It Was Written.

Not too long ago, I heard someone say: “They know you know your power, they’re just praying that you don’t”.

Over 10 years ago, I was given a gift and love for something that had nothing to do with me. Ever since, I lost my understanding of why I needed to close my eyes until I honored it. Until my son was born, it was my first true teacher. It listened to every last story I had. It made my home seem full of life, though I was the only one who existed in it 85% of the time. I had greater insight to my every day life by giving every bit of free time I had to it. Around the time life started to knock down my front door, this gift was such a presence that it walked me through it all in an art like fashion. Art it was, Art it still is.

No one got it. I was trash until they realized my blood was on every page. 5 minutes before I started this, I woke up out of my sleep with the same feeling I had all those years ago. Gifts aren’t for everyone to understand. They are for those receiving to steward over. If I had stressed myself out trying to get people to understand in the beginning, you wouldn’t be reading this. I’d be just like every friend of mine that i’m worried about back where i’m from. Either inside their comfort or outside their safe haven.

I still have quite a bit of work to do though. Words still made it through and I fumbled the ball. To be completely honest - I’ve been recovering my steps for years now. As I write this, i’m convincing myself that this is proof that those words are wrong. Sadly, as I woke back up I realized that the funniest part about all of this is that: None of the words said, the actions aimed and the struggle with knowing my truth ever fucking mattered and won’t. The prophecy is already in motion. God’s hand is already played. I feel it with every pulse in my body, but my extra ass is finding every bit of space in between to shoot dice with the devil. A lot of the cliches are real. The Word is real. I actually used to guard mine. Never too late to live right?