Pink Lattes and A Slice of Poundcake

 how much of ourselves do we erase while trying to  live in a space where they think our very existence is  in the way?

 whispers of eternity echo out   sings a song to  soothe the wounded one standing  looking out over tomorrow's tomorrow hoping they would see freedom but the captive and  the innocent snared entwined chained together because of  what would someone say say say about  being what   should never ever be and the  innocent ones perished for the snares of tongues.

 The air stills and you can feel it the shifting moves of when darkness decides to descend on a sunny day of possibilities because it is petrified of joy All rights reserved by the poet. @2022 by Taye Foster Bradshaw Group LLC

In the unseeing  exists these rare moments to just be. Appreciating time always comes in the quiet of the morning. Home is still and the world is awakening. Stillness is appreciation.  For the wonder of life unfolding even in its unknowing. Sit still in this unmoving of the new day  Attention to the sounds of the birds greeting Watching the sun calling forth the earthlings Marveling at all that is listening without sound Waiting for the moving When awakening means being The existing is becoming The still of the morning Bustles into awareness of existing In the unfolding of knowing a new day

 When is an eighteen year old prepared for death? Is it when the threat of it surrounded her from age seven and was spoken at age sixteen? Was it when she was four and her mother whispered her goodbye? Or was it when she was thrown into the deep of it without an anchor? The questions of mourning. Who tells her that the monster who kidnapped her took her son's life? And how does she process the words of the doctors who tried to help? Where is her next breathe that asthma squeezed out? When is an eighteen year old prepared for death? Who holds her hand when family abandoned her for their respectable shame? How is she supposed to overcome what never should have been? Who tells the ones who were supposed to care that they failed? Where can she feel safe? How does one turn back the clock of time to protect her? Why does the world seem to not care about girls who look like her? The questions of mourning. What happens to the boy whose life was not altered? Why didn't anyone hold him r

 I wish I could tell you that it didn't shatter me when you said I was "just a courtesy" and it felt like you swung a sledhammer against my frame cracking the tender limbs still standing trying to let you know that harm being done not to me but to the others that were hungering and thirsting trying to breathe free but could not eat or care for self while you fattened the calf of your ego and expected us to stand like steel and be unbroken from the cracks in  the foundation you pretended were firm