Christa
Dickey
Beauty Myth
R.S.V. P.
Mama's Blues
Beauty
Myth
Angry, at
the shame she wears/ I wear
Wanting,
to scratch lines in the Mary Kay caked on her face/
my face
Tempted,
to unravel the rope tied to her head/ my head that
she/me
Call weave
Constantly
losing, gaining, profiling, re-styling hoping for someone
to validate
her/me
Competing,
wishing they pick her/me to be the next minstrel on
screen
Relentlessly,
praying for a perfection never intended for her/me
Tired of
warring with herself/ myself
Craving reconciliation
with her/me
Yearning
to declare war on those that deem there be no place
for us
Exhausted
from her internal/ my internal struggle
With this
God forsaken thing she/I call
Beauty
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R.S.V.P.
Hello my
name is Pain
I am the
daughter of Mrs. Never grew up
And Mr.
Pacify by any means necessary
For years
I've been smashed between my past and the definitions
of others.
Please allow
me to cordially invite you to my
cotillion,
graduation,
coming out
party,
wedding,
funeral,
whatever….
Here is where
you will hear my story.
You see,
before I had a chance to ever perceive myself f or
myself I was annihilated
by silence.
The silence
that creeps on a mother's face and hides in the throat
of man you dare
call daddy
It is best
described as a scream that has no breath to project
itself into the
atmosphere
So you swallow
it and let if fester in your gut like rotten meat.
Don't get
me wrong.
It was not
what I was told but what I was never told.
I grew up
under the slighted glares of a mother who envied me
and new in her
silence that
she could never raise me.
But, I was
smart I shielded myself with my own imagination.
Like a paper
doll I cut my father into a superhero. Only to find
that he was only a
man and knights
in shining armor were man’s way of making himself equal
with God
And if I
sound bitter it's because
I am
For I have
walked with many only to find out that I am really
alone
I have been
rejected for the bitter portion of bittersweet truth
I have learned
that true hate can only come from love
I have lead
only to find that only those who follow are forgiven
I have found
that mothers leave and daddies forget when you were
born
I have prayed
painful prayers
I have discovered
the greatest love and lost my life in its pursuit
Most of all
I have figured out that no one, I mean no one is God
but, God
And
In darkness,
when know ones there, before my love in a prayer, I
whisper
I hurt
Thank you
for coming
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Mama's
Blue
The dining
room was the only thing that separated her from a tall
glass of ice tea on a hot dessert day. But it was the
alive dead woman sitting in the chair that caused her
nine-year-old body to hesitate before entering. Perhaps
if it hadn't been for the chiming sound of ice hitting
a glass of ecstasy beckoning her, her innocence would
have been spared. Sadly, she entered a space that was
no longer a room but her mother's life. The stillness
was as loud as the blues lady's voice that cradled
her mother's motionless body. The blues lady's voice
seemed to crack a whip and summon a place in her mother
she herself didn't recognize. Though they were the
only two in the room a stranger was among them. Her
mother's regrets were present. They congregated like
family elders Lording over their descendants. Her mother
was finally dead and the elders were there to pay their
condolences. She could have lowered her mother in a
grave and never hear her mumble a word. Her mother
was convinced. Convinced that time were neither friend
nor foe but a palette. Steady chiseling lines of unforgiveness
into her face. Life was the slave driver that beat
her mother into submission. And what was the reward
for her obedience? A baton, that moments later would
be passed to her daughter. Her mother's dead body resurrected
long enough to command her daughter to sit. It the
was betrayal that hung in the stark blue eyes that
were on any normal day green, that brought the frail
nine-year-old to obedience. Suddenly, the first word
of the day was spoken. "Listen". The blues lady's voice
that had been forgotten cracked her whip again and
the only words that mattered, the only words that would
be remembered came forth like henchmen. "God bless
the chile that has his own". Out of all the words her
mother would ever speak these would be the only ones
she would ever really hear, "You remember that "God
bless the chile that has his own". With that, the baton
was passed. From that moment forward she would never
be able sip from a cup she didn't pour. And vengeance
would be taken upon every man that ever truly loved
her. The blues lady now owned a part of her soul. The
blues lady was able to link her to a part of her mother
that she could have never reached on her own. From
that day forward a lifetime of disappointments that
never belonged to the little girl would forever have
enmity with the ambitions she carved for herself. She
would never pay a debt of misery for the life she led.
Her mother gave her daughter the only thing she had
to give - a life not worth living. And though it was
love that motivated the gift, it was the kind of love
that gives back hate. It was the kind of love that
can't love back. This kind of love causes the loved
one to resent the lover for not being strong. Nevertheless,
it is a kind of love. And with that her mother passed
her last breath and laid her weak and fragile body
in the arms of compromise. Though her daughter never
found a place to rest, she never was owned by anyone.
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