Poetry has become my home and my owning the darkness has shown me the light. ~kindness sister Krissy
There are times, where my mind seems to find – deepest/darkness of memories but that’s not who I am anymore. All that pain, all that misery wrapped around itself, made something,
beautiful out of me…
I’m watching the snowfall, for the first time, in a long time, sitting by myself, in a warm and comfy chair.
I’ve seen my share – where the world has got its’ shame,
where the world bends,
broken wings are changing,
we’re all feathers together,
colors of the same icy winds
gatherings’ of love,
things of little breads
feeding our longing soul
everybody needs a little,
exchanging my pain into hope
exchanging my tears into joy
exchanging my loneliness into feathers that fly in the sky
kindness sister Krissy
I wanna live with all the other poets in the world and declare that our darkness has always been meeting together. I found them outside my home, sitting idly on my front porch.
Congregating, marinating, picking the pink “flesh off the bone.” Between city halls and the Ghetto.
I’ve watched them, roll up their sleeves and get involved in the Opium crisis. I’ve watched them, build suburban bombs and tare down high rises. I’ve watched them load the homeless-dead in Coroner’s van behind Popeye’s Chicken. I’ve watch them hold meetings -something about, the bodies that don’t belong to them. How they needed to criminalized abortion. I’ve watched them transform darkness into sheep’s clothing.
lead a prayer at a Prayer meeting,
start a war to tare the whole church down.
all because that church, would be better serviced as a parking lot.
I’ve become an informant in the darkness, where it sleeps over street lights and battery-operated cars. I’ve watched lovers, dead in the middle of an argument, stop traffic, jump out their brand new Escalade, growl, and rattle against the city’s pavement.
Splashing their darkness like hot glue guns, pressing into the blues, ain’t that like the blues, once it starts there’s no stopping.
Next door to the church on 21 street, there are no street lights, but a sour-somber, song, lingering making its way down onto where I lived,
by then, I had stepped outside, in my neon green bathrobe and declare not on my block, not on my watch, not on my stretch out towers of love where we share our burdens.
there is enough love to cover the darkness, there’s enough love to carry the weight of darkness – hold back the darkness from spilling onto innocent blood, there’s enough fish nets, bamboo traps, to hold it back for a little while longer
but I’m asking for a little more help,
so I declare, I wanna live with all the poets of world…
kindness sis. Krissy