Featured post

Generations Raising Themselves:

I’m more myself now than I ever was.
When I look in the mirror. I don’t see the sad eyed-girl with low self-esteem. Or the abandonment of my mother. To have a second husband and leave us. That was her choice.

To leave her kids with their grandmother during their teenage years. (Never -mind my dead father).

As I bent down to tie my shoe. I let my mind wander back, to that girl, I used to be. On the floor of grandma’s corner house, faced down into the carpet. Hands over my face. I’m barely breathing. Tears falling out the sides.

My brother and his friends are teasing me for wearing the same winter hat.  Day in, day out I wore that hat. It was starting to be really hot. I still hadn’t put a comb to my hair. Let alone, look at that hot mess sitting on my head. So I did, what I thought most 13-year-olds do when no ones looking. I stuck a wool hat on my head and kept it moving. Until those boys snatched it off.

Then all that shame, all that matted-down nappy-shame ran over me. My younger cousin walked in the middle of my disgrace. In the middle of their full on the enjoyment of sheer bullying. She covered me with her love. Being all grown, at six years old. She wiped my tears. Pulled my body off the floor.

I made it. Past their scrutiny, past their foul words. Past the regret of not knowing how to take care of myself.

We’d become best friends that day. She too needed a mother. I cooked her meals, walked her to school. She introduced me to an old school beautician in our neighborhood. The rest is history
God is good like that.~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley

I Might Take This Down: Book is almost done: Excerpt

And with these healings:  heal my sister, that voice inside your head, which echoes within your heart. Heal in rhyme, in freeform, haiku, sonnets & prose. Heal in any form, this healing is for you. 

Heal the stories of your life that you have lived. Heal folk from other parts of you- that you give. Heal your long, lost song ,the long lost praise of” God of our weary years.” Heal your hymns & psalms, enchanted deep in bodies of the night. 

Heal your world of life & mysteries. Heal with crayon, pen, paint, charcoal, chalk or ink. Heal in sweat, tears and faith. Heal of all you see, hear, listen, smell and taste. Heal your own purgatory, limbo, ecstasy and heaven. Of everything that holds your beings’ together. 

Heal, pray & come alive. Heal with healings so deep, only your ancestors have taught you. Whispering healing in your dreams, with long Gaia-dresses, made of straw, broom, and mud to sweep. Healings of the  sphere. 

Healing dangerously, messy, and yearning to be born of you/ your healing to be. And when you think your healing is done, finished and complete. Those voices within your head, & soul will find you and beg. They’ll shout you into victory, dance for you in your sleep, and pray for you in the morning.  Copyright ©2022 Krissy Mosley

Coming Back: Reoccurring Love

My candle would not burn, unless i turned it upside down. Or sideways, any-which-way but standard.

Lay me, down on my side, and if my flame is combustible . My wick is ajar my petals will creek.

Yet I’m not out of flame. Cider & Warm Spices, I give because you did not toss me aside. I give, because what is love, unless it’s given away? And what is love unless it bleeds? A heavy love of surrender- of- things, giving itself back to me.

Poem: My Life, My Love , My All

Poet Krissy Mosley

She is a black gypsy
her law is love
it is the fruit of her lips
and when she gives
she gives out of her belly
ancient waters – running(s)
of wisdom from purgatory
of lost soul- she loves to find
binding the ashes together
binding the smoke and flame
shadows of all shades
shadows of days – in lonely
shadows of nights – in longing
shadows of scratching and surviving
and when she gives the trees bow at her offerings
the sky breathe(s) – fresh winds in her direction
seedlings jump into germination
conjuring up the power of connection
the power of affection
the power – a simple touch
to heal lost souls like mine

~ Krissy Mosley