emotion: soulful

A Seat At The Table -
A well written album by Solange Knowles
This to me represents current social black issues & events, the frustration, anguish yet thought provoking all while giving you soulful harmonies that heal. She is an artist


What is the definition of an artist to me?

An artist is someone who creates timeless pieces of beauty. They are influenced by their surroundings and what time has to offer. … they are not famous because of their work, but because they inspire us. If not a collective, but a single heart is touched by their body of work then their work is done. Therefore that makes them, her an artist. Not by the amount of CDs sold but the hearts they influence and inspire.

youtube

Vicktor Taiwo - Digital Kids [Ft. Solomon]  

“Tru” Lloyd 

“This is me. So please accept me for who I am and please accept me for what I do. I’m just doing everything that I can, cause all I wanna be is true.
So, please accept me for who I am and please accept me for what I do.”

youtube

Nick Hakim - I Don’t Know (2014)

Where did you go, where did you go?
I don’t know, I don’t know

But I know you’re watching over me
You help us through the good and through the pain we breathe
One day we’ll wake up from this crazy dream
And we’ll meet again after my lights dim out
And I’ll be wondering

Where will we go, where will we go?
I don’t know
Where will we go, where will we go?
I don’t know, I don’t know

And there were others before you and they had a good portion of me , there’s parts of my soul that I wish I would have never shared with anyone.
Please acknowledge this before it is too late .
It’s you , you’ve got my individual attention like nobody’s had it before.
You’re worthy of being admired and worthy of getting my time.
If I could only buy more time with you then I would.
Seconds are passing us by and the clock is ticking , yet I know that this feeling won’t be passing me by anytime soon.
Is the feeling mutual? Do you feel the rush like I do?
Notice me like I notice you baby.



- s.g ( the pensive thoughts in my mind)

Only you can ever know the depths of your own soul. Go swimming more. Understand yourself. It’s how you remain real and kind and true when the light gives way, when the paradigm shifts, when cruel becomes the native tongue of the nation around you, when strangers attempt to dictate your character. You are more than what any one has ever said or thought about you. You are more than what has ever been done to you. Take comfort in knowing your own value and values. You are love incarnate. You are worthy. You are trying your best. And that is beautiful.

youtube

Benjamin Booker - Slow Coming - CARDINAL SESSIONS  

Honestly, how can I be proud right now?
To tell you the truth, I ain’t been sleeping too well…

I grew up with my father- ToniJanae

I entered a poetry competition last year. This was one of my entries. Disclaimer: In no way a representation of my own life, but was written from my insight into other people’s stories.  

I grew up with my father.

Him from me, I from him. 
We grew, sadly connected. 

At two years old, 
I looked above at,
The domineering creature,
Of whom I became familiar. 
The one who used that stern tone, 
Who with one glance made you listen. 

Intolerant of, 

Disrespect. 

At five I grew to realize, 
That the cries of my mother,
Were likewise of mine. 
For when he would raise his heavy hand, 
We would cringe, as he would brand-
Our skin. 

If only I didn’t learn, didn’t grow, didn’t know. 
That daddies didn’t show their daughters, the insides of their trousers. 
It would not have hurt as much. 
My mother’s cries had me hypnotized, immobilized. 
We became neutralized, him to her, then to me.  

I always was so bitter, 
As I grew up with my father. 
At ten, I scorned, 
The smiles of Mr. Peterson,
My best friends dad.
I shuddered when he hugged her,
Wondered how she did not stir,
How she disguised,
How she was not of my sensitized nature.

I remember mastering the art and becoming so immune to the blows,
To the hate that arose in my heart.
I was but a child, him, a pig.
I prayed he’d be exposed,
But for the sake of my mother I told no other.
No other, “no one knows”

At fifteen I told a counsellor,
She swore secrecy-
Silly me to believe-
She wouldn’t deceive.
The men in red, came for my mother.
I cried as she cried,
My mother, alongside my father, were taken away.
She left.
Whilst he remained with me forever.

I grew up with my father as he haunted my dreams,  
It seemed, each night as I screamed from the memory of him,
It only worsened.
He stayed with me.

I grew up with my father
- lucky me