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The Help


My job is to wait for a calling.
 Help those who have no one at all and then fall back when I’ve helped enough. Falling back hurts though, but what else am I supposed to do when my mouth is tired of talking.
 I get tired of people and become robotic. Unable to function because there are daggers in my chest and if I move too fast my heart will bleed. I silence myself for protection. It’s called the silent treatment for a reason. it’s the best remedy for a poet with a sharp mouth piece. 

People will show you when they want you to shut up; so don’t speak. Silence Can be filled with inner turmoil or peace. Lately it’s been a war between both entities. Not  being able to speak with the ones you love is appalling. Bodies depart but the essence of love remains.

 I have no control over where the lord places me, and obedience is a charm of mines, so I adapt to my placement perfectly. I was reliable, patient, loving and kind. I sacrificed for my sisters. I watched faulty circumstances crumble free-spirited women. I cared for the children. I bent my back for those who were broken from bending.

 A listening ear and a swaying sword to seize the tongue of whispering demons. I watched their circumstances change as their strength was regained. I caught subtle signs that my service was no  longer needed. The only thing that pisses me off about the departure is the shots thrown at me, aiming  Straight for my love piece. 

I love with no limitations, and put myself in a box, cutting off the life line to my own aspirations.Some people don’t seek  the integrity of independence and  become  complacent in their ignorance. They don’t realize that it was never in my description to mend wounded hearts or repair broken souls; that job is done by God alone. 


My job description was the “help’’ not the healer.

Comments

The Help

Soul Dancing Unapolgetically

 I have been too fearful of my own potential, my own strengths and my own voice. I let my broken pieces define me and became content with being a mess.  Is everyone this hard on themselves or am I too rigid to see that my flaws are human, nothing less. That my pain is identifiable that my fears are shackles of the brain, and my potential is undeniable.  Where did I learn to self-hate? Who can I truly Blame for such an ugly pattern of I’m not happy to wake up and see my own face.  I get so stuck in my misery that I block out the whole world until I feel like myself  again.   It takes too much energy to dwell in the past, and even more to pass around smiles that are fake.  I find myself disconnecting from my core, and I see only the masquerade I bore. It gets dark, so dark when you’re an empath who can feel to the depths of ones soul.  I will take on all the negative energy but in hopes that something nurturing can be reborn.  They say don’t let anyone throw that on you and I won’t anymo

No Ethnicity

By: Jasmine Hudspeth

Belong To Me

 I am comfortable with the fact that no one belongs to me. It makes the challenge for love so much more sweet. The idea that someone is with you because they choose to be, is what makes it honorable even through those moments of misery.  I love, love, but can be complacent in such a fantasied daydream. I fight wars within myself to pull me back down to what I find as a rude awakening .  Some will find it odd that with all I have been through I still have the will to be so optimistic on a world that's shown me, the crooked and exposed me to some of mankind's ugliest ways. There aren't very many people who fearlessly  dream, tirelessly believe, or know how to balance transparency. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Belong to me because you want too. Wear my love like armor every where you go.  Choose me because its frees you, don't break my heart because it will always be yours. Be