Okay I’ve been off the scene for a while. Some days, writing doesn’t come easy. And I’m learning from my failures.
I’m embracing the true art of falling. The art of getting back up, to try again. And when that fails, try again.
There’s art here: when I can laugh at myself. For my mistakes. When I can see the rejection letters from my writing. It’s not -rejection of me, its recognition of the areas of progress, places where I am striving.
So I’m dusting myself off. Listening to the the spin cycle, the sounds of running water, breaking away from the old.
I surrender my broken mirrors like wings that couldn’t sustain, a holy stage, cages, phases, and meridians bars and each one must, earn her earnest star ,
After 30 days of writing poetry. I feel strong. I feel like I could take the bull by its’ horns. I’d never do that of course! Although, putting words down on the page might be something I can once again, just suck -it -up -and -do. I mean, there are times I’ve made excuses for not coming- here, to the page. Times where you just have to put a pin in it. Come back and try another day.
For the first time, in quite a few years, I’ve had a 30 day streak on word-press. Mentally I think, I’m in a better place to write. As I make several attempts to get outside my head. Which many of my poems are about. It’s’ the darndest thing, all that crying, weeping, and leakage that came to sit with me. I tell you I had no idea, I hadn’t unboxed those boxes. All of those tears saved my life.
As I look back, and move forward all in one fell swoop,
The challenges between writing and the kids is really the writing part….
Some things you didn’t know behind the scenes, yesterday, I also celebrated my 100th day of eating clean to the best of my ability. I’m on the journey to better health. So these last hundred days , of no chips, no coffee, no pounds of sugar added anywhere. And what do you know? I feel better. My sugar cravings are at an all time low. Even as my kids passed around chocolate cake. I didn’t ask how it was. Even to live off of their taste-buds and get that sugar-whiff -high. Whew! Right then and there, I walked out of the kitchen, like a 7 foot tall amazon- beauty.
Yes! Here’s to another milestone. Coupled with eating right, I put in the work of exercising 10-30 minutes each morning, even with all that poetry, and more poetry, I got up and kicked my own butt, no gym membership I’m done with being robbed. I never made those meetings. However this time, 100 days eating clean, to the best of my ability, 100 days of exercise that’s including 2 rest days each weekend.
Along with my regular appointed schedule of working for my home -church, kids activities, checking on my neighbors, family and friends. At the end of the day I would be so tired. Writing poems at the crack of dawn, writing poems on lunch hour – unable to post until 8 or 9pm. Writing poems in the car, poems in the garden, poems during thunderstorms -lights flickering.
Oh that’s not to say, I didn’t have my moments, like take the day off. Been there, done that! Returned too many T- shirts! I had to sing my way out of that funky-feeling. Write my way out of my own blues. Lean into moments of quietness, and tune into-silence. And there would be my poem of day ,
(childhood photo of me- the kindness sister Krissy)
The day that third grade change everything. And I do mean everything. I was a fairly average student. I had plenty of A’s and B’s to prove it but I never stop talking. Now that’s not to say, I talked with myself, because I probably would have. If I didn’t have Kwanna Brown, who always managed to sit next to me and sticky fingers Christopher Jones sat across the table.
Class started out like any other day passing notes, but somehow I was caught in mid pass. Mama said God’s was watching. In my case I think, God gave Mama and Mr. Luna eyes in the back of their head.
Mr Luna: You do know with grades like yours Krissy you could be skipped but you don’t know how to let the teacher- teach do you? So today is your lucky day!
Oh boy’ I’d passed one too many notes. Cracked too many stories about Honey my baby rabbit. Before I knew it, I was being escorted out of class down the long stretched hallway. I’d never even knew existed! Pass the Principal’s office -glad not to go in there.
Two doors down, plastered in blue and red letters that read, “You Are Always Welcome.” As a woman named Mrs. Davis, leaned toward me with shinny black shoes and red hair.
Mrs. Davis said “Hello Krissy, we are please to have you.”
Mr. Luna: Krissy all you have to do today is read to these wonderful students and try not to stare. Or fidget with your sleeves. I know that’s what you do when you are nervous. Just think of it as an early homework. Also don’t forget to stop bye 3rd grade after school.
I can’t believe it! My nightmare had come true. Out of all the things that could happened for passing notes in class. I’d get kicked out of 3rd grade. Now my only job was to read. Oh’ I’m dead, dead, dead, dead and Mama’s gonna kill me.
I’d looked around the room. I will never forget that eerie feeling. Mama was right. “What you do in the dark comes out in the light.” The class started coming towards me. I was being ambush and this was not your typical war zone. It was just kids, with a few less working parts.
Some kids in wheel chairs. Some kids with other kinds of sensitivities. I’m only eight, I didn’t know what to make of it. I didn’t know if I should sit or stand. Which at one point, I do believe, I was dead or frozen in place. Everything but my legs -they wouldn’t stop shaking.
Then I ran pick up the first book I saw. Which happen to be one of my first loves when it came to reading. “Matilda” by Roald Dahl, these stories saved my life that day. I read and read. Until that strange, weird feeling, Oh’ my Lord, what do I do now-stopped. My legs seemed to be running a marathon only we weren’t going anywhere.
Eventually my leg spasms seemed to fly right out the window. Pass the Principals’ Office. Don’t want to ever go in there.
Before I knew it Mrs. Davis was handing me double stuff Oreo cookies and a yellow napkin. I smiled and said thank you.
Mrs. Davis: I want to thank you for coming and reading to the class today. You truly are a wonderful reader. Keep up the good work. In fact! I’m going to ask Mr. Luna if you can come back tomorrow and be our reader until the end of the school year.
My eyes grew wider. I couldn’t respond my mouth was full of ooey-gooey-creamy goodness. I wanted to say but-but, but, that never happened. So I walked back down the hall pass the Principal’s Office, glad I didn’t have to go in there. Turned the corner back to third grade.
(To be continued, real stories from my childhood)
If you want to know what happened next, hit me up in the comments with the “words more please” and if you made it this far, thank you, from my soul to your soul
There I was sitting in my high chair. Okay, so I don’t have a High Chair. Or a bar stool. I just wanted something fancy, high-riding, where I could swing my feet off the ground. Take in the high air- not like the warmth of another winter. Where the hot air rises and I do too.
Where the bad news can’t reach me or get-me down in my shoes.
Where my toes are free. On Summer’s eve, even though it’s 37 degrees and snowing,
Where the dew of the morning gently rest over my curds and whey. Ignoring the bits of icy rocks setting sail,
instead my mind has gone to nearby cell,
Where my arms have no sleeves, dawn has no end,
with sun tan lotion and glowing. ah- the taste of sweetness,
Where the dew of the morning gently rest over my curds and whey.
It feels as if I am a cork bottle, on the blue wide open sea. Good things floating all around me. Why is it? Am I not floating? I have no control on which way the wind blows or the course my life seems to be…
but I do appreciate calming tidal waves, bouncing, boisterous spiced aromas drifting.
There’s a longing, to never be alone, another to one to be found hiding. In arms of something called home, something called -ones’ own.
Krissy Mosley Ministries 