A Montage of Sorts...

Help, I keep writing and thinking no one will read it. How can they if I never share it?

Hi Friend,

Most of these are bits and pieces of my pieces. Let’s just get right into it, shall we?

Scene One: She Rambles

My name is Crystal. I like to write shit…well, not actual shit, mostly poems and prose. I get nervous when I consider sharing my own uninhibited work because I have this relentless need for approval that I hate to admit to having because I’ve been trying to break it ever since I learned that I developed it. While writing this, I started to wonder if I’d passed that on to my son. He’ll be five soon (that’s crazy as hell I been doing this for that long) and to stay motivated to complete tasks he hates or really just finds intense or challenging he is constantly seeking approval. I have a hard time accepting when someone tells me I’m a good mom, even though I know for a Fendi fact that I work hard to be…most of the time.

Scene Two: Pick Your Poison

In all my years of drinking, Prosecco has never failed me.

During the time I spent miles away from home

and worlds away from my culture comforts

I acquired a taste for the sharp and sassy bubbly liquid

She flirted with my taste buds

Citrus-lined kisses staining my lips

She danced on my tongue

Gyrating her hips against my emotions

Tribbing our lips til the early morning

When she floated away around 6am

I was left nauseous yet filled with longing

Before parting ways she tossed in the air

She’ll return when I can tamper my yearning

Scene Three: Morning Musings

I am rebuilding

Nah, let’s just call it a renovation. Yeah.

I am renovating

Forgive me as I work through my jealousy

Developing compassion for self is my latest innovation

I see my friends earning wins, gains, and other forms of appreciation

And while it may sting a bit

I’m not distraught with envy, at least not in this moment

Obsessing over the question of when my ship will come in.
Some seasons ask questions and other seasons answer

Word to Ms. Zora, this season is my reckoning

Bitch, I swear it better be.

Scene Four: Afternoon Wandering

My ancestors whisper prayers for me

They float on the breeze between these mossy trees

Their uplifting words guide and comfort me

Prayers of success

Prayers for ease

Wiping sorrowful tears from my eyes

Reminding me to breathe

Wishes that I’m not blinded by my quest for healing

That I don’t lose myself in the fuck ups

Guiding me through trials

Lifting my chin to look up

In the trees I see great things move slowly

In my moments of weakness

These lessons are timely