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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

Dear God, Diaries – I too…

A Drop of Spilled Milk

Honey there will be spillage!! Poem in story and verse video
God, I know you hear it…

A Poet's Vision

Yesterday I felt like my writting had hit a snag, okay, okay a slump. What- ever this is, I know can write my way out. God always makes a way out. Now that ‘s not to say, there isn’t spilled milk or crying, going-on over here. I’ve done plenty. As the old saying goes, no need crying over spilled milk. I guess the writer forgot to add, when there is spillage and honey there will be spillage.

Nobody knows how far the spill spreads, a little here, a little there. Feels like I’m swimming around in it. One small drip into a thousand more, cascades off the light pink-brown table down onto the brown rustic wooden legs seeping into kitchen cracks. I’m running around looking for a clean dish rag. Why? I don’t know why?

I know this makes no sense but that’s just the way life is. There’s the…

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Rise up My Soul :

The heart of a book, is something whispered over and over again until you can’t help but to  pen-to-heart . I believe the mystical -magic is in the wonder. Will the words come? How the pages fly? 

Unfold like the bones of old shaken souls. Ignite the power, the soul of my pen.  Maybe for the next generation. Maybe comfort for the moment.


Empty out this soulish cry. In tears, in hope, in gratitude. These are the words that chose me.  Whispers that creep..

Followed by: moan-full prayers drifting. Salt-full beginnings, 

watch the darkness flee,~ Kindness sister Krissy

Write Myself Whole

I started to believe my soul and I had parted ways. looking over this year and even the one leading up to this 

I felt abandon, I felt the sting of loss, somewhere in the spirit of  facing the truth.


I believe there is nobody human enough to take count, the cost of grieving. I believe  comparing one loss to another is painful,

but to touch another soul like mine, is the beginning of wholeness.
I often  find my soul and I have much to discuss,

 many nights of pleading with my soul to stay,

 C’mon soul, stay alive

C’mon soul its okay not to be okay, C’mon soul talk with me 
meet me in the mirror unveil, the beauty of telling the truth 
C’mon soul, you can’t stay here you’ve gotta move, you’ve gotta get up,

you’ve gotta try.

you’ve gotta fight~ Kindness sister Krissy

Ode’ To “Their Eyes are watching God”…

Sometimes change is standing still,

out in the middle of nowhere watching the breeze comb through the sky, sitting down at the banks of river, tip, the scales of grace- while the waters are flowing and the green grass tickles the heels of ivory sand.

Lay down in the coolness of the day being loved in all that God made watching me, and me watching God and God walking in the silence

 and silence blowing back a smile in my direction . that’s how I knew I was something God made and God was there eavesdropping  goodness …~kindness sister Krissy