Lunar Eclipse

I wasn't as hype as everyone else - in fact I said, I totally not a moon girl. But then I was a bit intrigued. Look at what I captured.

And this one I believe God held my hand still for...because this one is the best.

Untitled (for the moment)

I carry. Upon my back, in my gut, and in my head, a hatred so deep
Into every inch of my existence it seeps

No common sense, perhaps no strength, to relieve myself of this disdain
Instead I choose to remember the pain

No gain of course, in remembering all that I have lost
For carrying this hatred is the biggest cost

I pay everyday, in some sort of way
Losing my grip 'cause of failure to pray

Yearning to lift myself above this seething, soon I won't be able to hear my heart beating
hatred hardens me, what a wonder I'm breathing

This can very well cost my death
holding on to something, that has already left

How does one break free? From chains of lessons learned
moving on from bridges burned

There is nothing more, nothing more but an ash of hate
I have heaped it on my plate,

"Move forward", they say, "it's never too late
That remains the great debate.

©Tia Clarke 2015

We Are Queens

Maya Angelou wrote, 

"Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size   

But when I start to tell them,

They think I’m telling lies.

I say,

It’s in the reach of my arms,

The span of my hips,   

The stride of my step,   

The curl of my lips.   

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,   

That’s me..."

    and when I read those words I am so proud to be a beautiful woman I gush.  How then do we dismiss such a powerful description of ourselves and allow words/terms such as "bitch" or "thot" to seep into our language?  The term used so loosely.  I would hope decent women wouldn't want to call themselves derogatory names however it has been done.  Calling themselves these things like a proud badge of honour.   

Regardless of your race, your stature, your language, your work - whatever, be confident enough with yourself to own being a Queen.  If you don't claim it, who on earth would just hand it to you?  And by claiming it I mean you must respect yourself.  Earn your money.  Take care of yourself.  You must be independent
By calling each other derogatory names it opens the door for males to do the same.  I mean we constantly speak about society being harder on women than on men - well who do you created the socially inequality. Society.  Described by Merriam Webster as "people in general thought of as living together in organized communities with shared laws, traditions, and values

: the people of a particular country, area, time, etc., thought of especially as an organized community"  We are apart of that group of people.  Do not perpetuate a view of yourself and other women that is negative.  

Breathe positive vibes.  Move in a positive light. Speak positive words.

References

http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/society

Picture of Poverty: Click like, comment, share.

A few years ago I created a piece of work that I held higher than most of my other poems.  It was a piece that even my on again off again "mentor" deemed a  piece of literature to rival the greats.  I received the praise with great alacrity and renewed vitality to my craft.  To add all I could to the meaning of "Forty Cents" I searched for a picture that would vividly capture the essence of my brain child.  It was a child standing with tattered garments barely draped over his tiny frame, stomach swollen with ribs protruding so clearly I would have no trouble counting them, one by one.  I felt saddened by the picture - and for those who did not grasp the sincerity and pain from which my words were birthed I needed them to see this photograph.

After I edited to add this poor soul, the young boy I had no idea was living or so near death and pain he'd welcome his last breath, I felt accomplished.  As if I had the right to feel accomplishment by underscoring his misfortune.  But I felt, at least everyone will know how genuine I was about the topic of poverty.  My mentor returned to the comment section.  He was disgusted.  He was disappointed.  He ranted, as he normally does out of passion, that I have defaced my work with adding such an image.  My words held more weight than the picture and I am actually perpetuating the exact things I frown upon in my piece.

He was right.

"Forty Cents" was my spear into the heart of our elitism nature that makes us believe we can save these children's lives by loose change we spend on coffee daily.  We want to pat ourselves on the back for donating to these children when the bigger issues remain.  Indeed, all help we can give would be welcomed and if used correctly eventually chisel away at effects of poverty but as my mentor highlighted for me, what is the gain in parading a child covered in soot and mud?  Is it shock value?  Is it to tug so powerfully on the heart of all watching 'til cold tears dribbles down a flush face?

Perhaps.

But what next?  What next when we share these images on social media?  What next once we've commented "Amen" under a post whether because of wholehearted concern or fear of reproof ? What next?

For me, images are not needed, the stories scream loudly enough. I will pray for them, I will pray for us. Pray that the unkindness of this world does not harden our hearts, that we refuse to perpetuate stereotypes which breed hatred and untruths. I will pray that our love for one another moves us to help more than a picture ever could.

©Tia Clarke 2015