That Girl.

I don’t wanna be THAT girl.

That girl who is hardly known- popular will never be in her bio. That girl is to be seen and never heard . She sits by herself most days, reflecting on the good and bad- the accomplishments and regrets of her life. Privacy is her thing, careful to share her secrets with friendly enemies . She’s been stabbed before. She rather sit at a cafe and pour her wounds out onto college ruled paper than  go to Amy’s  housewarming party. Awkward and lame are her people given names- but  it doesn’t phase her. Women tease. Men beg to please her in between cotton sheets. She daily bathes in  Fryderyk Chopin and dabs musky scents of hallucinated kisses behind her ears.

That girl, she doesn’t fit in.

But whats wrong with being that girl?

She’s beautiful in her own way.

Anomaly is what I’ll call her

Anomaly stands alone in confidence- as people , hiding their gossip in between the pages of Genesis and the 10 commandments. She laughs with no fear and sings ballads of hope and dreams. She rests in silent soundscapes – for silence is where she finds herself.

But no one is willing to find her.

Not willing to get to love her.

Laughter laughs for only so long….


Hollow god

Standing still.  Intently staring into frigid eyes.

Intimated and nervous I was.

I am.

It was as if he was searching for a specific thing. Or as if he knew there was something buried inside my conscience. He must be use to getting what He wants.

Finally his lips broke into a smile I’ve never seen before.

He said…

“Leave your hollow man. Love me, for I will never abandon you. Will never fail you.

Ever.  Trust me”.

His sheerest  longing  is to be my  only source of satisfaction.

I was the only one he ever wanted.

This is what I’ve been dreaming of all through out  my yesterdays

Hope is being re birthed….


I Lowered My Standards for Him…

Been listening to what true manhood is all last night and this morning. I realized my standards need to be re-raised. I didn’t realize how low they were.  Its funny, I remember when guys use to say my standards were too high and I would never find anyone-not anyone like them at least.

” You’re going to be alone forever” he arrogantly said.

That stung.

I remember an older Christian lady, who I admired, saying I needed to lower my standards if I ever wanted to be married. (Mind you she got married at 19)  The thing is, they weren’t even high-just basic. I refused to settle and date someone I wasn’t attracted to. (Even though I ended up doing so for almost 4 years. ) I refused to be with someone who could not take me on dates or who treated me like a dirty piece of coal.

But eventually  I lowered my standards. The fear of being alone forever while all my friends got wed-it scared me.  So, I lowered them. Too low, which led me down a path of very painful consequences.  Now today, I am striving to build it back up on the firm and never failing foundation of Jesus. Not letting boys who have nice fades, melodic voices and  toned arms not sway or charm me.

To not go out with a man who truly does not care about  the fragility of my soul. To not entertain the flirting he may casually throw my way with no intentions in pursuing me.

My heart taps in anticipation of meeting a  true man who desires to open my soul full of treasures. Who knows if it will ever happen.Most days, I think I will forever be single.

Nevertheless,  I refuse to lay my precious valuables before thieves. No longer will I lower my standards just to have a hand to hold or to have sweet nothings whispered and told.

I can’t do this on my own, sometimes I get weak. God I need your help. I need your help to stay focused and to remember my worth and value is in You, not in if Mr. mortal man desires me. Thanks


Can I Explain?


All my insecurities are surfacing as I prepare to perform  one of my  dearest poems titled  Black Tongues of Adam. As I steadily gaze at each word,  fear  pushes the accelerator- making my heart ricochet in between my ribs.  Every time I repeat the lines in my  head, their words  bubble up in my thoughts. Words such as: ” You don’t even write poetry, you write random thoughts; ” Whats the point? No one will understand what you’re talking about” or the most common, ” Everyone will laugh at you: all respect will be lost”.

Can I be honest?

I’m afraid.


See, when I share my piece, I will immediately be exposed. As of now, people automatically assume the best- that I write amazing poetry- mimicking the utterly raw talent of spoken word artists Ezekiel or  Jackie Hill. They clap their hands in anticipation as they chatter about hearing me mightily perform my first time. I’m afraid what I have to say won’t be deemed “worthy” and the beauty behind my words will be dismissed .

More than that, I’m afraid that my care of what people think will deter me from being authentically me.

The thing is,  I’m not Ezekiel and I’m not Jackie. I’m me. Christina. I write bout whatever comes to my mind, using life experiences and my buried dreams to inspire me. I don’t do a play on words nor do I always write about super deep subjects. I write about what is beautiful to me. Or  when I’m struggling with reminding myself of the truth- I write to encourage others to know they are truly  lovely creatures.  I wanna be free and not be constrained to what poetry is called today.

What I’m trying to say is, I don’t want these expectations on me. And I’m a little nervous that I will be deemed  a crappy artist or just an “inspiring poet” instead of being called what I actually am, which is…well,  simply a lover of art.

I’ll be on stage soon…



Psalm of Despair

My God,

Will You please lay me down to sleep-hold me in Your beautiful arms.

When I wake, please hold my hand and heart.  Despair and sadness awakens  before I even open my eyes.

I can’t do this without You Jesus, my God. I need You!

Depression tries to kill me everyday-save me O God!

Look at it in the eye and force it to leave. Lay your hand of blessing upon my head-over my heart.

I’m fading.

Please, hold on to me

Hold me.

You Wanna White or Black Guy?


They  frequently ask “You date white guys“? or “You prefer black men  over white?”

Well… see, I love brown skin. The different swirls of brown cocoa brown sugar;mocha; milk chocolate; tootsie roll; midnight chocolate; black coffee( hold the cream) honey or soil after a heavy downpour of rain. I can go on and on.

I like when  a brown skin brotha steps into the sun  & all his hues of reds and oranges burst forth, making me sheeply look away.

See, when I picture a scene from my future, specifically my marriage- my mature torso has two strong tree branches, or call them his arms- they squeeze me tightly. My hands reach up to his sweet face- reassuring him he is all I’ll ever want. Whenever we kiss, he hits my sweet tooth each time making me crave more.

Then when we have children we’ll have sweet morsels of chocolate chips-chips off the old block! We’ll joke: Keep Calm and have a chocolate baby! or when  our child does something crazy-we’ll say ‘Oh Fudge!’ instead of what we really want to say.

He melts in my mouth.

I melt in his faithful hands

When I need a break, I won’t need to open up a kit kat, all I’ll need is him.

He would get me. I would get him. With my man, we could relate to how weird it is when people stare at us while we turn up to  some good ol  Miranda Lambert ( or maybe he’ll be staring along with them towards me!) or we can have an ever so intense discussion on the crucial importance of putting lotion on your feet and elbows; while giggling at trying to figure out of why some folks assume we can play basketball!

You see how far my imagination went? It can go so much further, but let me save it for mystery sake.


Now, My peach men

They are one of a kind.

The majority of the guys I dated were Caucasian.

I use to only look at them as the only desirable type of men. When I was younger ,I was beyond sure I was going to marry a white guy. I wouldn’t dare look at a “black” man.

Around 13 yrs old, my mom told me matter of factly, I would end up with a black husband- I shouted “Never”! as I gazed starry eyed at Jonathan Taylor Thomas.

They say’ Momma knows best’.

White sugar was always in my cup of tea. Lots of it.

I liked how they appreciated my brown skin. They would scan my face and arms in awe, stating how beautiful it was while itching to touch me.

I enjoyed us being together, but I hated the disapproving stares we would get. I would point it out and he would say I was making it up and just longed for attention. Barely.

It tickled my heart when I looked down and saw our interlocked hands singing Ebony & Ivory. When I picture my marriage with a peach brother, I see us chatting over coffee or riding slow in his truck while he pats his Ford steering wheel to the beats of Wiz Khalifa.

He would be my ivory, refreshing and cleansing me with the Word-rinsing me off with his delicate kisses. I of course would be his favorite magazine to read. 

Our children would be sweet morsels of butterscotch. As they lay in our beds,while not giving us much room, they usher in the  scent of the love we have for each other


So,would I date a white guy? Do I prefer a black man?






Teacher Brain

Currently, I’m freezing cold

I need a blanket and a hand to hold

My arms are filling up with goosebumps, rising up to my lady lumps

Classical music playing in the background-children all asleep

My stomach is painfully growling

I need something to eat

Yogurt and coffee was my morning bread

But eggs and bacon is what I desired instead.




Was Oprah really dating Stedman?

Why do we care about such meaningless stuff like this?

Isn’t life more than T.V. and the latest celebrity gossip?

Will knowing where Kerry Washington got her shoes bring us hope to the orphan kids who need to be fed?

Fed Up-Call the feds. For we should be arrested.

Charged with possession of too much,\

Gluttonous. .

sticking up our middle fingers to the  flood of innocent blood pouring from children who are slaves of distorted sex.

Why do we focus so much -too much energy and time upon our hands

Things which fill us up so empty.

Gluttonous. We are stuffing ourselves prided, having the best clothes, indulging in the hottest sex and praying God will make it rain upon  our bank accounts already baking dough.


Scandal me gently.

Yeah, I know we love Kerry in that show but how about we stop soaking up this crap and start showing our sons how to take responsibility?

Or teach our daughters how our ancestors became free- we will never believe we were made for more than celebrity news and smoking weed…

My children are waking, its time to go

Thanks for listening to  this simple rhyme

Now on with the show


I will wait for you.

Until the sky crashes loudly into the ocean. The stars lighting the forest on fire creating incense for the Mighty One.

I will wait for you even if that means nightly I lay in the bitter cold sheets that could be simply warmed by your soothing touch

I will wait for you even if that means breaking my phone in half so I wont give me number to terrible versions of you.

Right now, as the warm ginger rays of the sun rests upon my face, I will reserve my passions to be warmed by your affections only.