A Sister got at me, in the spirit of negative energy... Heard the depths of That Voice... The sound coming from a Black Woman... Blew her mind.... Wrote, "GOD is not the author of confusion". Yet here we are and you doubt your ears... Falsely accusing me of being a male... Because, That Voice shook your being... This is the CV of my life... People can't see beyond the exterior.. Won't engage the Sister in her brilliance... Stuck on, she sounds like a Man... This resume is extensive... Started hustling as a kid to stave off hunger... Babysitting, cleaning garages or carrying groceries for Seniors.. Cashier in a candy shop, counting the money... Washing windows, pumping gasoline and managing petrol stations... Even as a fifteen year old college freshman never safe... Radio Announcer, DJ spinning records at the Black American Legion Hall...Serving drinks at the Bar... Spiked railroad tracks in steel toe boots... Suffering through the threats of sexual harassment and rapes... Never afraid of hard work... Concrete crew, paid less because of being a "Girl".. Working three jobs, because I was running from poverty... Driving transit buses, school bus, limousines... Always excelling, yet always paid less.. Truck Driver and spoke out about the discrepancy, in operator pay, everyone received the raise except me.. That Voice buried... Singer...shut down, because giving blow jobs not part of the mission... Weldor, was able to shine working for a Father and Son.. Almost received a break making my favorite food... Started building a business only to get hurt by a Semi on the way to work. Back to another life... Black Sister getting the shaft again... No matter the smarts, and problem solving... Broke into I.T. early... Experiencing oppression again, treated unequal... Built a better business in home computer service... Hustling, smuggling, hoping to go into home ownership.. Speculators, killed the housing market... Back into the Commercial Operator seat... Class action lawsuit paid...

Peace, Like a Butterfly —Awakening Poem ~ B What would you do to make a butterfly feel safe in your palm? You would soften your hands. Lower your voice. Slow your breathing. You would become gentle enough for something fragile to trust you. Now imagine loving the whole world like that. Especially yourself. Because you, too, are a delicate thing. Not weak… just human. Human in the way flowers still bloom after storms. Human in the way oceans still kiss broken shores even after being torn apart by the wind. Some of us spend our whole lives handling ourselves too roughly. Speaking to our souls like enemies. Dragging our hearts through memories that were never meant to become permanent homes. But peace… peace was never hiding from you. It was waiting. Waiting beneath the noise. Beneath the fear. Beneath the voices that taught you survival instead of teaching you Love. maybe that’s why God places beauty everywhere. In flowers. In sunsets. In rain falling softly against a windowpane. In the way a child laughs without fear. In the way a stranger smiles at you right when your soul needed reminding that kindness still exists. Because Heaven has always whispered through creation. Think about a flower for a moment… Most people walk past it. Some step on it. Some never notice it at all. But then there are those souls who stop… pick it up gently… feel every velvet petal between their fingertips… inhale the fragrance like it carries memories from another life… and stare in awe at the colors God painted into existence without ever asking the flower to prove its worth first. That flower never begged to be beautiful. It simply became what it was created to be. maybe you should too. Maybe healing begins the moment you stop trying to become lovable and finally realize you already were. Somewhere along the way, many of us became wanderers outside our own hearts. Standing in the cold just outside the sanctuary within ourselves. Shivering. Searching. Begging the world for warmth

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Lost in Translation was the beginning ... We built towers with our tongues— Not to reach heaven… but to divide it. We argued over syllables, Debated over dialect, Split churches over commas While the message bled out on the floor. We translated words… But never transformed hearts. It was never about Greek or Hebrew, Never about how clean you could quote it— Because even demons know scripture. It was & always been about living it. Love your enemy Not just the one who looks like you, Votes like you, Prays like you… But the one who broke you. Forgive Not seven times, But until your pride runs out of breath And your ego dies on the altar. Feed the hungry Feed the world Not for a post, Not for applause, But because somewhere along the way You realized… that could’ve been you. We shout “truth!” But whisper compassion. We preach “grace!” But practice judgment. And somehow we think heaven applauds that? No— We didn’t misunderstand the language… We avoided the responsibility. Because it’s easier to debate translation Than to crucify your flesh. Easier to quote the light Than to be the light. We turned the message into noise... A thousand voices, A million interpretations, But one truth still standing strong Love God. Love people. Love your sisters & brothers Simple. Offensive. Demanding everything. And still… we complicated it. So don’t tell me the world is broken Because we don’t understand the words... The world is broken Because we refuse to become them. So here’s the question Not what did The Living Testament say.. But why don’t we live like He meant it? ~"B"

✨ This week, y’all been in your bag—staying productive while tapping into the National Poetry Month prompts. I see the consistency, I see the effort. Thank you for pushing your pens especially this month. ✨ Special Shout Out To Our TOP Three: @Ericka Floyd @Michelle Cox @Naomie Thomas Honorable Mentions: @Laron Henderson @Antwion Shamar @Tiara Nelson @Tierrah Nicole @Craven Smith @Brian Griggs @GhoZT STorieZ