Floetry From the Heart

Power To the  R.E.V.O.L.U.T.I.O.N  Revolution… ain’t just noise. It’s R.E.V.O.L.U.T.I.O.N. Rising Every Voice, Opening Light, Unleashing Truth In Our Nation. It’s the sound of change before the world can name it. The moment before thunder realizes it’s about to split the sky. But listen closely… you hear that middle word inside Revolution? Cause every Revolution is an Evolution a shedding of the old skin, a remembering of what we were before fear taught us to shrink. Evolution is the quiet fire in the bones of the brave. It’s the shift in the spirit before the march hits the street. Revolution hits different when you realize it’s not just about breaking chains… It's about growing wings. See, Revolution ain’t destruction It's Rebuilding Every Vision, Opening Love, Uniting Truth Inside Our Nation. It’s rebirth through fire. It’s evolution in motion. It’s the ancestors whispering, “Child, rise you were never meant to crawl.” Revolution is what happens when grief grows...

               Misplaced Love Grief... is not a ghost. No... it’s a person. It knocks. It sits at the edge of my bed, folds its hands... and waits for me to wake. Grief doesn’t scream. It whispers. It hums the song they used to sing off-key... but tender. It smells like their sweater, feels like the warmth that used to live in this room. It carries their laugh in its throat, their absence hanging from its shoulders like a coat too heavy for the living. I’ve tried to lock the door. I’ve begged it...leave me alone. But grief? Grief is patient. It finds another way in. Through the cracks in my memories, through the scent of rain, through a photo I forgot I saved. At first, I thought it came to break me. But grief grief is not the enemy. It is love, standing at the border of what was and what will never be again, refusing to leave. It’s love that lost its map. Love that keeps asking,  “Where do I go now?” So I stopped running. I poured gr...

I been fighting so long, my prayers sound like war cries now. Every “amen” feels like a weapon I barely know how to swing and still… I swing. One battle after another, storms stacking like unpaid bills, grief collecting like interest I never agreed to. Every time I think I can rest, life whispers, “Not yet.” And I’m back in the ring bare-knuckled against shadows that know my name. I’ve learned silence can scream louder than any army. It echoes in my bones, those lonely nights when my heart won’t stop shaking. People say, “You’re strong you got this.” But they never see the part where strength looks like curling up in the corner of your own faith, whispering to God through tears, “Please don’t let me break again.” There’s a kind of loneliness that doesn’t just ache it hunts. It waits until your chest is hollow, until you start to believe that peace must live somewhere beyond this life. It starts whispering sweet invitations to the nothingness, convincing you that silence mig...

  They say, hurt people hurt people and I believe them. But the question that gnaws me hollow is this: why do I keep choosing me as the target? I don’t throw fists, don’t spit venom, but I’ve learned to bruise myself in quieter ways. Like cutting sunlight out of my own sky, like shoving daggers into my own reflection with words sharpened by shame. I tell the mirror stories that are half lies, half curses, and I swallow them whole because the echo in my head still carries my mother’s silence her absence, her stillness that screamed louder than any slap. And my father’s rage the kind that made walls tremble and left me convinced love was a battlefield I’d never survive. So I became my own executioner. I set fires in my chest just to watch my peace burn. I build bridges with trembling hands only to strike the match before my feet dare step forward. Every time I try to hold myself, I let go first. I hand out love recklessly, emptying pockets that were ne...

“Beyond the Veil” I don’t just see your face, I see the silence between your breaths, the tremor in your hands you hide when the world is watching. I see the wars you never declared, the scars stitched quiet under your smile, the places where laughter tries to cover what never healed. I see you beyond the veil of casual conversations, past the hurt that taught you to build walls, beyond even the joy you hold like a lantern in a storm. I see the fractures that let light leak out, the midnight thoughts that don’t have names, the moments you almost drowned but chose to rise. Your soul hums like a hymn too ancient for language, a music older than pain, resonating in the quiet rhythm of your eyes. And it’s beautiful. Not the kind of beauty they sell in windows or magazines, but the kind born of surviving, the kind that bends but does not break, the kind that sings even when the throat is dry with sorrow. I don’t see perfection. I see something truer the raw and unpolished, the s...

I owe myself an apology. For every discount I gave away like clearance tags on my soul. For letting people cross oceans with my heart in their hands, while they wouldn’t even leap a puddle for me. I am sorry... for the nights I forgot my worth, for the days I folded my shine to fit inside someone else’s shadow, for thinking love meant less of me, just so someone else could feel like more. But listen... I am not standing in that same reflection anymore. Now, I breathe in self-love so deep it echoes through my bones. Beyond each breath, I feel grace cradle me, like God himself whispered, “Daughter, your worth was never a bargain bin.” Now I love myself with a fierceness that needs no permission, no applause, no receipt. I give myself time to heal in the right places, with patience, with intention, so when love does arrive, it won’t be counterfeit. It will be the kind of love that mirrors the way I finally learned to love me ... richly, fully, without condition. I walk different now. Not ...