It's not that I don't believe in God...

I guess I just wonder if he's there sometimes.

Maybe it's because I'm from Missouri, the "Show Me" state. See, I've never had that "conversion experience." It's like there's this wall of skepticism up between me and God, and I don't know what to do to get over it. It's crazy because I am so NOT a skeptical person. I mean, have things been hard for me before? Sure!! I guess maybe it's that everything has always ended up alright in the end for me. When things don't, I look at it like everything can't always go good for me. I think that a big part of me floats between the explanations being God's favor & blessings, and the natural balance of how life goes...sometimes things happen for you, other times they don't.

I know this probably sounds bad, and most of you will probably take it the wrong way, but in a lot of ways, although I truly do believe in God, he is not real to me. Maybe real is too strong of a word. Tangible...yeah...it's just not tangible to me. So many other people have had that defining moment, where God becomes real to them; that "conversion experience" I was talking about. I just haven't had it. In church Sunday, Pastor Ron was somewhat discussing this topic, and about how for most people, finding Jesus isn't a "defining moment." Some people realize that they've found God when looking at their lives in hindsight. Maybe that's what's supposed to happen to me.

I guess what would bottle the whole thing up for me is that while I believe God is real, I wonder sometimes what makes him real TO ME. I always hear people testifying about how "He woke me up this morning and started me on my way," etc., but for me, that's not enough. My eyes opening this morning isn't enough for me to feel the realness of God. Could I be taking things for granted? Of course...and I'm sure a big part of me is, but that just doesn't move me.

I'm trying to figure this all out, and it's a journey for me. It's especially hard for me because in a lot of ways I feel inadequate, and I hate that. I used to not really understand this song by John Legend - "Show Me". I mean I got the general gist of the song, but a part of me didn't understand the feeling behind it. After a conversation tonight, I more than understand. It's crazy because it's almost all that I could think about. Like I said, maybe it's because I'm from Missouri. Is what's written in this blog a reflection of that?

If so, I wish I weren't.

Untitled....

A few years back, a neighborhood gangsta asked me...
"What motivates me to awaken everyday? What helps you keep the bad in this place away?"
I told him that I do heart surgery...he said, "What?"
I told him that I open my chest/book and let my heart fall on the paper.
I let the pen be the blood vein robbing my body of the bad blood and placing it on the sheet
in the form of.....
.....iambic pentameter/a heart beat.
My HEART then BEATS to HELP my WORDS flow FORTH
the BLOOD on the PAGE then HELPS someONE give BIRTH.....
.....to a newborn poem.
I told him to let the notebook lines be the suture for the stitches in your heart,
for without them your heart would fall apart.
He then asked, "What am I supposed to write about, when all I see around is my niggaz gettin gunned down? What do I say about the gov't that doesn't want me to succeed? How do I make the future better for my seed?"
I told him...
Don't worry what to write about,
when your heart starts to beat, the words will flow out.
Just make sure you come to surgery with the right tools in hand...
the pen...
the paper...
in the end you'll understand.
And what of the world that wants to hold you back you may ask...
Tell them you want to live...
tell them you want to love...
tell them you want to read a book, you want equal education, a college degree,
tell them you want to end modern day slavery...
tell them you want to march, repent of your sins and be born again...
....raise a respectable child...
you want to educate and be educated.
Tell them you want to take the gun's out of your niggas' palms so....
their high blood pressure can calm...
tell them you want to live...
tell them you want to love...
and tell whoever wants to still hold you back, that you can't hold back a beating heart...
with a strong pulse...
and that in order to stop you, they'd have to kill you first.
Oh, and the seeds you plant and want to grow?
Write a poem saying your seeds need water to sproud, so they need a gardener...
Tell the dead-beat dads they should stick around, instead of leaving their seeds
to grow with weeds...
....like a fading heartbeat, dead beats end up beat dead.
Once you've filled this paper with the blood from your heart...
close your chest/notebook and ball it up.
Throw the paper holding your heart in the trash because your next poem will outlive and be better than the last....
...and if there is something in your lifespan someone wants to retort,
tell them to go back and read your autopsy report.
Then ask them, "Do you still want to be like me?"
So this gangsta handed me his gun.
He then said..."I want to live."
He asked me what I thought and I told him...
...it was the best poem I've ever heard.

Call and response...

all of the top of the dome...


What she wrote...

as my thoughts crowd themselves and overflow, my heart cries with the ache of your missed presence...my mind can't wrap around the length of time stretched before us, as we wait, hardly able to see the silver lining on this rain cloud, the drops I feel are not welcome, my sunshine has gone away...there is none when you're not here...it's always too long...you're missed...

what I wrote...

listening to your heart cry drives me insane...dealing with the pain that is ...distance. Not distance between hearts...but distance between physical. Wanting your presence near...almost a fear of not basking in your shadow. Laying at night on half empty pillows, with a half empty heart. ..your lack of presence making me...incomplete...