Remembering Dr. Maya Angelou

Dr. Maya Angelou was a treasured jewel and she will be missed. She used her words to invoke passion in us. Her accolades go above and beyond in literature, the arts and community involvement. But what I can take from this devastating loss is a lesson in dedicating myself to the pen and my passion since fifth grade. Writing my world and using my words to pursue change or uplift the community brings joy to my heart. I can speak loudly with written words and let them travel across the globe sharing my stories.

The Cage Bird VS. The Free Bird

"The cage bird knew that his door was open

Caged so long he became a morbid token

Of what you lose when you dare not try

When you are afraid that you too can fly

Caged so long he forgot his dreams 

For the cage bird is afraid of freedom

A free bird knows not of fearful skies

He spreads his wings and enjoys the ride

Love is taught between his eyes and his songs fill the world

But a cage bird is afraid to try

Sighs and cries at sunny skies

Love not drawn from inside so he lay in a cage of rage

The cage bird knows no wishful dreams

Timid approach to living things

He knows not why the free bird sings

He is afraid that he too can fly

The free bird shares and lives his dreams

Swarms the earth among living things

Rise to wake with the morning light and can't wait to fly in the sky

The cage bird knows no wishful dreams

Timid approach to living things

He knows not why the free bird sings

He is afraid that he too can fly"

-DeAndra Tanae, circa 2008  

Reflections

I did some self reflecting today. I flipped through my journal and read my thoughts from over the past year. The tables have turned quite drastically and much has transpired. It amazes me how the power of words can paint a picture so vivid and conjure intense emotions though they lay lifeless on the paper. I leaped right back into the moments I described just as if it happened an hour ago. My life is extremely colorful; I wouldn't trade this journey for anything. I will keep all my victories, laughter and wisdom. I will keep all of my heartache, tears and bruises. I embrace every peak and valley, and every ocean and small stream in its entirety.
Thankfully, I write these wonderful occurrences down in my sugar and spice notebook.  During my reflections today I stumbled across November 22, 2013, "No More Flowers." Yes, all of my journal entries have titles. This is the story of my life, why would they not? This particular entry was a poem. I have been intrigued with writing about nature for a while, but especially flowers, the sun and butterflies. Flowers can serve a great metaphorical and literal meaning in literature. I always use both when I write about this beautiful gift of God.

"What happens when the flowers stop?
When their warm embrace loosens and floats away.

No more daisies in the spring or black-eyed Susans bunched around,
And no more sunflowers in the summer.

No more roses in red, white, pink, yellow, or soft autumn orange.
Nothing but the thorns left that pricked my heart.

I cry and melt away as far as I can from the pain
Because there are no more blooming bouquets to brighten my day."

Clearly, this was a valley moment. Even though the flowers stopped for a season, I was able to move on. The tides in the ocean have changed and the sun has risen in a new hour. I decided to buy some fresh, new flowers today and all is well with my soul!

Writer's block

Why'd I stop writing you ask.

You see, I had a severe case of writer's block.
An astronomical something that made my creativity devoid.
It wedged itself in the middle of my flow,
Clogging and slowing the natural occurrences of my metaphoric melodies.
It bluntly halted my hyperbolic references to simple sentences.

You see, I had a severe case of writer's block.
It formed icicles where rhymes spouted freely
And a mass glacier over my zeal for words.
Repetitive thoughts not worth writing down
And a redundant life that brought forth no fruit.

You see, I had a sever case of writer's block.

I let go of my therapeutic remedy.

Out of the mind and onto paper where concepts become concrete;

Emotions released and the heart lightened. 

My favorite past time forgotten
And the joy of sitting in the windowsill with pen and pad lost. 

The words ceased.

I stopped writing.

I had a sever case of writer's block. 

He said, he said

He told me I could not love enough
I could not fill his emptiness
I could not match his pride with my lukewarm affection
I could not love enough with my smiles

Secure hugs were no replacement for insecurities

My love was not big enough in actions
My love was not loud enough in words
My love was not enough

There was a slow leak in the tire and every so often I’d stop at the pump or buy a can of fix a flat
Buying myself some time because replacing tires is expensive
That old car was too expensive to fix, too costly to get rid of, and held sentimental value because I invested my life into it

The mileage was beyond what the odometer could read
Oil was leaking and the car kept overheating
The seats were ripped and the interior stained beyond cleaning
A few broken lights and of course the tags were expired

No insurance
No more romances or innocent joy riding
Love and marriage were not in waiting for a faithless love
No more patience in an unforgiving heart
No sweet sound of laughter and no growth

He told me I could not love enough
I could not be the mother of life regardless of my genetic make up

My love was not big enough in actions
My love was not loud enough in words
My love was not enough

So I put the key in the ignition and jiggled three times
I shook the steering wheel two times and pumped the gas five times before it would turn over
I knew the end was near and I could not sustain it, nor could it sustain me
The engine gave out and I could not love it anymore

(Circa May 2013) 

Triumph

Tenaciously striding through this endangered world, I am a glamorous species of hope with unwavering faith in what I must know. Wisdom bestowed upon me from beyond the highest element of life, and from the lower morsels of human affliction. I dare to dream through it all.
Reclined and looking up to the blues of infinite possibilities, I commit myself uprightly and just.  


1/7/2013

The Cover-Up

I'm trying to makeup, but it just doesn't make since
Because I can't cover up the cover-up.

Cappuccino number eight to brighten my imperfections.
Purple maniac to give a sparkle to this hue of depressing blue.
Electric eel with a satin finish so you can't see the rough spots.
Number twenty-four makes a brotha stare at the lip gloss
And his girl give the head toss because she's mad.

I've concealed my rotund darkness with a natural tone.
My Queen collection doesn't have me feeling like royalty today.
And MAC better give me my money back,
Because this cover-up ain't covering up like it's supposed to.
Layers of a faulty foundation,
There are too many ways to apply these products.

Years of practice and I'm still no professional.
The rouge does not accent my cheekbones
Which never move from their sad position.
My mascara is running a marathon and volumizing my distress.
Yet, I must reapply and move forward with the cover-up.

A little more adhesive to bring out my eyes,
And some adhesive to mend this brokenness.
Natural beauty is a thing of the past.

So, if beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Then I can't be certain of what I see.
If eyes are a window to the soul,
Then my life story is an open book for the average browser.

This mineralized skin finish is purely cosmetic.
It will eventually fade while the pain still radiates through my pores.
Perhaps two coats of cherry bomb red to hide my nervous condition
Because this cover-up ain't covering up like it's supposed to.

(Circa May 2013)