I am super excited to finally be posting the talent of other women who want to have a voice in writing or already do! All of our experiences and stories matter and deserve to be told. It’s been something I’ve been meaning to implement for a while and I’m excited that so many people have asked me about collaborating. Thank you guys for all the love and support that floods my messages, comments and DM’s from all over. I promise I listen to all suggestions and criticism (and take it with a grain of salt ;)).
In Every Drop
At this point it’s hard to know which bruises hurt more. The physical wounds are antagonizing. But the emotional distress is truly torturous. What am I so sad and low spirited about though? The fact that I have a new struggle to add onto, or the fact that life betrays me after every promise of a smooth ride? I guess that’s why we don’t trust in mankind or the life mankind has to provide. I should be rejoicing in the rain, in every drop God sent to remind me I am blessed. But how can I do that with a million different thoughts flooding me? I am drowning in a sea of questions, in oceans of uncertainty, in man made lakes of doubt. I am not just interrogating myself on where I have found my worth, but I am also wanting to question everyone and everything around me. My trust has failed to prevail once again. Setting up borders higher than the lasts. Building walls that don’t vanish in the horizons, hiding the frontier in which I can see a brighter tomorrow. If the grass IS greener on the other side I am not envying it. For I am locked in a dam, I don’t believe in grass and if there is grass anywhere it must be dead. Water doesn’t exist in the deserts outside the thoughts that drown me. I wish my mind was dry and empty like the west. I wish my mind was silent and abandoned, that every last thought I am fighting against decided to leave me like my good fortune. Solitude, now there’s a word that I find comfort in and yet cringe at. I am okay with being alone when it means in my head. But how I long for your spirit to reside next to mine. I yearn for the soft caress of your fingers on the back of my hand. I don’t want to be without you. But I want to be alone. Why are my spirits so low? Is it because thinking of us is thinking of the toxicity we poured on each other within the same water we used to grow? It’s thinking of the stones we threw when we decided you’d condemn me and I’ll condemn you. It’s thinking, and thats what I want to step away from. Every thought that invades my place of rest and incarcerates me. I am locked away in a jail that I sentenced myself to when I didn’t know how to love. I should be rejoicing in the rain, every drop God sent to remind me that his blessings are among me. His promise already fulfilled. But the boisterous winds of my past still haunt me. I can hear the storms whistling at the distance. Almost as to promise me that they will make a way into my present. The clouds aren’t clearing but the rain, the rain is a reminder of blessings. I am still. Not because I desire for the dry storms to catch up to me, but because I know this stormy weather won’t allow for old storms to arise. I look back but for what? All I see is the tornados that tore my home a part and spat it out into the far future completely intact now looking for new homes and cars to devour. Maybe I’ll leave a snack, for when it reaches this point I will be long gone. I should be rejoicing in the rain, in every drop God promises me blessings. So I turn my gaze ahead, I move one step forward and step out of my comfortability. I’ve got to align myself, my soul, my spirit, and I know my mind and body will follow. Submission, now there is a word I look forward to but toil with. Is it because I find submitting to the one that can bring the rain to me so beautiful, but can’t control my surrounding environment to submit with? It would mean to let go of me, if I’m not in love with who I am but in who you’ll make me…. why is it a brawl to lose me? I’ll go around the valley and starve my flesh. Once I am lost, completely lost in myself it will rain. I will rejoice in the rain, every drop God filling me with his blessings. I will find who he has planed for me to be. I couldn’t tell which bruises hurt more and now my wounds he healed. In the rain, he healed me in the rain.
A poem submitted by Blanca Flores.
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