Mind Your Soul

I’ve come to realize, whenever you stop trying to be the best you you can possibly be, a silent evil begins to drag your soul in a direction it wishes not to go. Then, you inevitably become the worst you you’ve ever been. A you that feels good at the heart of crowds but not so much in silence. Maybe some of us have the misconception that life isn’t about struggle, maybe somebody lied to us along the lines and offered that life is supposed to be a saunter, maybe we bought into that too easily.

Most of our lives are synonymous with grief, pain, hardships, heartbreaks, struggle and rocks. These insidious realities and more begin to habour our ugliness and confusion whenever we turn a blind eye to them. The reality is that our lives equate to a BUNCH of ugliness embellished with a FEW joys here and there. The trick is to lend enough time to these pains, as much as they deserve, nothing more nothing less. I think when you continue to dwell on this pain it then becomes surplus and no longer has a purpose.

So promise yourself that you won’t give too much of yourself to things that don’t deserve it. Promise to feel everything that comes your way with all your heart, to give it the time it deserves, nothing more, nothing less. Tell me how much more beautiful your life becomes.

Love for that heart of yours

Light for that spirit of yours

Freedom for that soul of yours

~Kerry-Ann Davis

Back to pen and paper

Truth is he nor she knows what the fuck they’re proclaiming.

On nights like this these they go to sleep heart on sleeve, tears settled in ocean deep eye sockets, feet weary , skin worn and hearts that have been holding prayers together for years now, shaky

They fall asleep just as confused as everybody else.

She falls asleep just as confused as everybody else.

The scent of her black hair lingers in his dreams and he feels sad that he’s won more battles than she has.

He feels guilty that he has a greater resilience than she has.

She,

She stills struggles to hide her scars

She goes to him for advice sometimes.

His words never quite seem to offer the right kind of hugs

Poor thing,

He believes he merely stumbled upon victory

He has no great speech to give or shields to lend.

Never really had any freedom songs or war chants,

But he swore on all the blood he swallowed that it had to be for something.

He swore his beloved would never have to bear feet on her back, that her spine would never be crippled by any unspoken slavery.

But she’s bruised in more ways than he can see or comfort

She cries more tears than his words can dry or heal and houses an emptiness too large for physical space.

And all he can tell her is to hold on to her broken prayers.

Build a canoe of words from her broken language and row deep deep deep into his arms.

There, he can't promise her will be paradise,

But at least the demons won’t be as plenty

“Baby,” he’ll tell her,

“Let this proximity fill the emptiness of your jaded heart.

Let us be an army,

Us two broken souls.”

 Kerry-Ann Davis Copyright ©2012