a new currency

my currency

is not green

its currently a current

my right to redefine in its urgency

the manifestation of materialism i abhor in me

the difference will be in how i define my productivity

seek and grow the area of my heart

with the most surface visibility

without servicing the american benefactor in me

its a displaced familiarity

a binary bifurcation of holistic identity

there’s power elusive to the homegrown refugee

deflowering the innocent hour poisoned for its profitability

sure as hell, i don't want that to be my legacy

the slave master, the slave

the ignorant pastor, the depraved

the cynical bastard

away from all of the above i try to run faster

I’m tired of being unprepared just waiting for my next self initiated disaster

but detractors are behind and beside me

counter with brighter loveshine that exists inside of and despite me

prayerfully its confidante of serendipity

the idealistic daydreams bubbling inside my complacency

see its always been a part of me

when freedom's child learns how to speak

no

when she opens her mouth in unison with the symphony to teach

then make music more captivating than the powerfuls’ unloving mystique

cuz im in the minority

i believe that the lion will maintain his supernatural authority

yet one day fulfill his priority of holding hands with the poor and the weak

the marginalized and the meek

and the struggle like a vicious cycle will always its find a way to reside in me

i want it to be

cuz i want every exhale from this weary chest

to be a humble plea

for interdependence and collectivity

for the furtherance of a kingdom that’s infinitely larger than me

the right to righteousness is rightfully outside of me

and i long to realize the vision of an unconditionally inclusive we

you see my currency

is not green

my medium of exchange remains

unseen but most importantly

free

like me

...

my confusion sounded like excuses
a girl trying to fight her way out
but my only defense
is hardly as intense
they think i'm just some girl
sly -- like the devil himself
cutting the backdoor for herself
with the knife she used to
stab them all in the back

but really
i just cannot pretend
i know the answers anymore.

i've been waiting for a good cry
to bring clarity to it all.
but i'm just so empty of tears
i have nothing more to offer
than a smile
to deceive them all
and i know
my confusion just sounds like...

snip snip snippet

i have heard the constant push of change
first the subtle kisses of the wind
then affectionate rumbles of tomorrow's storms
i can hear
the cries of agony from dethroned kings and kingdoms usurped by foolish love
the roaring of peace as powers topple over into humble new beginnings
the dancing of systems transformed by the rhythm of the powerless and their simple values

i can hear it
profound and clear
gathering and fast approaching
organically organizing
as i rest my head
next to an angel

i close my eyes
forget time and space and theory and worry
and quietly i listen
to a steadfast current
as steady as the inevitably of change
and as strong as the hands that craft that change

would you believe me if i told you
that i hear the revolution brewing inside of you
bubbling into music all too familiar
it whispers me home
calling me to my Maker
etching my name in star shine

i feel it
in your bones
the restlessness
the incessant beating in your chest
the yearning in your loins
the fever on your skin
i know it
because everyday
i hear it and i feel it
because it resides inside of me too

you and i
we are infinitely linked
into this web we call hope
woven by the Author of another way
an alternative to the approach we have inherited
and
it is
possible
to make possibility
a viable reality
a succulent suggestion of heaven
a stolen scene from a kingdom beyond us

because someone once said
imaginary doesn't mean its non existent
imaginary doesn't mean its non existent
imaginary doesn't mean its non existent
i believe it
i believe in imagination
because unknowingly
you teach me so much about it
everyday

i see us joining hands held
marching to the margins
bringing truth to relevance
waking to work
loving to fruition
in very small
but always
celebrated steps
imperfectly glorifying the Father
as the mustard seed movement quietly thrives

let us run unrelenting in step with the children of the sun
as our brows stain with the heat of this beautiful struggle
and i tell you its time for us to shine
knowing you are a child of the sunset
and i'm hoping that whenever you fall sunset
the Lord will rise me in your stead
to maintain playing on even fields
of greener grass
and lands that remain in the hands of those who tirelessly choose to cultivate it daily...