Heartbreak

Broken Heart Grunge
Nicolas Raymond on Flickr

I'm never ready for it. EVER.

If I could turn my heart off I would. If I could find a way to not connect with and engage with others I would do it. In a heartbeat.

Because all I've ever found is one heartache after another.

I love too damn hard.

I connect to others entirely too quickly.

I don't want to anymore.

Not ever again.

But I always do.

It's me. My fatal flaw is that I always care.

No, I didn't lose a lover. 

I'm so single, other single people measure their time as singles in Aisha units.

I just dared to believe I had a friend who believed. 

But apparently I failed that friend because it's over, called to a decisive end.

And I can't even ask why. 

I defend the best way I know how to minimize hurt. If that was insufficient, I'm sorry.

I like to fix things.

I love to love.

I don't like to break people.

But I apparently did.

And now, once again, I'm heartbroken too.

Found on Facebook: Church Hurt

Can I be honest and tell you I don't like this? 

I'm probably putting too much thought into it, but I've seen what "Church Hurt" does to people. This includes those who have a strong foundation in God, those who seek Him desperately, and look only to serve Him.

We are responsible for how we treat others. The Bible tells us that leaders will be judged with greater weight because of their position of authority. Leaders are called, much like husbands, to love as Christ loved the church. Sacrificially. In return, those who are following leaders as the leaders follow Christ are to submit to their authority, in a healthy way, and pray for them.

That makes sense. If someone is carrying a heavier weight, we lift them with our assistance, in this case our prayers and encouragement. Also, biblical.
However, this statement here seems to blame the victim. Don't get me wrong, I've seen it where someone is truly bewitched by the charismatic charm of some dynamic leader. But many more times I've seen those with genuine hearts, harmed by the attitudes of sensationalist Christian leaders.

There has to be accountability on all fronts. We live transparent lives of integrity loving and helping one another. Yes even with sin. Even when things are difficult. Yes even in disagreement, we bear with one another in love, we carry each other's burdens, and correct one another without condemnation. Yes, there are times for rebuke but even that is done from love, with forgiveness.

We do have to watch out for bitterness, but how about we each take care to not cause another to sin. Issues happen, we're human. But we love and we work through because He first loved us. 

Again, maybe I'm putting too much though into but I like the simplicity of, "Let us love one another."

systemically

Facebook: Charles Singleton

Death is given out like candy
Here's some for you and some for you
Don't resist or you'll get some too
It's a crazy game
The system's on the hunt
Never touched drugs
We'll Photoshop in a blunt
You're no angel
You're some kind of freak
You have unseen powers
Is what some think
Bow before these commands
Meet unreasonable demands
Don't show grief
We'll make you look like a thief
While the system takes more life
And reinforces lack of worth
Yeah we'll protect your birth
But then there's a dearth
Of help along the way
We've trapped you here
We want you to fear
Don't question the system
Don't rebel
Or else
I feared for my life
Is the story I'll tell
You're nothing
You're no one
It's your own fault you lack


Welcome to the world of how it feels to be black.

Me, a writer? Really?

I ask myself this question too often. I've never written a traditional story, I don't write a certain number of words a day. Commas are my sworn, mortal enemy, I love run-on sentences, and there are other rules of grammar that I'm afraid I break, regularly.

Even in my professional business, I remix many of the same words and phrases because I am beholden to the structure of SEO. And my ability to research is, at times, crippled by my ability to get distracted while following a trail right down the rabbit hole.

So I wonder, am I truly an artist, a creative who has that almost-magical ability to transport people into a calm and comforting, or disorienting and adventurous world of words of my own making?

Today, I spent an hour or so writing down words from the thesaurus so each would readily pop into my mind. I don't like breaking writing rhythm to look up a similar word, and I've found when I write it down it helps me to remember.

Which then meant, of course, I spent time reading the dictionary to make sure I was using the words properly. Oh and to find new ones, which led me back to the thesaurus. It's a bit of a cyclical pattern.

Oh, and did I mention I'm working on a plan to launch an official website for my business, the Write Solution? I've been strategizing with my mentors about blog topics to get started. And there's that uncanny curiosity of mine that keeps my public relations-bent mind going back to journalism. I often wonder if this or that is being worked into a story. But I digress.

So in answer to my own question:

Who, other than a writer, does that? 

Seriously.

In the matter of whether or not I am a writer, I believe these events, and many other print-related infractions, make me guilty as charged. I guess I'll go ahead and serve this life sentence with joy.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Quiet.

You want to hush my zeal.

You laugh at my #Activism.

You tell me it isn't real.

You say “Martin wouldn't do that.”

But you forget you killed him too.

I ask you to have empathy.

Something you refuse to do.

And if I say I love my blackness.

You tell me to take it back.

“Because that love excludes all others.”

Another lie you use to attack.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Quiet.

You tell me it's no big deal.

You say that we’re no angels.

To invalidate how we feel.

You say that we are violent.

But lynching was up to you.

You’ll say that I’m the racist.

My life proves that isn’t true.

You’ll lie about our fathers.

Then ignore statistical facts.

You spread your hatred, calling it news.

And try to tell me how to be black.

You want me to make you comfortable.

Or to look a certain way.

I’m still looking for some empathy.

But it didn’t come today.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Quiet.

You tell me my fate is sealed.

Because I’m tinted with melanin.

You think I’m OK to kill.

I’ve sat for years in silence.

And taken my requests to God.

He never told me to ignore violence.

It’s time for Justice to do her job.

There is much work to be done.

And you can come and lend a hand.

You can ask many questions.

But stop making silly demands.

If I want to cry, I’m going to.

And if I feel a protest is right.

That is where you will find me.

Until others have seen the light.

Go ahead and listen to the lies.

Under the wings of those who yell.

Who tell you that we’re looting.

Who tell you that we’ll fail.

But in hundreds of years of oppression.

You have never truly won.

So tell me again how this is senseless.

I refuse to be numb.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Quiet.

It’s time for our nation to heal.

Your discomfort will not stop me.

My voice you’ll never steal.

If my sound annoys you.

Then go ahead and mute.

But many other freedom fighters.

Will follow our noble pursuit.

We are no longer quiet.

We have more stories to tell.

You will hear us in solidarity.

Listen for our quiet yell.

-©Aisha Nichole Willis 2015-