Skip to main content

Untitled



I lay on my left side
In a loose fetal position
With my left arm softly wrapped around my body
On a curved diagonal
Where my hand cups the fat just above my hip
My right arm crosses up towards my shoulder
The backhand meets the cushion of my cheek
I hold myself loosely
Wishing for a firmness of grip
That only another could create
My left hand slips upward
Towards a tiny love handle
Tears drip like wax from candles
Running down my hand
Hardening like hearts do
What is this hug I force upon myself?
Willing a touch that fills
Breath behind my ear that heals
stillness steals the urge to scream
I grip tighter and harder
These nightmares I dream
Are growing ulcers and tumors
That bleed into my strangled stomach
days turn into nights
fingernails sink into skin
I am awaiting
Him

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Call to Slowdown

On March 30, 2017, I wrote a caption under a picture I posted of me preaching my very first public sermon in James Chapel at Union Theological Seminary in the City of New York. The sermon was entitled, “I Have an Issue of Blood.” To my surprise, at the end of my moment of sermonic exploration – what was originally supposed to be a spoken word piece but quickly grew into something beyond my wildest imagination – I got a standing ovation. It was… odd . I thought to myself, “Why are these people standing and clapping for me? I’m not a preacher.” Folks came up to me after to convey their appreciation for the message. Someone in the congregation shared a picture they took of me. I posted it on Instagram and Facebook the next day with the caption: “I sometimes feel like there's a person running ahead of me—the person that God is calling me to be—and I'm running behind her trying to catch up as she runs faster and faster. And I don't know where's she's going but I know i...

Why I Quit Church...

On Sunday I quit church... for the day, at least. It was the most beautiful and painfully passionate act of self-care I've ever done.   Hi. My name is Mia, and I live with an anxiety disorder.  It's 4:30 on Sunday morning. My first alarm intrudes on the three hours of sleep I've managed to acquire. I begrudgingly assess the state of my vocal cords and decide whether or not they are well enough for me to sleep another thirty minutes. I hit snooze. Minutes later, my second alarm assaults my rem cycle. I pimp-slap my iPhone and decide whether or not I'm going to steam (a process in which I stand over a pot of boiling water for fifteen minutes to lubricate my cords). I, instead, opt for the less time consuming process of making tea, buying me an extra fifteen minutes of sleep. at 5:15, my third and final alarm goes off. I roll out of bed and into the shower. As I lather, I do minor vocal warm-ups and meditate. It's 6:05. I'm clothed, tea is made, hair is done,...

For those of us who live in war zones

  For those of us who live in war zones right here in the US... who see the teens running inside "somebody shootin 'round da cornuh," they shout who see the kids just tryna work on their layups in beautiful 62 degree weather grab their balls and sprint for cover "what's alla that, man?" who see the young woman running downhill away from potential death away from her home who see the grandma get up from her post-church porch sit and crawl away from her peace and into her prison Nobody should live like this We are at war RIGHT HERE Everything is connected Liberation is a global pursuit For those of us who live in war zones I see you