is not limited to: author of the poetry collection “Scars/Stars,” and the creative nonfiction “Angels with Dirty Faces: Three Stories of Crime, Prison, and Redemption,” co-editing the anthology “Octavia’s Brood: Science Fiction Stories from Social Justice Movements,” and was an editor for the anthology “Another World is Possible.”

Has it always been a dream of yours to be in the position that you’re in with your career?

I definitely always wanted to be a writer. And I think the idea of communicating ideas and thoughts is something that’s foundational, and kind of the core of everything that I do. I think it’s more about finding different mediums for conveying ideas, and starting conversations, getting folks to think differently.

I definitely see all of my work as intertwined and interrelated. Sometimes poetry is more effective for some things, sometimes an academic format is more effective, sometimes poetry writing workshops are more effective. All the time science fiction is more effective.

I also feel the core of everything I do is a commitment to justice and a commitment to trying and revisioning the world and dreaming better futures, and so I think my life has taken a very circuitous route and gone many different places, I’m doing things that I didn’t imagine I would be doing. But I think that it was kind of keeping that as my guiding light, as my north star, and it has never steered me wrong.

When did your love for sci-fi begin?

Science fiction was one of the few genres where you actually got to see through the eyes of “the other.” And they may be a green person, or someone with tentacles, but the ways they were treated felt much more familiar.

Part of what drew me was that I got to hear stories from the alien’s perspective, from the perspective of people who felt familiar. Unfortunately, I wasn’t getting to read literature written by folks of color, but it felt like I was getting closer to hearing marginalized voices than in most other genres.

The space of saying whatever you can imagine is possible was incredibly compelling to me. I also think even though I wasn’t able to articulate it as a child, I understood that the aliens were more like me, than I was like most of the main characters.

How do you decide which outlet you want to use when curating new writings?

Most of the time it’s not a conscious decision, if I’m just writing, it’ll come out however it comes out. Sometimes I have no idea what it is I’m like: Is that a poem? Is that a short story? I don’t know what that is. Is that an essay, a personal essay? Sometimes it’s about the projects I’m working on, or things people ask me to do.

I used to be in a punk band; I started liking punk in high school and I definitely felt like it spoke to my feelings and my rage and my sensibilities. I really was drawn to the idea that we can do it ourselves, to be creative, and to question everything we’re told.

And also, when I discovered mosh pits I was like: this is an amazing outlet for the rage I feel as a young black woman every single day.

How old were you when you when you started getting into punk?

I started getting into punk while I was going to high school, I must have been 15 or 16, when I lived in Springfield, Ore., and it was all white. The bands I listened to were white, the people were white, and there were three of us who were brown. So I was like “I guess this is a white thing and I like it.”

I was lucky enough when I moved to Philadelphia, to the East coast, I got to meet punks of color, and folks who were very clear that actually punk music is rooted in black music. So I ended up hearing the band that I joined Ricanstruction. They’re all Puerto Rican, and considered themselves to be black.

They talked about the fact that Puerto Rican folks, caribbean folks, all have African heritage, and are black regardless of shade and facial features. It was really helpful because my mom is white and my dad is black, so obviously I grew up with white people being very clear that I was black. But also not necessarily feeling like I connected everywhere with “blackness” entirely.

So it was really useful to engage with these folks who were like “black is a political decision, and we choose to be black because we stand in solidarity with people who are the most oppressed.” And I was like “Word! Alright.” They were incredible musicians, all of them were some of the best musicians for their fields that I’ve ever met, and they were also all rooted in the intersections of music.

They loved punk, they also loved salsa and reggae, and hip hop; every form of music, soul and rock. Our lead singer used to say we committed “genrecide” by saying “these aren’t neat boxes, this is all music,” and he was like “this is all black music,” and it all has common roots, so we don’t have to be like “this is our punk song, this is our soul song.” So people would listen and be like “we don’t know what ya’ll are doing.”

That’s the best part, when you can’t fit someone in a category, when it’s just something that you feel.

I’m really glad I came into punk, and came to that band for many different reasons. I think it gave me my political ideological foundation, but I also think it really influenced my own writing of saying “I don’t have to accept genres, and I can commit genrecide in my writing as well.”

I think with “Octavia’s Brood,” and the science fiction anthology written by organizers that I edited, when I approached publishers they were like “we don’t even know how to sell this, or market it.” And we were like that’s fine we’re committing genrecide, we don’t have to be put in a little box.

Especially with my latest book “Angels With Dirty Faces,” I actually had an agent who said “I love this book, it’s amazing, but I have no idea how I would market it to a publishing company. Because it’s memoirs/true crime/analysis/racial ideology/sociology/ with poetic writing, I don’t know where it fits.”

It certainly makes commercial success harder, but I think it makes life more organic and real to be your full, complete self, and bring all of your pieces to all that you do.

*On her racial ideology*

It was really important for me, learning about black liberation movements, especially the Black Panther Party, and getting to engage with political prisoners from that era. Specifically Sundiata Acoli, a former Black Panther and political prisoner.

I started writing him while I was in college, and then when I moved to Philadelphia he was being held in Pennsylvania, so every month I would go visit him. I think it was really helpful for my racial ideology, because I think I had a little of what I call “the bi-racial blues,” of being like “I don’t fit in anywhere, no one wants me.”

Sundiata was helping me see the differences between different community’s reactions, because I think a lot of times, when, especially mixed black folks are feeling like “white folks don’t want me; black folks don’t want me.”

But what Sundiata said was often times when black folks were saying things like “you sound white,” or “why do you act like a white girl,” what they’re saying is, “are you going to take the privileges that you have, that I can very much see you have and leave us when it becomes convenient, or are you going to be part of this community?”

It was life changing. I think I was 18 or 19 when he told me that and we were in a prison visiting room, and I wanted to cry.

*On Black Lives Matter*

I think it’s an important movement that’s happening right now. There’s a struggle for justice in every generation, every generation has work to do.

I feel like Black Lives Matter is part of a long lineage of black survival movements in this nation that says “we will claim our right to exist. And we will claim our right to exist as we want to exist, not as you tell us we should exist.”

I think focusing on Black Lives Matter, what we do want, is visionary. It’s also science fiction, because black lives don’t matter to mainstream America, and they have never mattered to mainstream America. It’s kind of pulling this future into the present.

It’s saying “we will live this science fiction dream as if it was reality, until it becomes reality.”

In Limbo

poetry, Uncategorized, Words
YOU ARE IN LIMBO, WILLING YOURSELF TO PULL ANSWERS OUT OF THE AETHER.
 cw34lukusaarxly
Cuts and bruises are a hazard of living with a human body. The skin can be cut or pierced or braised. It’s simultaneously a delicate and resilient organ – think of the viruses and bacteria your skin fends off every minute. Think of how your skin produces sweat to cool you down but bleeds easily, too.
What I’m saying is that you are porous and your walls are imperfect, and that is part of being human. When you woke up this morning, your first instinct was – but how ? You could debate that, numerically, the other candidate won, but our system is more complicated than this. You try to pull up some long- forgotten memory of high school, government class – the Electoral College was put in place to (attempt to) equalize representation. You remember discussing the difference between democracy and federal republic. You overlooked the truth that your country is still separated by segregation, that communities live in homogeneous spaces that lack diversity.
This race distorted and obscured reality with emotion and prejudice and was facilitated by people who aren’t forced to confront their insensitivity on a regular basis. In limbo somewhere, you will yourself to pull answers out of the aether. The truth is that a simple resolution doesn’t exist. Uncertainty weighs on you because you desperately want to know what will happen next.
The real injustice of this election is the blatant exploitation that allowed such a man to win. He tapped into the anger and frustration many working-class citizens feel – the inability to find fair work that will provide a decent quality of life for their families. He appealed to their fear of the unknown. In hard economic times, the promises of ruthless men are likely to be heard. You struggle with feeling angry at the people you know who voted for the antagonist. Some of them raised you. They heard a promise, and
they so desperately wished it were true. They are frustrated about bills despite the long hours they put in and the banks that are fat cats nobody can do anything about. They’re embarrassed and confused and ashamed. For you, reading this, you knew this man wasn’t going to help.
You have a right to hold friends and family accountable but please do talk to them. Tell the why they voted wrong. Talk about institutions that work in nuanced, barely perceptible ways to oppress people. Don’t forget that people who are struggling to put food on the table and work 60-hour weeks are exhausted. They don’t have the energy to be up-to-date with the current dialogues about sexual assault, race and sustainability. Many have never had someone encourage them to ask these questions before.
In some countries, a radical politician might be quickly and quietly “silenced.” Governments are run with a military dictator sitting in the high chair after a coup left the last president dead. The only programming on television is state-sanctioned, and journalists taking photos or writing articles about forbidden subjects face imprisonment and execution. I don’t say these things to say, look at all these other places that have it so much worse. I’m saying this because in these places live breathing people, and some of them are still doing incredible things. They refuse to let big business or corrupt politicians take their power away from them.
You are at work later this afternoon, and a coworkers’ voice cuts through the somber atmosphere and lonely din of shuffling papers, “if you’re not white, straight and male, you woke up today told that you don’t matter.”
Survival instinct is, however, another side-effect of being human. Taking back your own power, by no means, is easy but still necessary at the same time. This disaster of an election leaves you traumatized or lost. Uncertainty is an eerie emotion, a directionless posture where you stand with a gaping mouth trying in vain to articulate your thoughts. You think about rolling up the pride flag displayed in your window. Logically, this should’ve never happened. This man should not be leading a country, but you underestimate emotion and false promises. These thoughts are valid – allow yourself to feel them. Allow your friends to navigate their emotions, check-in with them, and when you’re ready, get back into the studio or practice space or your desk. Write, play music and paint. What I’m saying is – please don’t let this man take your power away from you.
-Jenn Endless

hope this time

Art, poetry, talk, Uncategorized, Words

Poem by Alyssa Faye Campbell

Art by Jessie Petrylak

blm

 

in the face of adversity the load becomes

heavy – as we strive towards so much

more. we arrived with words as keys,

discovering our strength from their

energy – “Black Lives Matter.”

forsaken chants – no remedy,

another hashtag. awaiting

brighter days; and there

will be.

even in

the dark

we grow – in

the

dark

we glow.

so much pain –

still, there’s always hope.

where is heaven for a

Black

angel –

when

will

all

Lives

really

Matter

 

Illusioned Solitude

Art, poetry, Uncategorized

Poem by Alyssa Campbell featuring artwork by Jess Petrylak

4a36cbd5-770c-42d8-8428-471e91fff8c4

I.

cheeks

Stabbing

air

Voices

slice

chalk boards

Drowning

malice

balled

Pain

mind

trap

hands

Above

swallow

floating

water

below

Head

 

II.

The sky’s railroads hold clouds traveling in packs while gods hide drinking wine

Us puppets on strings dangling from their fingertips– Death, dead

our heroes, our legends, in silence they Live on. Words on a page- through rhythm

dancing on, in silence

AnswersAreBorn

 

III.

Questions forever forming tears of longing hearts, railroads of chirping birds singing gay songs.

They’d change their tone if they knew what we have done if they knew

if they knew

 

IV.

The air stung my cheeks, voices nails on a chalkboard theheartiswrongtheheartiswrong gods drinking wine,

Us puppets on strings dangling from their fingertips–

 

V.

Death, dead- our heroes, our legends- in silence they Live on, words on a page through rhythm dancing on. Words On a page– through rhythm they dance on

insilenceAnswersreBorn

 

VI.

Clocks pointing broken fingers, dead ends- Caged thoughts spillingfrom the ceilingburnt skin- black sun’s.nuns holding rifles, Dead ends- caged thoughts spillingfrom the ceiling

Hell’s portalHeaven’s illusionEarth’s Asylum

 

VII.

Wondering soulsWondering souls, voices bold holding signs screaming “Anti-voices” aknowingunknown gods

drinking wine

Us puppets on strings dangling from their fingertips–

Slamming Sexual Violence

Art, poetry, talk, Uncategorized

University of Oregon’s Student Poetry Slam Addresses Sexual Assault Awareness Month

Words by Alyssa Campbell

Illustration by Kayla Guttierez

slamming sexual violence

Illustration by Kayla Gutierrez

 

Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words are also weapons.

When saying “no” is not enough, how do you cope with the trauma of being violated?

On April 5, the Sexual Violence Prevention and Education Team at the University of Oregon held round three of their Anti-Sexual Violence Poetry Slam. The first round took place fall 2014, followed by the second round fall 2015.

It started as a release party, a way to get people in the same space to pick up the newest issue of “The Siren Magazine,” a feminist magazine on the UO campus.

Students and guests showed sincere respect and expressions of deep compassion.

It was a safe zone.

“If I lose my voice I lose everything,” said poet and member of UO’s Organization Against Sexual Assault Sofia Mackey. “You cannot protect yourself from isolation.”

This year the slam was geared towards SAAM (Sexual Assault Awareness Month).

“There’s a lot of talking at people and informing them. Getting the word out and not a lot of survivors getting to stand up and say ‘This is my experience and I’m gonna talk about it the way I want to talk about it,’ ” said Sophie Albanis. “This is valuable in that sense, it lets people define themselves and their experiences.”

Albanis is the organizer of the slam event, a member of Associated Students of UO and an advocate for the UO student government.

“This is definitely the biggest turnout we’ve had for this event,” said Albanis. “This is the most overwhelmingly positive feedback we’ve gotten. I really feel motivated to do more poetry slams.”

These poetry slams have helped her become comfortable identifying as a survivor.

Albanis` experience is one that she has no memory of. Someone had to tell her about what happened the next day and although she doesn’t remember, she knows it happened.

“A lot of people feel because I didn’t remember it or because I didn’t feel the pain after it happened, I’m not a real survivor,” said Albanis. “This event is what enabled me to say ‘Fuck you, I am a survivor.’ ”

Through poetry, readers shared experiences of rape trauma, repressed anger, new love and generational trauma.

“I was suffering a lot, for me what really helped me figure some things out was writing,” said poet Vienna Soulé. “I didn’t have to keep that inside of me anymore. I could write it out on paper and that’s where it stayed.”

Vice President for the UO student government Claire Johnson works as a member of the Organization Against Sexual Assault.

“I strongly believe too often our society puts these ideas into survivors heads that it’s their fault or they deserve it,” said Johnson. “All of your stories really make a difference.”

It was her first time sharing a piece she wrote since becoming a survivor a month ago.

“Art expression is a super valuable way for people to release feelings and thoughts they may not be able to get out otherwise,” said Johnson. “Expressing myself definitely helps me one way or another.”

Working at past poetry slams and speak-outs inspired her to let her voice be heard.

“I really learned how important it is to have a safe space for people to feel comfortable to express themselves and their experiences,” said Johnson. “Without these safe spaces, it’s hard for someone to heal. I definitely resonate with that.”

The support she’s gotten from her coworkers, friends and other survivors she knows has given her the courage to share her story.

“I looked to them for strength and found courage within myself from the courage they had,” said Johnson.

Emma Sharp and Charlie Landeros, members of UO’s Sexual Wellness Awareness Team switched the mood up with rhythm and poetry.

The crowd responded back with praise as the duo rapped lyrics like “It’s my body and you’re not God motherfucker.”

Concluding the slam a man named Julius Alecsandre shared his story about being sexually assaulted and his family not supporting him.

“I’m very openly gay,” said Alecsandre. “Pertaining to sexual awareness, this is my story.”

The crowd covered their mouths and put their heads down as Alecsandre shared vivid details about his horrific experience.

“Even though I was fighting back his fists felt like bricks to my face. I felt him tearing me open,” said Alecsandre. “I remember waking up in the hospital surrounded by my family. They were embarrassed and angry.”

Dealing with the trauma of being sexually assaulted isn’t something that is easy to overcome, the scars never heal. But there are ways to help, you don’t have to suffer and isolate yourself. You don’t have to live feeling alone. There are people who care and you do matter.

“I want to challenge people to educate themselves on sexual assault. Go to events like this. There’s very real humans behind the stories, get to know them,” said Landeros. “Art is one of the last forms of magic we have in this world, especially poetry, it’s just raw emotion.”

At a Glance:

  • According to the Bureau of Justice, “Sexual assault is a wide range of victimizations, separate from rape or attempted rape. These crimes include attacks or attempted attacks generally involving unwanted sexual contact between victim and offender. Sexual assaults may or may not involve force and include such things as grabbing or fondling.  It also includes verbal threats.”  
  • Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network has reported that every year there’s an average of 293,000 cases of sexual assault.
  • Every 107 seconds another American is sexually assaulted, 44 percent of victims are under the age of 30.
  • Four out of five assaults are from someone known by the victim and 47 percent are a friend or acquaintance.
  • Sixty-eight percent of assaults are not reported to police, meaning 98 percent of rapists will never face jail time.

 

Poetry Month Highlight: Walt Whitman “The Father of Free Verse”

Art, poetry, talk, Uncategorized

By Alyssa Campbell

Landscape

 

In honor of poetry month I wanted to write something to celebrate one of my favorite American poets, Walt Whitman. He was a poet who wasn’t afraid to reject the traditional poetry style. By challenging it he created a new style, known today as free verse. His genius wasn’t appreciated during his time but he opened new doors by consistently showing a strong sense of self, confidence and devotion towards human dignity. He was able to see the beauty and love in all people and represent that by tying everything back to himself. He did this in a completely non egotistical or vain way. Instead he was able to see the divine within himself that he saw in all people.

He has inspired some of the greatest writers including Langston Hughes, with his admirable unapologetic desire to express himself truthfully. His use of repetition helps to place importance on certain feelings that are brought forward through his poetry. His choice of diction and word placement give his poetry a completely new form because it carries so much depth and opens new possibilities. I especially enjoy the way he describes the senses and the natural world. His outlook shows that he loved the mystical and saw this all as a part of who we are.

Essentially Walt Whitman is a reflection of all of us, the confidence we all seek to find within ourselves. He truly had a love for helping people. He was someone who wanted to bring forward the good in humanity by demonstrating it through his own acts of kindness. The poem by Whitman that inspired this piece is from “Song of Myself” beginning number 24 and ending on line 544. I wanted to try to create a piece that would capture the different points he made by using myself. He starts by introducing himself, “Walt Whitman, kosmos, of Manhattan the son.” By adding “kosmos” after his name he is embracing the idea that he is a part of the universe, therefore from the beginning he introduces himself as a part of everyone and everything.

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I wanted to mirror that first line, but I put “infinite” representing that we are all full of many possibilities and our souls are endless. This also ties into Whitman’s view on death, which he saw as something just as beautiful as life. He believed it is just the beginning for something else, another life. Although Whitman was not from Manhattan I believe he wrote “of Manhattan the son” because he drew a lot of inspiration from there. It inspired a lot of his work, including “Leaves of Grass.” Although Oregon is a new chapter in my life and has been inspiring so much of my work, being from Long Beach, I wanted to use that. It’s where I came from and has made me who I am today.

He talks about basically cutting yourself loose from whatever it is that is limiting you, “Unscrew the locks from the doors! Unscrew the doors themselves from the jambs!” My take on this was to use a window, the idea of flying and being free. When referring to “free fall” it was NOT to glamorize the idea of death or suicide, but to represent letting yourself go and not holding yourself back.

In line 506 he touches on his belief that we are all equal and that is what he lives by. I definitely wanted to mirror that in my poem. Starting line 508 he wrote how he is the unfortunate in this word. He doesn’t look down on them nor separate them from himself.

Portrait

Going further Whitman does a beautiful job touching on the senses. In each line of “Leaves of Grass” he uses diction that expresses the human body as a beautiful creation, by making that connection to everything around us. Whether it be “shaded legs,” “rich blood,” “breast that presses against other breasts,” “trickling sap of maple,” “fibre of manly wheat,” “broad muscular fields,” “branches of live oak.”

People looked down on and shamed Whitman for being so open about his sexuality. He wrote “voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil’d and I remove the veil.” Which he certainly did. I wanted to talk about a veil that I hope to lift through my poetry which is not feeling bad for FEELING. A lot of the time we are told to suppress our feelings, deal with it, keep it to ourselves. Channeling those emotions into poetry and art is an amazing form of therapy and there is definitely something out there for everyone to connect to.

 

“Re-examine all that you have been told… dismiss that which insults your soul.”

 

“Be curious, not judgmental.”

 

“I exist as I am, that is enough.”

 

“I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also.”

 

“The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel.”

 

“The proof of a poet is that his country absorbs him as affectionately as he has absorbed it.”

 

I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.”

-Walt Whitman

 

Song of Myself

by Alyssa Campbell

 

Alyssa Campbell, Infinite, of Long Beach the daughter,

Sensitive, sincere, millennial, bleeding and healing

No saint, no stranger to the fabricated reflection of my ancestor’s through my parents

No more guided than misguided.

 

Push through the fog of depression and fly through open windows!

Push through the windows and free fall!

 

Whoever belittles another belittles me

And those who hurt with longing to be loved are loved by me

 

Through me is hope and feeling and feeling , through me the sheeple and the

Awake.

 

I cry the tears of the empathetic and I give voice to the voiceless.

For He is my witness! I will settle for nothing less than equality for all until it is practiced by all through love and compassion.

 

Through me the struggle of the streets,

Whispers from the darkest places of the mind creating prisons out of flesh

Whispers from the sick and the suffering and of the crazy and cool

 

I believe in the tired and the trapped,

Loving, hurting, overcoming, are things to look forward to and the pain I have felt has been necessary in shaping me.

Whole am I, never craving the love of another to fulfill the void in my heart. I am love and loved.

 

If I look where I worship it is not in any figure or person or being but the divine within me that is a part of something greater

Growing and going further it is because of you!

Broken branches and colorful flower petals stand out because they mirror both sides of you!

The sound of the rain on my roof, sinking into the earth of my skin is in praise of you!

The sun shines and gives me life, cleansing what no longer serves my soul inspired by you!

Faces I have seen and have never seen and that I am waiting to see are all revealed in the image of you!

 

The depths of the ocean, the rays of the sun, the hypnotizing glow of the moon, the possibilities of the stars shining confidently show all the greatness you shall become.