Easter Sunday #findingwords #gettingthroughtheresurrection #thankstoNikaRidley *✫ ♡

#womenpoets #gottalovethem ! #radasfuck

Easter Sunday, and Toni Morrison reminisces in my head… round and round, ah Milkman and the road to Easter (see Song Of Solomon).

As luck would have it, the fabulous Nika Ridley shared some poetry excerpts this good weekend on her FB wall…. (so fortunate we are friends !!! 😉 ) and here’s the words that just rolled off her chest, speaking for many more than just “her”….

Have a blessed resurrection day! :p #hereshoping #changes #lifeshifts #rememberinghope #lifeisbeautifulalways

See you on the other side, Rain

here’s a pic of Nika ~ thanks Facebook #forbetterandforworse

    • Ok. So I got talked into the national poetry month by a couple of my best womens. And I copped out the first two days and posted on Clarity’s page instead of mine because it was just so painful and personal. But I’m pulling up my big girl panties and I’ll post them both here.

      Day one:
      There are pieces, decades old, that I’m still grieving.
      Volcanic lava deep beneath the surface of my cool, collected exterior.

      Sometimes, something so
      creates a fissure,
      and it comes seething to the surface, roiling, steaming, swallowing, burying
      beneath molten footprints.
      And I’m left
      Clawing at that place
      Where there is still a child’s
      wounded heart.
      Pinned against the wall
      Like a curio

      A few weeks ago it was that man, you know the one, riding by on his bicycle screaming un contained rage, spewing vitriolic hatred on everything within earshot, unpredictable.
      And suddenly, I’m sitting in the front seat hidden from view sobbing uncontrollably,
      Just like then
      And every time since.

      You would think,
      All those years of talk therapy
      And nonchalantly prescribed meds
      With suicide warnings blaring
      From their labels
      Intended to keep me calm
      To doctor me safely
      Within the status quo
      Would have helped
      But no amount of talking or medication
      Takes the hurt
      And the fear
      the shaking
      The paralyzing anxiety
      The knowing
      Of death threats
      Out of my bones,
      nervous system
      Muscle memory,
      Emotional body
      And the ever present knowing that
      I am never enough
      Or just too much
      And must be beaten
      Into submission.

      No matter what I do
      There is no escape
      That shit will haunt me shaking it’s chains and moaning far into adulthood.
      And while I try to walk a different path,
      And parent a different way

      There are still these

      Of grief
      That seep out of the fault lines

      When someone tries to truly love me
      And instead of allowing love
      I’m overtaken by fear.
      The not enough monsters that tell me they will leave me
      Like so many others before
      So i cannot be loved. No.
      Rather, shaking, like a bird,
      Caught in a net
      Crying at the feeling of loss
      Devastation so real
      That one simply cannot move

      And as we dig down into the catacombs
      The ancestors moan and shake these same chains at me
      So many generations
      With the same pattern on repeat
      So as I break each pattern
      I must also remember that I’m setting them free, one by one
      Like dandelion seeds
      It’s time.

      Nika Ridley

    The thing that’s so nice about abused girls
    Is that they are often
    Heavily medicated, self, or otherwise
    And always
    Desperately searching
    For love
    The thing that is so nice
    about abused girls
    Is that they know
    How to be quiet
    And say yes
    When they really mean no
    Because they know
    It won’t hurt as much. That way.
    is just a permission slip
    for severe violence.

    The thing about abused girls
    Is that they know
    It’s always their fault
    They must have some how asked for it. Deserved this.
    And everyone knows they are a slut any way
    Had too much to drink
    Too many drugs
    Must have asked for it
    Did you see how she was dressed?!
    The thing about abused girls is
    No matter how many times it happens
    They will never
    Call it rape.

    Nika Ridley


    Day two:

    My kid looks at me
    With this tilted head, side eye gaze
    Gauging if I’m crying
    She’s learned the things
    That typically send me off,
    Make me emotional.
    Sometimes it’s the sad part in a movie
    Sometimes it’s that the character found themselves
    Discovered their life purpose
    Over came adversity
    I’m always
    For the underdog
    Because despite what you might perceive
    The underdog
    Is me

    In suspended animation
    Wild animals don’t show they are sick
    Because predators sniff that out
    And use it to their advantage

    Years suffered silently
    The rattling in my lungs the only clue
    To buried grief
    The tears I could never shed
    Crossed my arms in tidy razor lines
    Rivulets of blood
    In lieu of tears
    Mapping extraordinary pain
    That had no other outlet

    I was a dead girl already
    Rage simmering just barely beneath the surface
    And oh. The punishment.
    Theirs, and The self inflicted
    The thousand clever ways of burial.
    Even now, I punish myself with the guilt
    Of how I was
    Not Good.

    I’m sorry.
    Please forgive me.

    Lately I’m able to look and see
    The myriad ways in which
    I was failed by adults
    It’s easier to turn away
    From extravagant pain
    Then to ask for a road map
    To its source
    Let’s not embarrass the community
    God forbid.

    Wolf mother to my own cub
    Adjusting to life
    With a heart blown wide open
    I cry
    At the drop of a hat
    Grief that still percolates to the surface to be processed
    At the touching
    The brave
    The beautiful
    At gratitude that brings me to my knees.
    At the magic and miracles
    In the mundane.
    At the extraordinary simplicity and beauty
    Of not being dead.

    I am learning to love myself
    For the first time.

    Nika Ridley.

    • Unpack my baggage here
      All the dirty laundry aired
      Dragging Shadow kicking and screaming
      Into light
      Name all the nameless
      formless fears

      Funny how much easier it is
      To get naked
      With someone who barely knows you
      Than to undress all of your darkness
      Before the people you love the most.

      I unpacked the not enough voices,
      The not worthy monsters,
      The belief, honed by years of experiential evidence, that I don’t deserve to be happy, to have ease, that I don’t deserve to have good things.
      I took my athame, and traced the mother line down my belly,
      And like glistening blood red jewels I
      And every

      I’m not worthy of love
      I will be abandoned
      Everything I love will be violently snatched away
      I’m not safe

      At one point these beliefs and fears served to protect me.
      And then they became a self fulfilling prophesy.
      I insulated myself with these Truths
      Repeated the pattern
      Scars, etched into my skin,
      They were mine.

      Just as Shadow loses its power
      When it’s no longer lingering in darkness
      I shared my head demons
      With my inner sanctum loved ones

      To Overwhelming response:
      You are wonderful
      You are amazing

      This is Grace

      The power of unbecoming
      So that I can become anew
      The alchemy of cutting loose every ugliness and presenting it for inspection
      To still be Loved.

      This is Grace

      Weak kneed, trembling, unsure
      Lightness of being as the old falls away and loses power,
      And all that is left is the freedom of blank pages,
      the new story
      That I get to author.

      Nika Ridley
      National poetry month

    #nationalpoetrymonth #speakingout #speakingup #beingseen #beingheard #breakingsilence #foronceandforall

    finding freedom