50 words

I had a friend issue me a writing challenge today. Write 50 words. Not 51, not 49. 50. Any topic. Challenge accepted. (I liked it so much, in fact that I made an accompanying piece.  Each can stand alone, so it's not like I cheated and wrote 100.)  Here they are:

I had given myself to them to be loved

But became their game time audible -

A last minute play when the first choice was no longer their choice -

And after time-after-time of being the fall-back,

I began to brand myself into their memories

Until this afterthought started to come first. (50)

I gave myself to Him to be loved

After I had accepted impostors and it faked myself.

He loved me without condition,

Without restriction

Until my restricted-rated inhibitions gave way to 

My acceptance of perfect love. 

And I surrendered to His example of what perfection can do:

Love even me. (50)

~gg~

A Different Perspective

For NaBloPoMo Day 4, I'm sharing somebody else's words.  Yesterday, I had the pleasure of watching the video to a spoken word piece written and performed by Toronto-based artist, Quentin Vercetty. I am humbled to say that I have shared the stage with him on a couple of occasions and he is just as amazing to listen to live as he is in this video.....and, also, that listening to his work often makes me want to burn my own notebook. Okay, maybe that's a little melodramatic - there is no competition happening here - just an honest and powerful work by a gifted poet, who is also a talented visual artist (and all-around nice guy).  The video for Through the Eyes of a Child is one of those works not easily forgotten.

Take it in.....tell a friend.

[Click here to learn more about Quentin Vercetty]

~gg~

A letter to my Son (Six Word Saturday)

Sometimes I write things that I can't say out loud, either because I don't have the confidence or opportunity. My son (and the love of my life) is a well-adjusted, happy seven-year-old, but I often wonder how my choices will affect him and for some of those choices, I feel he deserves an apology. 

I wrote this a while back and never did anything with it...in fact, I think I wrote this just before I wrote Baby Mama (I'll link to that piece once I post it.) But today's six words just describe what is embedded in this piece:

A Letter Written to my Son

There's something about holding a pen to the paper helps me to release...

It is as if writing helps me to purge my mind of the offensive thoughts that are held as prisoners in these brain cells.
"Silence!" is what my brain yells
as memories, regrets and wishes fight each other for a chance to escape.
Even when I am not writing about you
or about the things I wish I could do
or about the truths in my life that I wish were un-true,
the deeds I wish I could un-do....
writing helps me to break away from the thoughts that circulate through my system
and like a cholesterol-rich diet, clog up my natural and necessary functioning,
causing my heart to ache and often to arrest,
slowing to a halt in my chest.
But somehow,
picking up a pen changes that.
My thoughts run back
from my heart, through my veins.
My pen cuts me at the fingers and my thoughts bleed on the page,
showing my eyes my very own real.
I can write the words i cannot say
(and often wish I could not feel.)

Words like:

Dear Baby Boy,

Please forgive me for all the things i can't be to you.
For being young
and strong
and ambitions
and wrong
a lot of the time.
For having so many questions
but not all of your answers.

I'm sorry.

For not being able to teach you how to stand to pee.
For our own definition of the word family...
which means that sometimes I can be there to tuck you in at night,
turn off the light,
and check under your bed for monsters.
I'm sorry that sometimes I take up a space on your bed.
It's just that, like Aerosmith said:
I would stay awake just to hear you breathing
watch you smile while you are sleeping
because with that sound and smile in my head
it's not as hard for me to leave you with grandma and papa so I can try to give you all the things you need
and some of the things you want, too.
Even though sometimes my best won't do...
I'll try for you.

I'm sorry.

For letting him treat me differently than I hope you will treat a woman one day.
For the things I let him say.
For the amount of time I stayed.
You never saw those things - just mommy's tears,
but even that was too much...
I hope that, through  my whispered prayers at night,
your memories can instead be shaped
by the smile you see (that you've put on my face)
and the happiness found by God's grace
that gives me the strength to keep writing.

To keep fighting
for us both.
----------

Play Six Word Saturday along with Cate at Show My Face.  The premise: Describe your life (or something) in a phrase using just six words. Sounds easy, right? It is....and fun, too!!  Click on the button to see what other six words people are putting together.

~gg~

Independent Woman

I was trying to find a balance
But with so many conflicting viewpoints, achieving it was quite a challenge.
I wanted to exist somewhere between being Miss Independent and doing my own thing
And allowing myself to want the man who'd dress my finger with a ring.
And, here's the thing:
Yeah, the piece of jewelery is nice,
But my heart's desire has really always been to be a wife,
To commit myself to someone else until the end of life
As a building block in a family I'd praise God for every night.
But somewhere in between Beyonce and Sex and the City reruns,
My thoughts of a husband got replaced by the thought that I didn't need one.
As a woman in today's world, I'm taught that I don't need none.
Except a couple guys on speed dial that I could call so we can have fun.

And so Hubby got demoted to 'accessory' like some Lou Bous.
See, independent women get to focus their energy into new shoes,
Handbags, hairstyles and name brands. We gotta stay fly
Becuase even though we don't need husbands, we still like to attract guys.
But not all my energy was supposed to go into my ouside.
See, the Independent Women Club does have some guidelines.
Club rule #2: Finish school.
But the key is to do it by yourself.
So, I got busy, got down to work and put God up on the shelf
So I could finish my degree and start my carrer,
Then create a life that meant I'd never come near to uttering the words independent women fear:

"I can't do this by myself...."

You get evicted swiftly from the club if independent women hear
"I cant' do this by myself...."

Your net worth heads south
And suddenly you're left only with the clothes you've flaunted,
An empty home and no man to even watch you flaunt them.
Becuase, really, what man goes where he isn't wanted?
What man goes where he isn't needed?
And even if that's not the case, you've lead him to believe it.
Paraded self-reliance so long, he can't believe you'd leave it -
That life you've built that suits just one...he wants to know where he fits
In your independent world.

So, lonely and confused, I prayed to God and read his Word.
His response:

Stop marketing yourself as an independent girl

That's not how I designed you.

And if you don't let me in your life,  I won't let your husband find you.

See, I've got one of my sons preparing especially to guide you.

To love you like he loves himself and lead your family in my truth.

But you've got work to do, too - 

You're not read to be lead.

Take instruction from my written word, commit it to your head.

Commit it to your life and turn your focus back to me

And use this time of singleness to understand what I've purposed your life to be.

Ever since that talk with God, my attitude's been different.
Single ladies on the radio and I ain't even with it.
My former motto: "I don't need anyone" is both destructive and worthless
Because fellowship with believers has helped me walk into my purpose.
And sometimes I still ask God when hubby's coming. I'm not perfect,
But when you let God do what He does best, the wait is always worth it.

~gg~