Broken ceramics

I have faint memories of my mother
I remember her as a cup
How she always found a way to hold it all together, just before she leaks
Trickles of water falling beside her straight slender figure, ceramic
Till the day daddy pushed her from the table and she broke
Pieces of her piercing little me, till one little pointy mummy tore through my left eye

Now I half see.
Deformed, they think I am
But with what hands would you erase memories’ scars?
With what hands would you race memories cars?
The speed limit of the past experiences dangling in your face before you even make the obvious decision
Those past experiences
Become the obvious decisions and so

I still cannot resist slender girl
Especially when they comment on my eyes
The one blue pupil that’s always learning new ways to shatter ceramic;
Hearts.
My past, present
How I with my fingers have rewritten daddy’s story on many lives.
If they never let go of their past
I’ll always be present, right on time
Before their next decision.

I wonder
If mummy would be proud that the vengeance I sought for her has made me Potter many more ceramics;
Broken
From tables, broken tablets, broken tables of laws
I have become ten plagues walking and everyone wants to chase from Egypt till they drown in a pool of their own tears tricking when they are full.
Maybe we give too much power to all the hurts that have Moses’ed their ways into our lives, dear lions forget about your pride and let his people go!

Finance peace,
UN-till the ridges you’ve prepared to plant hate
Until its roots can’t take in your heart any room.
So that any room you enter.
You’ll leave memories of water. Washing clean from dirt smeared hands, hearts, spirits, bodies, minds. Ceramics.
Set this on your heart
And set the captives free from Egypt.

God has called you, now lead, and let his people go.

UC Truth
©2021

LET’S MAKE MAMMA PROUD

The one; who sat and watched my infant head?
While I slept in your beautiful cradled arms.
The one who held me dearly, like a craft, never to be broken.
Pain is driven off in her arms, arms of love that never harms.
She cast away my fears and with loving warmth dries away my tears.
Her eyes are like stars to behold, they give me hope beyond despair.

When pain and sickness made me cry,
Touches from you made me smile.
I was nurtured like a plant to flourish,
Was polished carefully till I looked pretty and beautiful.
Guilty she felt when I had not gotten plenty,
Yet with care she made “this little” satisfy my every need.

Who taught my infant lips to pray?
Who trained me in the way of God and His word?
Told me I would have life less without having the Life of Christ.
Her love is incomprehensible, she calls it agape.
She encouraged me to be loving too because love never fails.
Never look back, heaven is before you. That is her greatest story.

When thou art feeble, old and grey,
I will be your strength, your fulfillment and comfort.
Your smile I will make as I feel your heart with joy everyday.
And one day emerge the man you are proud to call son.
I will take you to church even when you rest in peace.
But till then this is my piece for you;
MY MOTHER.

Adethatwrites
© 2019

SELF-1

My name is self,
I like to introduce myself as mySELF
I can be black and I can be white,
I can be chocolate and I can be fair,
I do not know which color I am here, but the fairest of them all is myself.

I hate the sun, because I love to sleep,
I love myself, I love to just be,
I do not answer to anyone, my comfort is dare to me,
I have created my zone so I can be pleased and free.

I am lovely,
I am beautiful,
I am proud,
I am strong,
I am bold,
But I have only one problem,
I don’t understand why I have a conscience,
I don’t know why I have a me in me that is alien to me,
I don’t know why I have a me in me that is crazy to me,
You wouldn’t understand,
But Crazy Me is trying to take over the whole me,

Shoot a bullet to the north, shoot another to the south,
When would they ever meet?
Show me that line that separates good from evil, so I could dare to cross it,
I promise you, that’s all from the crazy me,
Crazy me always preaches to me,

I don’t get it,
I love me,
I love comfortable me,
I love to do as I please,
That is just natural to me,
But crazy me tells me that my comfort is evil to Him,
So why would I ever want to cross from evil to good? Who cares about Him?

I love evil,
Evil is the good for me,
Evil is what pleases me,
Everything else just irritates me,
I love it when people sing my praises to me,
I love when everyone is envious of me,
I am also famous to me,
But when I am not creating something epic about me,
I am just really thinking of me.
Myself really hates the crazy me,
To me he is the evil me,
He tells me about a God who loves me, but hates the comfortable me.

National Poet

(c) 2018