Celebrate
There is a great power in recognizing mistakes -and in this case America’s “mistakes” are evil, the awareness of which allows us to grow and change. We cannot bring awareness if we ignore, or blot out the dark chapters of our history. What better time than during a national holiday celebrating the birth of this country to reflect on the wrongs committed against others? This toddler nation, with only 250 years of history, has accomplished so much because of the technological boom, but there is still so much potential to be captured. Every American is not treated as equal, and many Americans are actively having their rights stripped from them each month. Imagine if we could bridge the gap between all walks of life and infuse our society with a system of values and laws that accurately reflected what each American needs. What greatness could we achieve that would propel us forward? That is the purpose of this poem, to draw attention to a dark and evil past while shedding light on all the potential our future has. It is aimed at the youth because they hold the fate of this nation in their hands.
Happy Fourth of July!
Celebrate young patriots,
A mighty nation birthed with determination.
The global superpower that toppled evil.
Celebrate young patriots,
A nation that massacred another-
Stole their land and gave them only a portion.
Celebrate young patriots,
The genocide of a continent’s occupants.
Celebrate young patriots,
Ships with tall sails and halls full-
Of humans hunted from their own homes.
Celebrate young patriots,
The slavers whip as it tears human flesh.
Celebrate young patriots,
A mighty nation bloodied by civil war-
Over the enslavement of people.
Celebrate young patriots,
A country segregated by melanin.
Celebrate young patriots,
Women whose rights are not theirs-
Whose bodies are legislated by men in cheap suits.
Celebrate young patriots,
A country whose DNA flows with evil ignored.
Celebrate! Celebrate! Celebrate!
Oh, young patriot, celebrate!
You are the future youth will remember.
Oh, young patriot, celebrate,
Never to forget-
The terrible and the great-
That is your fate.
Oh, young patriot, celebrate!
The power of the people to change their destiny-
To make those in power tremble with mighty fear.
Oh, young patriot, celebrate!
This nation is yours to shape for the better.
Join hands with those from different paths.
Oh, young patriot, celebrate!
The strength of each adventure –
A new string of DNA.
Oh, young patriot, celebrate!
That you are no more the sum of your past-
Then the choice of your present.
Oh, young patriot, celebrate!
A future filled with equality for all.
Or watch this mighty nation fall.
Hurt Yourself
A tragic poem about two loves with different views on the relationship.
Heartbreak is probably one the greatest enigmas of humanity: we do everything in our power to avoid the pain, yet our actions of avoidance steer us directly into heartbreak. A few days ago I had a thought about a recent love lost: “What if the walls we built to protect ourselves from harm were the very walls that kept us from the love that would protect and nourish us?” Less complicated: love is what protects us, not walls, tests, and distance. To many of us love is a binary code we plug and play in various situations to create outcomes that match expectations we do not understand. Our love, though, is only as powerful as our connection to ourselves. We cannot produce love greater than our internal love for ourselves: if your love for yourself is toxic or anemic, your love for others will be toxic or anemic. Through connection with our inner self, we learn how to love more fully. This should be taught in our most formative years as children, but the generations that have raised today’s adults spent their childhood surviving great global turmoil: all they knew was survival, all they could teach their children was survival. And so, here, this next generation sits —with great abundance and great choice: do we continue as the generation in survival mode or evolve?
I believe the best way to love, especially if you are still healing and growing, is by finding people who want to support you. A telephone pole supports the telephone wires, it does not ask them to be anything more or anything less. That is the tragedy of this poem: two people coming together with different views of themselves and goals for the relationship and it ends in pain. The last stanza can be read from either perspective and represents the dual nature of reality.
You said to me:
We shouldn’t get together.
You said to me:
I hurt people.
I said to you:
I am responsible for my choices.
I said to you:
Let's heal together.
You had no words,
We were no more.
You hurt yourself,
More deeply than you could ever hurt me.
My Child: Epiphany
One thing that we often miss about the human experience is that each individual is responsible for their individual emotions and actions. Much has been written, and certainly, we have a justice system dependent on the truth that humans are responsible for their own actions. How do we view emotions, though? Perhaps, the greatest lie we have allowed in society is that the other person is responsible for how I feel. We design our personalities around irresponsibility for our emotions and moods. Viktor Frankl, a survivor of the Holocaust, wrote that the only thing a person can’t take from you is your ability to choose your own way. It is an indisputable fact that I was abused throughout my entire childhood. It is also an indisputable fact that only I am responsible for how I choose to respond to the abuse. This poem is what I believe to be the appropriate response: I am responsible for my emotions and moods, meaning I am responsible for saving myself.
There is no savior on the horizon because the savior was with you the entire time. You are the savior, don’t give away your power.
“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” -Viktor E. Frankl
My child in pain you cried out for help.
Your need from their abuse, you did not induce.
Those who could have helped.
Were not capable of holding you.
My child you cried in the dark
My child you chose to get back up.
My child, you applied the salve.
My child you held yourself.
My child you chose to be.
Accept the power in those moments.
Accept destiny in your own voice.
My child you are grown now,
And you protect yourself.
Vulnerability is okay,
Love is acceptable,
Breathe the air and feel life.
Your wounds will hurt, but they do not define you.
My child
Drift no more
Sails repaired.
Hull patched.
You need no savior,
For on that floor, you saved yourself.
My Child: The Wound
The last year has been filled with a lot of change for me and I have most definitely struggled to manage the pain from these changes in this season of my life. Last night I was going through workbooks and psychology on healing when I realized that the majority of my life has been spent learning why other people act the way they do and trying to adjust to navigating them. The technical term is people pleasing, which is a trait I am well aware I have: people pleasing protected me from the multiple waves of abuse I suffered as a child. Last night, for perhaps the first time, I went on to do a little research on why I react to life the way I do. I did not get far before the thoughts flowed and a filled out three pages of my reactions to life, why I react the way I do, and what significant event from my childhood is the trigger for those reactions. In therapy, I refer to these moments as epiphanies, because they are so deeply profound to me and are pivot points in my personality. I finish off my marathon self-therapy session and go to bed having a vivid dream about reconciliation and acceptance. This morning I woke up and after a few hours felt two poems growing inside me. I haven’t edited these poems -in any significant way, they are raw, and emotional, and are directed at me as a child. The goal of this website is to provide a platform for not only myself to express who I am, but for others who are suffering to find the courage to seek acceptance within themselves. There is an act of underdefined courage in facing abuse and choosing to define the abuse rather than the abuse defining you. Hopefully, through my words, anyone reading this can also find the courage that they always had and harness it for themselves.
In pain my child cried out,
Someone help, me?
Someone soothe, me?
Someone hold, me?
Alone in the night.
In the dark my child cried
No one held him!
No one soothed him!
No one helped him!
Tears staining the hardwood floor.
Wounded as a tiger gashed in the side:
My child grew.
Fearful of all around him
Wary of those who would be close:
Lest they disappear when needed
Hating himself.
My child, now a man
Drifting listlessly amongst the sea.
Sails tattered and battered.
Hull pierced and taking on water.
No savior on the horizon.
I See You
It’s been a while since I’ve posted (lots of life changes). This is the first version of this poem about love had, love lost, and love to be had.
Everyone wants to be seen, always take that extra moment to see them for who they are and not who you want them to be or who they were.
I see you,
Beautiful in your dress,
Like so few,
Twirling on the front porch,
As you do,
Smiling radiantly.
I see you,
Eyes full of hope.
I see you,
Hiding within yourself,
You withdrew,
Unsure of threats all around,
The anger inside you a' brew,
Smile faded.
I see you,
Eyes filled with pain.
I see you,
Fighting against it all,
Giving to life it's just do,
Trying not to succumb,
Wanting someone to pursue.
Smiling.
I see you,
Eyes filled with determination
I see you:
Worthy of love,
Affection abounding
Dreams turned to reality,
Protected from all that would harm.
Surrounded by care.
I see you,
A shining star safe in the night sky.
Slaves to a Wisp
I wrote this poem in 2009 and edited it in 2023. This particular poem I am not going to give much explanation for. Instead it is intended for the reader to derive their own meaning and purpose from this words.
The air was cold.
A dismal grey
Lit the way:
Birds sang mellow song.
And the wind stood still,
In meadows dying
No life was near.
But as the ‘morrow shone bright
And caressed by celestial rays,
The air warmed to the touch,
Birds sang their glorious songs,
And green meadows danced in the wind,
As rays of gold lit the day:
Life was near.
With a clap like a cannon!
And a strike as a whip!
The wind roared in wild fury.
And meadows danced in horror,
As darkness surveyed the land wide.
Beauty was swept in a violent fit.
In a horrible mask, contained;
Imprisoned by the fury of the night,
Chained to trees wild with rage.
Lost until the tempest was dissuade,
Life coward at its feet
Left to repeat this dismal being,
Tricked by illusions of time,
Deceived by hope never received,
Wander the dreams of time past.
Prisoners to their master.
Slaves to a wisp.
-EJB
Living for the End
Are you living to get somewhere or are you alive?
Words have their own rhythm which we abandon when we focus too much on grammar and what is technically correct. The colons in this stanza are not used correctly; however, they exist to contrast and enhance the message that for many life is a race to the next point often without recognition of where they were. A colon draws a direct relationship between two points; here the colon shows that without existing for now there is no relationship with then.
Like ants they scurry across the face of the planet:
Wake up: eat.
Eat: commute to work.
Work: take a lunch.
Lunch: return to work.
Work: commute to home.
Home: eat.
Eat: Sleep
Repeat
-EJB