Unapologetically Phenomenal

Copyright © 2021 by Pamela Cone

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

ISBN: 978-1-954297-40-1

Ordering Information:

Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above. Orders by U.S. trade bookstores and wholesalers. Visit www.alphapublisher.com/contact-us to learn more.

PHENOMENAL PHENOMENAL PHENOMENAL Unapologetically Unapologetically Unapologetically

CURATED PROSE BY: PAMELA CONE

MINISTER, WIFE, MOTHER, MIMI, AUTHOR & ENTREPRENEUR

Pamela Cone often says, “You can be as many things as you have means, opportunity, and talent.” Poetry is a one of Pamela's passion, but was almost buried under the words of someone who told her she couldn’t do multiple things; that she had to choose

Now she has not only unburied this talent but has decided to share her work with the world! The prose and poetry in Unapologetically Phenomenal is a collection of poems from her reflections as an African American woman and are based on her lived experiences or her observations. Pamela also has a minor in African American Studies and utilizes this lens as well to put prose to the black woman ’ s experience.

Pamela lives in Dayton, Ohio where she works alongs nd, Steven, in ministry

aces, LLC is the fusion of the art of communication, the and elements of design to provide content, style, and décor, nd services with meaningful intention.

n is to intentionally design euphonious and aesthetically pleasing functional spaces that evoke inspiration.

"A cura world."

rics of the soul manifesting seemingly out of thin air. This art is a moment. Vapor words appear dancing around seeking a route to ing exodus through the pen. The paper soaks in the words attempting heir rich meaning. As you read them allow them to seep into your heart your spirit. Meditate on these songs that will continue after you read o in your mind. With each stanza your love will crescendo. Inspired owerful and will inscribe the soul. They are life to those who dare to y was once bound in volumes ghostly seeking refuge. They have now from their binds and permitted to roam. House them now in your will enjoy reading my work and that it will touch you in some way.

To Maya Angelou, the first voice that told us we are phenomenal!

When Maya died, Oh, how I cried!

Who will give us the words from the other side? A poet, a scribe, a teacher, a preacher, a prophet, a leader, a woman, a friend, a voice, a gift, a treasure. Who now will be our guide?

She stood as a monument As one only heaven could measure Did we listen? Did we learn from the words she did not hide?

The songs, old and full of the Spirit

Her voice rang loudly, but did we hear it? Hear the voice of God move on the Waters

The piercing stillness as He spoke. Spoke through this prophet and preacher even louder

Poetry of courage, poetry of respect

Giving us words full of joy and fear

Not fear of man, but of God.

Reverence for His Love and Wonder

For only He knows what's next

All, is in all, she would say, but did we hear?

Oh, child of God. Rest in His love. The love you held so dear. We'll tell your lessons and recite the words

Words spilled from a poet's pen and an orator's lips

They'll stay in the low places for they were meant for others to hear

They'll forever be meat and marrow to heal the bones

We hear the call of cries

We'll listen for the voice of God

We'll be His scribes. Because that's what you do when a poet dies

To my mother, Dora Reed

The first voice that I heard say I am phenomenal!

I love you!

To my husband, Steven

Thank you for your love, patience, and support!

I love you!

To my beautiful children

LaJoya, Stephen and Brittney

Thank you for believing your mom is all that!

I love you!

from Mom A W O R D

Today you said I was beautiful Words I've never heard before

Until now when they came from you.

SHARONDA MICHELLE

NIECES

GIRL COUSINS

SISTER FRIENDS

To Furaha Henry - Jones

My mentor, professor, sister and friend! Thank you for fostering a new found love for the written and spoken words of poetry and prose. And for supporting my every endeavor!

WITHOUT REGRET

remarkably

extraordinary PHENOMENAL

THE WOMAN I'VE COME TO BE

There's a young girl who marvels at The woman I've come to be.

When I was young no one could see What she could see in me.

See the woman I've come to be.

I smile when I see her peeking through my eyes

The girl I remember now looking at me

She seems so wise

Watching the woman I've come to be

She's anxious when I move too slow

She wants me to go to places she's seen before.

Seen them at night in her dreams, long ago

She wants me to be free and to soar.

Free to be the woman I've come to be

I speak to her I call her name I introduce myself

I want her to love the woman I've come to be

DEFINING MYSELF

They gave me a white girls name To me it always sounded so plain Nothing one would remember When I sign it, I give it some flare When I say it, I say it so one will remember

DEFINING MYSELF 2

They are building the new church next door My friends and I watch while we make mud pies We'll have to go inside soon as not to get too dark I'm excited about the church It's the first thing I've ever seen built from the ground up.The walls hold everything from the smell of hymnals and perfume to the sounds of clapping hands and tambourines. The fat lady sure can sing! Oh, the hats and the pearls! The women with soft skin! My family eventually moves I'm much older now, but the church is still on the corner In the kitchen making pies for Easter--they taste like my mothers--I call her for the holiday All she can talk about is Jesus We hang up I finish my pie for after church tomorrow

ME, MYSELF & I

Who I am is not all I want to be, who I want to be a part of me dare not try to be, who I should be I search for the courage to be, who I used to be wouldn't recognize who I have come to be, who I will become I can't wait to be!

PRESS -N- CURL

Saturday was "hair day" The process was long and brutal Momma would wash our hair and let it air dry and by late Saturday afternoon she would press it out with the hot comb Oh, it was hot! She would put it on the stove let it heat up and pull out the royal crown hair grease. Believe me you sat still until she was done But the joy of wearing a bang and having "straight hair" was worth the pain I would go to bed wearing the pink sponge roller excited about having some of my hair down for Sunday morning And when I was older she would let me wear a bang in the front and some hanging down in the back.

Over the years I've worn weaves, wigs, braids, ponytails-- worn mine short and long and any style the lady at the salon could do to make me beautiful I have sat with my scalp on fire from chemicals for "straight hair". Now, it's short. And sometimes I wear a "wash and go" Air dried like I would Saturday and if I would have known then what I know n would have saved myself the torture. People have said, that's hot", "you look so sophisticated", "you look stunn

But thirty years ago on a Saturday afternoon sitting in kitchen underneath the heat of the comb it was just "nap

Us clay colored girls have come a long way

strings

Take the strings and tie them to the tree. Take the strings and tie them to the tree. Order them to stay where you can see them. Order them to stay where can see them.

They'll fly in the breeze; they'll rest under They'll fly in the breeze; they'll rest under the moon. the moon.

Take the strings and twirl them in the air. Take the strings and twirl them in the air. Grace the sky with their silk. Grace the sky with their silk.

They'll dance in the breeze; they'll rejoice They'll dance in the breeze; they'll rejoice under under the moon. the moon.

Take the strings and cut them in two. Take the and cut them in two. Let them roam the cold earth underneath. Let them roam the cold earth underneath. They'll wander in the breeze; they will still They'll wander in the breeze; they will still feel the moon. feel the moon.

& words

Words will make you fall in love. They can make

Words will make fall They can make the ugly sound desirable and the fearful inviting-- the ugly inviting-even the dreaded seem almost bearable.

Who gave them this power?

Who gave them this power?

Who permitted them to posses the ability to permitted to ability to change the mind and twist the spirit? change the and twist the

It is unlikely anything else invented invented will compare. compare. Some may argue this point, but how else would you how explain the increased population? How else would the How else would you explain why poets will at some time or another explain why poets will at some time or another write about love even if they have never lived it. write about even they never Even if they have no idea what it means to love Even if no idea it love and be loved without restraint. and be loved without restraint.

To have love you don't have to masquerade for or To have you don't have to masquerade for or build up. Even when the words are not right or build up. are right or when they themselves come out plainly and when they themselves out plainly and say, I love you! I love you!

coconu dust

For my first born, LaJoya

Happy 22nd Birthday

I'm so proud of you!

Happy Birthday Brittney

You are a Beautiful Soul

I love you with all my heart, Mom

A Beautiful Soul

Beautiful Soul Beautiful Soul

Make me Whole me

Heavens Light Stains Light

Dimmed from Pain Dimmed from Pain

Peace I found Peace

On Higher Ground On Higher Ground

Smile on Me Smile on Me

Open my Eyes to See Open my Eyes to See

Reaching High Reaching High

Hold me While I Fly Fly

Waiting Still Waiting Still

Heart Open to Fill Heart to

Praising You

Lift me Through Lift me Through

I will Testify I will

You're the Most High You're the Most High

Give You Glory Give You Glory

Finish my Story Finish

A Beautiful Soul A Beautiful Soul

You Made Me Whole Me

A Son

I WANTED YOU SON SO BADLY. A MAN CHILD, A BOY, THE IMAGE OF HIS FATHER. I PRAYED FOR YOU. I WEPT TO HOLD YOU SWADDLED IN MY ARMS. I NAMED YOU TO BE THE MAN I HOPED YOU’D BE. HERE YOU STAND TALL, PROUD, BEAUTIFUL. SHOULDERS BROAD, DREAMS BIGGER, HEART KIND LIKE I IMAGINED. MY SON MADE OUT OF PASSION SEEMINGLY CURATED OUT OF THE DARK STONEY CLAY.

Generational Wealth

I p r a y w e l e a v e y o u

m o r e t h a n t h i n g s t h a t t h e m o t h s a n d t i m e

w i l l t a t t e r a w a y l i k e f a d e d m e m o r i e s . T h e u n d e r s t a n d i n g t h a t w e a l t h i s t h e w i s d o m a n d k n o w l e d g e s h a r e d a t t h e d i n n e r t a b l e . T h a t a s m i l e w i l l c h a n g e t h e e n e r g y

i n t h e r o o m a n d c a u s e

a c o s m i c s h i f t s e t t i n g i n p l a c e t h e

t r a j e c t o r y o f a l i f e .

L e a v e y o u k n o w i n g

l i f e i s f l e e t i n g b u t p r e c i o u s s t i l l . Q u i l t e d

t i m e s h a r e d i n l o v e

a n d l o v i n g t h o s e y o u

w e r e g i v e n s t i t c h e d

t o g e t h e r t o c o u n t a s y o u r g e n e r a t i o n .

p r a y w e l e a v e y o u

I

w e a l t h y . I p r a y w e

l e a v e y o u w h o l e .

TheRedBird

Older black women looked for Older black women looked for signs. The tales they passed on signs. The tales they passed on didn't necessarily have any didn't necessarily have any reason to them, but they held reason to them, but they held to be told over and over. to be told over and over.

These tales painted like wings, These tales painted like wings, made me feel a part of these made me feel a part of these mysterious women. mysterious women. The strength of their stories, the The strength of their stories, the way they smiled--always, the way they smiled--always, the way dinner still made it on the way dinner still made it on the table, the way they still praised table, the way they still praised their God liberated me--like the their God liberated me--like the red bird in my tree. red bird in my tree.

Standing Standing

The morning star stands in the middle of Zion's sanctuary. The light of his mercy prevents him from seeing me covered in sickness. The blindness permits my cries to fall on his ear. They don't rest there, they touch him. With one hand he holds me and with the other gathers my tears for the bottle bearing my name.

I can only imagine how I appear standing at his gate too afraid to enter too tired to leave. Some time has passed now I see the heaviness leave out the door. I whisper, "close", it obeys.

I turn and walk away asking to be able to return again.

I can see my tomorrow.

I can feel strength while standing.

ARobeforPam

Voices like soulful angels

Filled the sanctuary

The clapping of hands, patting of feet

Aroma of hymnals and perfume

The majestic organ, grandness of the piano

The melodious sound coming

From the heavy set black lady singing

Finely dressed women wearing hats, handkerchiefs

Me, no older than eight

Too small to seem to matter

Possessed even obsessed with Being apart of these people

Up there is where I needed to be

Marching down the aisle all eyes on me

Could I sing? who knew

Never had tried before

What must I do?

You have to be baptized they said

Well, sat on the mourners bench

All week long!

Waiting to feel remorse for being a sinner

Pool down underneath a trapped door

Down in the water I went

Cold—whew, let me tell you

Chilled to the bone

My soul rejoicing

Soon I would be singing!

Measured just for me

Made just for me

Beautiful royal blue, gold sash

The angels weren’t as proud

Of their divine garments

I loved it, I loved being between those walls

Somewhere to belong

I opened my mouth

Wide like a bird

Sung as loud as My little lungs would allow

This must be

What it is going to be

When I get a robe

Made just for me

To sing in that heavenly choir

My Father’s Last Prayer

Lord have mercy on my soul

Nigh unto me even unto my own mouth

Lord I stretch my hand to thee no other help I know

If thou withdraw thyself from me whether shall I go

I have called on thee in good times and in sorrow

I have one more river to cross Lord take me by the hand and lead me on I’m tired, I’m weak, I’m worn

I see you standing with your arms outstretched

I’ll rest in your bosom

Wash my weary feet in the river Jordan

At the Gate

The seeds have long since been carried away in the breeze passing along a message which can only be interpreted by those waiting for instructions. They look under rocks or they turn to bushes hunting down words for guidance or sometimes a place to hide. The rocks cleft will provide a refuge like a strong pavilion. A place to bandage their wounds or to fly away to rest. The message scattered abroad searching for the right ground. The composition scripted in code, only the seer can interpret the meaning or someone possessing the word of knowledge to speak words of faith. There first must be an offering a prelude to go before the message. The heavens will loosen it's divine will once the seeker has offered the right sacrifice. It's amazing how many come this far and refuse to bow or ask for mercy.

The seer interprets the vision and lays their hand on the seekers head. The past and future all revealed the load of guilt relieved and hope somehow passes through the palm of the hand.

All in the sanctuary are pleased they praise in the tabernacle. They find peace at the gate and strength at the door. Grace standing on one side and mercy holding down the other, they turn in wonder, they leap with joy.

THE COMMONAmong

When your mind tells you to turn around or when you see the danger signs and still keep walking, the results are equivalent to walking into a snow storm. Your only reason is what you have been searching for has suddenly appeared on the other side of the hill. These sightings are not too common. You have come to realize you weren't meant to walk among the common.

You have tried before and didn't exactly blend in no matter the intellectual composition of the crowd. The last gathering was an affair in some place you wouldn't normally frequent except you were trying to find a new group of friends. You introduced yourself, but your name didn't sound the same in their tones. And their tongues seemed to cling to the roof of their mouths like that of liars.

This is why you are searching for this aberration spotted by those hunting the same. Your allegiance to one another is tighter than the secret hand shakes other members of various clubs salute one another with. Armed with a flash light you hope you won't return home heartbroken.

Emergence Emergence

Make me what I want to be. Who I see in the distance. Somewhere standing boldly arrayed underneath the foliage of a Willow tree. She lies in me; between the folds. Each day I sense her breaking forth, turning, emerging. the old skin is shedding. I can see. I stretch towards who she is. I reach for the limbs that hang from the Willow tree.

STRENGTH OF THE MOON

the hell hounds howl at a glorious moon

shining down on me they come sniff my feet lick my wounds

gnarl down on me i stare back at them

my eyes full of His moon

shining down on me

Too distant to touch

My fingers smelled

The odor of freedom

The water wouldn't be muddy

The stars not so out of reach

The glow of re-birth

The dew of dawn

Securing the fresh manna

Delivering a new hope

The hell hounds howl

Even at a glorious moon

Hiding me now at home

THECOLOROFWINGS

IF I HAD WINGS, HOW FAR WOULD I FLY? MY FEET COULD ASCEND TO HIGHER GROUND, HOW FAR WOULD I LEAP? COULD SING ANOTHER SONG, OULD IT BE A MELODY SWEET? TIMBREL WERE MADE OF BRASS, LD IT PRAISE WITH A NEW BEAT?

LIEVE MY THOUGHTS WOULD BE TINTED, I WOULD SMILE NOT WEEP.

F I HAD WINGS I WOULD NO LONGER STAND INCOMPLETE.

I WOULD ESCAPE AT DUSK AS PURPLE CLAIMED THE EVENING SKY.

I WOULD FINALLY TASTE WHAT IT MEANS TO FLY.

IF I HAD WINGS MY PAIN WOULD CEASE. THE MORNING LIGHT WOULD RUN THROUGH ME DEEP.

WINGSOFTHEMORNING

HE FROST OF THE MORNING COVERING THE GROUND LIKE THAT OF A MOTHER'S WOMB.

ESTING UPON IT, HEAVEN'S MANNA. HE NIGHT HID THE PROMISES OF THIS DAY.

CASTING IT'S SHADOW. UT THE LIGHT OF SALVATION, HE CAME AND SUNG HIS SONG RESTING ON THE TREE.

selah

MERCY ON MY SOUL, MERCIFUL GOD. GOD OF TODAY, GOD OF FOREVERMORE. WHERE I WALK, THE SHIFTING GROUND.

MERCY ON MY SOUL, MERCIFUL GOD.

GOD OF ABRAHAM, GOD OF ISRAEL. WHERE I STAND, THE SHIFTING GROUND.

MERCY ON MY SOUL, MERCIFUL GOD.

GOD OF TOMORROW, GOD OF FOREVERMORE. WHERE I REST, THE SHIFTING GROUND.

It's just skin with different lives. The soul breathed within the same. My eyes see what others look over. The brilliance of his mind.

The boy in his smile. The freedom in his eyes.

I saw him one day--uncovered. He wore no skin. Standing in light.

CHANGE

It's been a long time coming--so long in fact the expectancy has waned. The tent dwellers no longer stand in their doors gazing at the stars and the watchers in the fields have given up. The walls around the city keeping out light stand waiting to be torn down as people stumble over the rubble in the streets. Strange how no one desires anymore to build up the waste places but rather stand around shouting about the rats roaming the gutters. They'll come chase them out when the dollar is right.

One voice cries continually warning and begging for change. But opposing mobs gather around chanting the name of their chosen one of the hour as he hides himself among the crowd waiting for the frenzy to peek in order to make an entrance. Those hoping for change lift up rocks from the rubble and begin to silence the voice--but he still stands.

Unrelenting in their attack but somehow their minds are persuaded to pick up the pieces scattered and begin to rebuild. They remember how they crafted the city and paved the roads. They remember how to pray.

Tired Feet

My feet tire of.....

ignorance

haughtiness

judgment

bondage

My feet tire of.....

standing still

MY RESIGNATION LETTER MY RESIGNATION LETTER

Ain't yo' maid, Ain't yo' maid, ain't yo' mammy! ain't yo' mammy!

Ain't yo' slave, Ain't yo' slave, ain't yo' cook! ain't yo' cook!

Dem days is ovah! Dem days is ovah!

Slave Pen Owned by: Captain John Anderson

On Display: National Underground Railroad Freedom Center

SlavePens

TheHousesthatHatredBuilt ItriedtobracemyselfasIenteredintothewoodenoversizedcoffinthat heldatanygiventimeseventy-fivedevaluedsouls.ButIcouldn’tprevent thetears;Icouldn’tdenythevoicesthatstillscreamedfromthosewalls. Whosefeethadtouchedthosecoldfloors,whosesweatandtearshad stainedthosebenches?IsatthereandIwept--Iweptfortheirsoulslong sincegone IweptformyselfforsometimesI’mnotmindful Imourned thosewhohadbeenstrippedfromtheircountrytodiedailyinastrange landonlytohavenofinalrestingplace,nosacred burialground. Haunted,theirghostsstillroam.Iheardthecriesofmothersfortheir children.Isawmencrowdedlyingonthebeamsaboveandacrossfrom themthenameofthedemonicsoulwhohadenslavedthemthere, Anderson.Iwantedtohatehim!AndIwantedtohatemywhitebrother whomIlove Somehowsittinginthathousethatwasbuiltfromhatred lovestillreignedinmine Ibelieveitcamefromthestrengthofthosesouls wholefttheirbrokenheartsonthefloorofthis slavepen.

Mutauro

the passage I found no ance to describe the abysmal

nce of my new world. With lash the unction to speak yrics of my former tongue

d. My ears no longer ated with the joyous songs

d on the wind of trees.

n I lifted up my kleintjie

ds the strange jewels of the echo of drums

moned me to anoint her with ative oil but within I found ythm.

THESTENCHOFRACISM

It was stuck in my throat. Once the staunch stench entered my nostrils, I knew it would shortly reach my palette. And once again I would have to swallow this bile. It always makes me want to vomit, weep and spit all at the same time. Or at least some bodily action to cause me to extract this evil.

If not it will like a snakes venom intermingle within until it suffocates all the signs of life. Smothered out like any bright flame, it will take a greater emotion to recapture. It will take the cleansing odor to purify once more.

A death sentence he gave me

In exchange for my love

For the fruit I bore for him

A chance at love

My life now shattered

My head bowed from shame

A sign of hope I seek

A hiding place

Somewhere under the moon

I wish it would rain

April Showers April Showers

I'm not Alone

If I called for Mercy

HE WOULD ANSWER

If I called on Grace

HE WOULD BE NEAR

If I called out to Lovingkindness

HE WOULD HEAR

H O

HOPE HID AS IF IT WAS NEVER KNOWN BUT THE SUN OVER POWERED

THE WEIGHT OF DOUBT

Sun Rise

My soul raised up to meet the sun

The sun bending down to me

This vessel feeling some relief

The Spirit stood still within

The whispers came on the wind

My soul raised up to listen

My flesh moved in subjection

The energy too strong to resist

Searching the mind of the Spirit

Sun's rising, I feel the warmth on my skin

Taking the chill from my aching bones

My feet feel like moving, dancing

I could reach up and grab her, taste her

It's hard to stand still, to hold my peace

My heart feels like singing, rejoicing

I wish I could hold her, keep her

Drive the fear out with heat

I feel like rising

Manna

The sun seems hotter

The days shorter

The night season longer

But joy comes on the morning dew

Manna

Before I die

I want to live like I'm running from yesterday but not worried about tomorrow. Live as if a rainbow shows up everyday before the stars come out to play.

I want to love like my next breath is dependent upon his smile. The smile in his eyes that says he loves the same. A kind love gentle enough to hold and sweet enough to taste. To taste even when the air is bitter and the moon is hidden.

I want to roam the earth looking for the lost treasures. Lost because their beauty has been overlooked. Not the obvious sunrise in the morning but when it goes to bed, and the moon takes his turn over the Mediterranean Sea shining on the black waters.

To pick the fruit off the trees and drink the water from the stream. To ride and feel the wind as the road of worries disappears in the distance while I ride over the horizon to touch the sun.

skin deep

MY BROWN SKIN. YOU SEE IT. MYSTERIOUS TO YOU SO YOU STARE. "YOU'RE SKIN IS SO BEAUTIFUL", I HEAR YOU SAY.

YOU'RE ENVIOUS, NOT OF MY SKIN. BUT MY STRENGTH. I SPEAK SO YOU WILL HEAR MY MIND, SEE MY SPIRIT. YOU RELAX, I SMILE, I'M SUDDENLY JUST AS HUMAN AS YOU.

YOU'RE STARTLED, I WONDER WHY. I WON'T SAY IT, IN FACT, I REFUSE. IT'S THERE, YOU KNOW IT, I KNOW IT, BUT THROUGH WORDS IT WILL SOON DISAPPEAR.

I FEEL YOU TRYING TO BREAK ME.

BUT YOU DON'T KNOW MY BEGINNING.

breakable breakable

YOU DON'T KNOW ABOUT THE FIBER BINDING ME.

OF THE STRENGTH FROM THE SUN BEAMING ON BEATEN BACKS.

STRENGTH FROM TATTERED HANDS AND TIRED BOUND FEET.

YOU DON'T KNOW THE WORDS OF THE SONG PLAYING IN MY EAR.

THE RHYTHM OF THOSE WHO MARCHED IN THE HEAT.

OF MOTHERS WHO GAVE BIRTH IN THE FIELD.

THEIR BABIES UNABLE TO SUCK IN PEACE.

YOU DON'T KNOW THE STOCK HOLDING ME.

Ain't I A Woman?

I could scream it from the mountain top.

Still no one but my echo would understand.

Understand

My dreams in the bottle with no escape. My words that have no sound. My tears that have no taste.

Understand

The look of disdain found in evil eyes

Trying to make me hate my own flesh

To devalue my own soul

Understand

Why I still must scream from the mountain top

Ain't I A Woman?

I became a woman before

I finished being a girl

No time to wonder no time to question

The answers were not altogether true

But the questions were just as confusing

CHILD Woman

When my mind aligned with my reality

It was too late to disengage

I was in love

From whispered prayers came strength

To nurse and to hold my future

Muddy Wings

Gotta get this mud out my wings

Speaking to me calling me names

Making me stink of fear and shame

Wash me, make me clean

Anger, fear stuck in my wings

Holding me down staying the same

Gotta get this mud out my wings

Marring whatever I touch

Magnifying failure disguising blame

Wash me, make me clean

Faith, hope I can feel

Lifting me above the crimson stains

fingertips

When I lay me down let me not forget you. When I rise let words of gratitude lay on my tongue. In the heat of the day I feel you like a breeze. And in the nights air like a fire. I feel for you with the tips of my hands. I stretch them out to you. When the morning comes stand near. When I walk hold me with the tip of your finger.

Beautiful, but there’s more to see a hidden treasure

Apart of me I hope to be

African BEAUTY QUEEN

You’re a mystery—not fully uncovered Even though you stand naked for all to admire

Your breast so full nurturer of the nations

Bold, proud and glorious

You know who you are where you belong

Still I stumble—praying not to fall

Fall prey to what others say I should be Reaching for who you are Run, I hear you say in my ear Run like the antelope, Stand proud like the giraffe, Run wild like the zebra

Prance like the lioness

Run until you own the horizon

Body, Soul & Spirit

Run Freely Against the Wind Rise

Leap Up

Ungravitated Rise

Laugh Loudly

Smile Within Rise

Weep Bitterly

On your Knees Rise

Repent Openly

Plead for Mercy Rise

Listen Quietly

Ever Learning Rise

Live Fearlessly

No Regrets Rise

Love Genuinely

A Pure Heart Rise

Die Gently

Breathe Sweetly Rise

Fly Away

In the Morning Rise

My mother named me Pamela from the stories she used to watch. I don't know maybe she was dreaming about my story.

As complex as it may be, I still only want to be me. I'm a mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend. I'm a preacher, teacher, leader -- too many titles, too many names. My mother called me Pamela before she knew my story.

I've been right and I've been wrong. I've been hurt and I've caused pain. Been counted out and rose up again. I've been so lost, but thank God now I'm found.

My mother calls me Pal, maybe because we became friends.

I may think it's complex but so simple still. I'm God's child the one I answer to when I'm still. He calls me by my name. I can hear Him so clear. The preacher Pam. That's the title I'll answer to.

Too many defining terms, but I know who I am still. I'm Pamela, a spirit filled creative intellectual being.

I've been battered, worn, broken, chipped and bruised. I'm loved and I love. I feel both joy and pain. I'm me, unapologetically human, unapologetically PHENOMENAL