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

We can all Fly: becoming still

I am reminded to sit in the presence of God,

as the presence of God abides in the each of us ~ with Love

your

Poet Krissy

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

Day26 #WritingMyselfWhole: Keep Those Prayers Burning

We are kind,

gentle -natured people,

unfettered souls 

trying to piece together 

a living, 

trying to piece together faith 

trying to hold back- afraid 

like old cotton sheets

wa-a-y down in the wash 

smelling up the days 

of wa-a-y back when 

We made mud pies 

We made sunshine 

We glued our problems together

We loved real -hard

We fought real-hard

We prayed real-hard 

We dreamed real- hard 

We cried-real -hard

for real change to come…. 

Poet Krissy Mosley