Inner Self – PROCLAMATION TRANSFORMATION

The Miseducation of the misunderstood

May 26, 2018August 28, 2020Posted in Free Writes, Life, Pieces of Poetry, Transitional PiecesTagged Art, Consciousness, Creative Writing, Death, Depression, Emotions, Expression, Faith, Fear, Feelings, Food for Thought, Freedom, Future, Growth, Heal the Pain, Honesty, Illumination, Individuality, Influence, Inner Self, Insomnia, Knowledge, Leighrick, Life, Love, Mental Health, Online Writing, Pain, Passion, Peace, Poet, Poetry, Questions, Reality, Realization, Reflection, Self-Love, Soul, Spiritual Journey, Spoken Word, Strength, Trust, Truth, Unconditional Love, Unity, Vigilant Leighrick, Wisdom, WritingLeave a comment

The Miseducation of the misunderstood harbors overwhelming anxiety; which creates layers underneath the shell.

Always home like a tortoise, but I am a nomad in my own body.

The feeling of loneliness sets in every time one of my personalities decide to leave.

I am wandering

Invested in a venture that is company to misery.

I declare communicative bankruptcy.

Do me the service of sending all my messages, subliminally. This misinterpreted status will be one for the books.

Face it —

Who are we without the royalties in freedom of speech?

Too many unwritten rights you have, that wasn’t taught to me.

Do you know me?

Do I know you?

How valuable is identity to a thief? The only benefit in this hijacking is the doubt you will finally understand that…

I volunteered, but I never asked.

Never raised my hand in class.

So many questions that still need an answer

So many answers that should be questions.

What will be the solution?

It seems I’m the problem.

I am a weapon – non lethal

A dangerous mind shooting stars

Trynna reach the moon, cause I was told that’s as far as love can go.

I am a victim of time!

Trapped behind the bars in the same cage the bird sung.

Those melodies still linger.

The ink blots begin to show.

I think it’s bleeding through!

I use to dream in cursive until…

Murder she wrote.

Now it’s killing me softly.

The standard is to understand

The extreme is to overstep.

The Miseducation of the misunderstood can’t be taught only felt.

-Leighrick

Everything is Black

March 10, 2018Posted in Pieces of PoetryTagged Abuse, Alcoholism, Depression, Growth, Heal the Pain, Health, Individuality, Influence, Inner Self, Leighrick, Life, Mental Health, Motivation, Online Writing, Pain, Poet, Poetry, Realization, Self-Love, Spiritual Journey, Spoken Word, Vigilant LeighrickLeave a comment

Everything is black —

I can’t remember much

Just the touch of the Angels that’s helping me up.

Looking at my stiffened body is chilling.

As I

Throw my head back – the smoke has me ascending.

Deep breathes spread the embers that keep my soul lit.

I wander

I find myself walking towards the light with a regrettable peacefulness.

The roots have been spoiled with magic and shaded by myths.

Is this a test?

A trust testament of my growth or just the repercussions of my actions.

I am at a loss for words, incomplete sentences like ad-libs.

I am wondering.

Searching for the nouns like symbols and the beats of adjectives like mad-lib.

I am running.

Racing my shadow like I’ve rescued my inner child.

Now we’re crying so hysterically it turns into laughter.

And then…

Everything is black.

-Leighrick

The Last Train, Until…

April 30, 2015Posted in Free Writes, Initations, Life, Transitional PiecesTagged Absent Love, Art, Be The Change, Consciousness, Depression, Dysfunctional Families, Emotions, Family, Feelings, Food for Thought, Freedom, Growth, Heal the Pain, Illumination, Inner Self, Insomnia, Knowledge, Leighrick, Life, Life Lessons, Love, Memories, Mental Health, Motivation, nostalgia, Online Writing, Pain, Parents, Poet, Poetry, Questions, Reality, Realization, Relationships, Self-Love, Spiritual Journey, Spoken Word, Strength, Unconditional Love, Vigilant Leighrick, Wisdom, WritingLeave a comment

Picture ya life on the subway –
Labeled a runaway.
Always taught to chase dreams, but catching them was never imagined.
On the train til infinity, where every malfunction exceeds a boundary.
The sky ain’t the limit, its the ticket.
What’s the difference?
I can see beyond the colors of the prism.
I have touched many moons.
Floating – weightless –
Patient.
Healing myself, still doctoring the wounds from when they severed the ties to my portal.
The only home I’ve known, now it just seems as if love don’t live here no more…
So I roam.
Telling the streets my secrets.
Leaving tattoos when I spit the words penetrate the skin.
The concrete cracks.
A Rose emerges.
The train door closes before I even look back…
I pricked myself on the thorns, I wail as the horn sounds…I realize
My overstanding reality is under attack.
-Vigilant Leighrick

The Coldest War

August 16, 2013March 6, 2014Posted in Dapper Suits, Family, Life, Pieces of Poetry, Transitional PiecesTagged Arts, Cold War, Conscience, Dysfunctional Families, Emotions, Falling in Love, Feelings, fostering, Goddess, Heal the Pain, Inner Self, Leighrick, Life, Online Writing, orphans, Peace, Pinocchio, Poetry, Self Conscious, Self-Love, Solider, Spiritual Journey, Unconditional Love, War, WarriorLeave a comment

Everyone said life was going to be this hard

However, everyone failed to mention the scars would remain, less obvious than outer appearance.

Daily wearing her heart on her sleeve.

Scabs and keloids protrude from untold her-stories,

Belly swollen full of manipulation.

Brain dead,

Unconscious,

Self-conscious —

Afraid of self.

PAIN

A mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Her tongue remedial compared to cat like reflexes.

Her own two sense, something she cant afford.

She Wrote.

and so

She Spoke.

She becomes family with led and ink.

In-laws of different colors

A mind is a terrible thing to waste,

as is her pain,

She Wrote.

This lonely child found the comfort in the instruments, the silence, and the trees.

All she wrote repeatedly:

“NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!”

“NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!”

“NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!!“…

Peers read, what appears?

What is perceived?

The agony brought a smile upon her face, because shes discovered one of her many talents

Acting.

Just Leave Me.

Leave Her Alone.

MEANING

Comfort Me.

This little girl is on a scavenger hunt.

She tries to abandon the labels, they hold her back.

She searches for someone to foster her creativity.

She longs for someone to adopt her perception.

Her conscience is an Orphan.

This lonely child is lost in all the love.

Mouth dry as wood.

Eyes shinning bright like dim lights.

These Pinocchio’s snout would grow

if they deny being puppets too.

She just wants to be a real woman.

They hear her speak, but no one

LISTENS.

Judgments are passed along,

accompanied by unconditional love.

Under the conditions of seeing thoroughly, only when they chose not to be

BLIND.

so confused.

Life is hard, for that she was prepared.

They keeping telling her to explain herself.

But no one understands her language.

She tries to translate it, but motha fuckas are impatient.

Feeling like a patient, she nursing her thoughts.

Remember, this poor girl is brain dead.

A mind is a terrible thing to waste

So.

The shadow unexpectedly appeared

placed the pen to her temple.

imprinted a hand against her heart,

and pressed her mouth onto hers.

She inhaled comprehension and took her first gasp of LIFE.

Tasteless.

Nervous.

Excited.

She understands her language, she wrote back to her through thoughts, emotions, and intuition.

She spoke.

The first words for a young adult.

“I Love You”

She grew inside her,wisdom, her tears the waters that bloomed this gracious flower.

Everyone told her life was going to be this hard.

She thought her shit would come out softer after the bullshit they fed her,

another fallacy sugar coated.

She’s screaming at her

Lullabies sweet and low.

Her honesty

Bittersweet.

This Woman is a Solider.

The series of this Coldest War.

To be continued…

-Leighrick

Conscious Dreamin’

June 11, 2013March 6, 2014Posted in Dapper Suits, Family, Pieces of PoetryTagged Dysfunctional Families, Expectations, Family, Grandparent, Home, Inner Self, Leighrick, Love, Memories, nostalgia, Online Writing, Parenting, Poetry, Secrets, Sweet Memories, Thought, Unconditional LoveLeave a comment

I’d be lying if I say I didn’t want to go back.

As I’m lying on my back,

An abundance of thoughts are racing through my head, so its hard to stay on track.

It’s December and I’m having dreams of Santa placing me in my fathers lap.

A stork delivering me between my mothers legs.

Flashbacks holding my Sisters hands, they’re teaching me how to dance.

Walk down stairs to sneak something to eat, and see my brothers red hands.

I’d be lying if I say I didn’t want to go back.

And as I’m lying on my back,

Numerous thoughts race through my head, so its hard to stay on track.

I see me sitting on the table as my grandmother feeds me.

I wont bite the hand, rather admire the gentleness of them.

Now I’m running across the grass blowing bubbles with my cousins.

There’s an elephant in the room, but won’t nobody say nothing.

And as I’m lying on my back,

A plethora of thoughts race through my head, so its hard to stay on track.

Hey ! I’m cruising; riding a bike that won’t take me anywhere.

I remember Grandmas red beans & rice, cabbage, and spaghetti nobody would want to share.

“There’s a hole in my stockings” I said, but she always had an extra pair.

I can still hear Wild Bill calling me the prettiest girl

Opening my eyes during the long prayer

Admiring my nephew as he plays in his mothers hair

Her stomach round my niece is in there.

And as I’m lying on my back

An overflow of thoughts race through my head, so its hard to stay on track

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to go back.

When we gathered together and laughed until we shed tears.

Every household had a secret that they didn’t want to share

I keep smiling sitting at the table with no one there.

So I fill in the empty seats with memories.

Now I’m remember this place, and never meant for it to come here.

The real estate I’m on is now a couch I call my home.

And as I’m lying on my back

Thoughts are shadowing memories, so it’s hard to place a bet

Who would win this war the guilt or the hard head

In a room with 4 walls and no ceilings,

No doors, windows, or ladders,

How the fuck do I get out of here?

Everything around me happened so fast, why do I feel like I’m in slow motion?

As I’m lying on my back

I pack this bowl and drink this potion.

Who would’ve thought I’d be the sucker for love

I never showed emotion.

But I feel my heart skip a couple beats every time I hold my Grandmothers hand.

I tend to rethink everything I could have done different.

I’m trying to cherish time, but how am I suppose to do that if I cant even get a grasp of it?

And as I’m lying on my back,

I never thought it would have come to this.

A point where I can’t even finish this without

adding a couple “What Ifs“, a couple “Maybes”

Thinking — is it best to be myself, or what I am expected to be?

Then I think again

Should I have even wrote this?

Many will read into a misconstrued message.

Fuck it tho

As I’m lying on my back

I find no reason to lie.

I wish I could go back just to make more memories…..

-Leighrick