lolamarya - The Voice

This has been one hell of a year. My grandmother passed away, suddenly, earlier this year. I didn't have as much contact with her as I should have, always thinking I'd have more time to connection.... I guess we didn't have that. We tried like hell to get to her funeral, but the weather was so awful, we had to turn around and come back home.... Never got to say goodbye. About six weeks later, a woman who I looked at like a bonus mom, spiritual mother, good friend and mentor, she passed away too. I found out she had Brain cancer in January and when I heard, I got physically sick. Somehow I never thought about living a life where she didn't exist. But when I heard the diagnosis, I knew.  It was just something that hit my soul. When she passed, that hurt... Hurt like nothing ever hurt me before. I cried like a baby. Fortunately, I was able to fly back home to say goodbye.  Somehow I think that made things better.... for me.  After hearing that she was ready; she...

Small bits of poetry escape me at moments. The artist is still there inside, alive, waiting for the day she is rescued and set free to be everything she once desired to be.

09-15-2015 My king, gift from God They call you “black” to separate and demean you, But Black should remind you of how you were fashioned – in royalty and kingship You are king; strong and bold They tried to break you down, make you worthless But in doing that, only aided in building you up See what the world doesn’t know is they can never determine your worth You were given concrete and up grew a rose They measure your value by what you have But I see where you started and the progress you have made Beaten, broken, taken from your land to a foreign place Stripped of your name, your culture Even taken from the ones you love Forced to procreate and have your children stolen Titled “deadbeat,” but they beat – this behavior into you Out of this history of pain and brokenness, Still you survive They call you “nigger” and “thug” while ignoring your inventions, degrees and the fact that this country was built on your back They tell you that your da...

Sitting here listening to Briana Babineaux on YouTube in worship and it really hits me.  The only times I have every felt 100% complete and content in life have been in the depths of worship.  That uninhibited place where it is just me and God; even if it was on stage during worship service.  At that very moment when I'm in the place where nothing else matters and I can just sing from the very core of me.  When everything that is me is bowed before God, totally surrendered and what comes out of my mouth is directly sung to Him.   We were made to worship I want more of this. I need more. I need to worship I need to sing; not to glorify the gift that He gave, but because He gave me this gift, I will use it to be closer to Him. I have to become a worshipper.   I want my child to know and experience the fullness of His presence and what it is like to be totally surrendered to God.  I have to lead by example. Most of all I NEED th...

Searching for the pieces of me I've lost along the way  Glimpses of who I was and the change I've become Smiles at past times and in the same breath twinges of pain hit my core  Things I buried and subconsciously trying to forget…. But those things have become a part of me Whether wanting to admit it or not I operate from who I was and what I've become No longer confident in the words that were previously spoken or the promises where I once housed my faith I've become too far removed And although my brain knows that gifts are given without repentance  and for the sins I've indulged in, I have repented  I am now somehow struggling with believing those promises Held back for so many years, I now fear the liberty that was already obtained for me Now captive by mentality, the sensation of bondage stronger than the reality of freedom Lord renew my mind, refresh my spirit Allow me to know your truth and fully comprehend the reality of who I ...

Instinctually amusing, but abusing the less fortunate.  Held on pedestals so high,  singing songs about touching the sky.  So out of touch yet within reach.  Got all the youth wanting to be, made in their image.  So we imitate them to their finish.  Or maybe to our own demise not seeing ourselves through our own eyes.  Created in HIS image, so our perspective should match HIS,  yet we rarely see who we really are.  Reflective from our perception of presumed acceptance, if we become who they want us to be.  But who are they and who are we? Living to impress and be accepted by those simply dying for our acceptance