the poetry of who I used to be

Last week, rather than drop an episode on Buzzsprout, Spotify and Apple Podcast, I dropped a Youtube Video. To keep consistency, I decided to share a few poems from my collection before I switch the flow for the rest of the year. Hope you enjoy! 

Transcript

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Hey y'all, this is Brianna, and this is the Divine Intervention Podcast Where I try my best to make space and learn how to take up that space. And today I figured I would just drop a mini episode where I'm kind of just sharing some poetry. I know the last few episodes I didn't really attach a poem at the end of them. So I'm really just taking some time to I guess catch all up on my older poetry. And I'll start with because I keep it all in like one specific place. I'll start with my mind is a residence. And I chose this piece particularly because I've always had a really hard time getting out of my head. So much so that in a lot of my poetry I never realized that I was writing about this idea of feeling constrained. And I would write and write, and it would be a theme throughout my poetry, but I could never find the words to verbalize that what I was feeling was like I am bursting out of a box that I felt like I was placed in. And whenever I would talk to people about it, their immediate response would be like, Well, who put you in a box? Which conversations like those would always frustrate me because I'm like, This is literally society and this is the world, it functions off of systems, boxes. I'm not even finna get into my full-blown rant about my frustration, leaving a lot of conversations where people really cannot understand um this idea of just feeling constrained. And so here is my mind as a residence. Blank stairs as I shuffle through each thought. But that doesn't make my residence any less of a surprise. Big brown eyes are seen as I hide. I grow silent when applications ask where do I reside? Because my mind is my most current address. So I inhabit it daily. Allowing everything, every flaw, every lie to live rent free. Some have told me to learn to let things be, but what if it's the only place that's comfortable for me? I realized a long time ago where I'm truly a resident. When others speak, I grow hesitant, trying to ignore details and body language that I read and make relevant, even when it isn't. In my head, sometimes I dread the things I come up with in there. As I stare into the distance, trying to make things make sense, and I second guess my decisions that even prove themselves worthy. And I might not care too much of what people think of me, but I want to be loved like anyone else. I want to be bold and not stressed about the things I let inhabit my mental palace, and though I might not think of people with malice, that doesn't mean when they think of me they think the same. And sometimes I blame me for the things I couldn't see. When people weren't who they said they would be, but scars will heal. And the days will seal the happiness right along with the pain. I just hope when people come along I can love them the same. Even after all the hurt, I hope the pain never transforms who I am. I think I'll do the fear that binds me. Because I feel like it fits into the theme of this poetry slam episode. I'll do three poems today, so that's the first one. The second one is the fear that binds me. And then this one I wrote a lot about how for a long time I really allowed fear to dictate and run my life. And so here we go. I have always lived in fear of what is coming next. Scared that I won't be prepared, my breath would catch in the air, and now that I'm older I realize it's still there. That breath I took as a little girl is still being held in because that's what my fear does to me. I take five steps forward and it paces three steps behind. Close enough for me to feel its presence, but never close enough to fully capture my mind, just enough to leave me shaking and wondering when it will finally have its time with me. I keep telling myself that I'm supposed to face my fear, but the more the days go by, I learn that maybe it's time for me to simply acknowledge its hold on me. They say the first step to healing is admitting there's an issue. My therapist said to me, You always refer to your problems with my as its identifier, my fear, my anxiety, my imposter syndrome. The first step is to stop referring to these things as your own. The anxious feeling isn't mine, and I refuse to claim my heart as its home because it's all just passing. I often wonder when I'll live instead of worrying about what comes next. If comparison is the thief of joy, then fear is the enemy that binds my chest, filling my body with heavy weights. So even when problems arise, I feel like I'm drowning. And when I ask God to set me free, they sit idle, waiting for me to see that I can overcome this one on my own. And my last one. I was just like, I feel like reciting poetry today. If I could find some that like sit on my shoulders, but they don't weigh my ears down. Oh my gosh, that would like chef's kiss, that would make my day. There's nothing I love more than a gold accessory. I don't know, I just feel like that's that's lovely. And so here it goes. And my lips is a door to keep closed unless they benefit from the fruit of my conversation. And my experience is a fiction story only to be told when it helps their motive. I'm choked by the reality of who I am versus who their statistics say I'm supposed to be, suffocated by the fact that I made it and others didn't, and strangled by their questions, probing, reaching, and grasping for the only things that were ever mine and mine only. Even my fondest memories have stains of oppression and trauma that feels beyond repair. So when I sit in spaces and am expected to protect white babies from others' truth, I'm stuck with the dilemma of whether or not I should even care, especially when black and brown babies have never been treated fair. So I sit in rooms wishing my hoop earrings could block out the noise. My hoop earrings are more than an accessory or an object or stereotype. My hoop earrings are my courage to fight a battle that's been going on long before me. My hoop earrings are the only things that make me feel true to who I am while I'm figuring out who I'm meant to be. Thank you. And thanks for joining me for this Poetry Slam. I think I'm gonna make this a mini series. I think that will be lovely. But thank you so much for joining me today. Feel free to drop a comment, share if it resonated with you, reach out, whatever feels most comfortable. Go drink some water, water a plant, and give somebody a compliment. And I'll see y'all in the next one.