On Attracting Life

at the moment of commitment,
the universe conspires to ensure your success
Someone shared this quote with me during my senior year of college. I think I re-wrote the quote in every journal and on every sticky note shortly thereafter, until the quote was deeply ingrained in my subconscious. You know how sometimes you carry things in your spirit?  Yup. This is that.

Just re-read the words: at the moment of commitment …at the exact moment that you are 110% committed to something …the universe (or God, insert what you believe in) conspires to ensure your success. Conspires. What force behind that word! Here’s a dictionary definition:

con*spire verb (used without object)
1 | to agree together, especially secretly, to do something wrong, evil, or illegal: they conspired to kill the king

2 | to act or work together toward the same result or goal

con*spire verb (used with object)
3 | to plot (something wrong, evil, or illegal)

While the word conspire has a generally negative connotation, the beauty of language (poetic justice!) allows you to weave the traditionally negative to describe the severity to which the positive must occur. Lovely! And further, your success is ensured. Not suggested. Not recommended. Ensured. There is no question that the goal with be met. It’s done – ensured.

There are few other quotes as powerful as this that I turn to when navigating this life. This is also why I write. The manipulation of words can be so moving and so powerful and so striking. This is furthermore why I don’t believe people when they claim that words are just …words. That words mean nothing is just erroneous, at best.

I hope this quote inspires you as much as it keeps inspiring me.

“Desiderata” by Max Ehrmann

I’m not sure why I never came across this piece in my English Literature days of high school, but someone on Twitter mentioned this the other day and I looked the poem up. It’s apt and appropriate for me at this time in my life, especially in the face of a recent job rejection email.  But I am relentless and uninterested in allowing rejection to deter me from moving forward and finding success in my budding career.

Allow this inspire you this Monday!

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
© Max Ehrmann 1927



newness has a smell
it is the smell of the untouched, the uncracked
in it, there is no story, no way of knowing, nothing familiar
the smell comforts
invites you to re-write it, invites you to create
a something
it smells of courage and a daring to explore
it demands your attention, the most personal thing about you
newness smells of silence and delight
you cant help touching it, you cant restrain your pining
it’s a sensual smell – of a something more endearing than sex
a luring, alluring
to sit and fellowship and wait and dine
newness is a space you want to inhabit
and yet
you understand it’s fickleness
the temptress draws you into an intimate moment
then 8 days later, you refuse to greet her with your intimacy
you might even cuss her out
demand why she can no longer service your needs
you paid too much for this shit
you want to give her back
refund my time, my money, my feelings
and like a bitch in heat, she tries to lure you again
she even puts on your favourite body mist
 but the smell is gone and so are initial intentions
you learn to deal her cards so she twerks the way you want
just enough to make you hum a satisfied sigh
it’s not the same – you know it, she knows it
but she becomes you
and 8 years later
you cannot believe how you’ve lived without her anyway

“talisman” by Suheir Hammad

it is written
the act of writing is
holy words are
sacred and your breath
brings out the
god in them
i write these words
quickly repeat them
softly to myself
this talisman for you
fold this prayer
around your neck fortify
your back with these
may you walk ever
loved and in love
know the sun
for warmth the moon
for direction
may these words always
remind you your breath
is sacred words
bring out the god
in you
read more here

i wanna go to beautiful

written in 2008, as I celebrate 10 years of life since diagnosis

original post – 7/3/13

 I wanna go to beautiful, beautiful, beautiful

on my thighs I wear the marks of a body scarred

needles penetrate my skin every 3 days, as if i asked for the deep long-lasting, nail-scars Jesus bore on his hands, feet, and sides

and without thought or feeling, i lose myself pricking fingertips, breaking epidermal as my mother’s soul breaks, watching her firstborn daughter, her adiaha, undergo purposeful bleeding to check for normalcy

for mother’s sake, i cry only in solitude, the same place mother tells me talents are born

for mother’s sake, i assure her it’s ok. i’m ok. that this too shall pass and for her sake i shrug my shoulders with unconcerned blase in vain attempts to conceal inner needles scratching my veins and hurting my soul, trying desperately to show her that the burdens i now carry are light

and for my sake, mother murmurs prayers under her breath, as if warding off the evil spirits that take insulin from children and kill beta cells – leaving me to depend on artificial assistance for a pancreas that no longer functions

sometimes i wish i had asked for this punishment, you know? then maybe it would make sense. maybe if i were the child that ate candy for dinner and drank soda for breakfast, it would make sense. maybe. maybe then the numbers would add up. like –

5 years i’ve lived with sugar demons, forcibly learning to reconfigure who i claim to be

4 times a day, i bleed through pepper-marked fingertips to check for glucose stability

every 3 days i refill empty insulin tubes into a cell-phone shaped machine i was told would keep me healthy

at least every 2 weeks, i wake up sweaty and shaking and unable to focus from hypoglycemia at 5, 4, 3am, raiding semi-empty dorm fridges for any type of sugar

it is at times like these that i pray the prayer mother mummers under her breath. the prayer i never actually hear. the prayer in the language of her people, my people, and in the language of the heavens

i pray that not this time Papa God, Abasi-Mme, not this time would i fall into diabetic shock while the rest of the world slumbers in unconsciousness. not this time

on my thighs i wear the marks of a body scarred. i daily flag golden brown skin, naked and raw and hurting and bruised. and daily i must remind myself that it is merely my body and not my soul, neither my spirit that is scarred with it

daily i must remind myself that it is merely my body and not my soul, neither my spirit that is scarred with it

I wanna go to beautiful, beautiful, beautiful

#30WriteNow October Writing Challenge

screen shot from

I’m over-committing myself. I know. But October is already making me feel larger than life and I’m embracing this month!  Personal challenge numero duo: a writing challenge.  I always ALWAYS suck at this. I wind up writing for about a week, but then abandon the project after day 5.  So I won’t beat myself up too much, but I’ll commit to writing something.  Join me?  Here are the rules of engagement and the creator of this challenge (here!)

Five Things To Do Tomorrow

I cannot remember where I read this, but there is a whole blog out there in the blogsphere dedicated to five things people pledge to do tomorrow.  The items can be as mundane as “lay my bed” to something more meaningful and humanistic, such as “remember to call mom and tell her I love her” or “tomorrow it’ll rain; share your umbrella with a stranger”. Every now and again, I’ll try to do a post like this of random things I would like to do tomorrow. I cannot promise I’ll do them all; this more about the conscious decision to do specific things tomorrow.

1. Write a haiku about the first person I think of in the morning (if I can remember) and work up the courage to actually send it to them

2. Job hunt and re-vamp my resume

3. Buy nice toilet paper

4. Check in with family

5.  Take a nap

“Prayer to the Living to Forgive Them for Being Alive”

An excerpt from a poem by Charlotte Delbo called “Prayer to the Living to Forgive Them for Being Alive” –

I beg you
do something
learn a dance step
something to justify your existence
something that gives you the right
to be dressed in your skin in your body hair
learn to walk and to laugh
because it would be too senseless
after all
for so many to have died
while you live
doing nothing with your life

A Word from Toni Morrison

“True, the Black woman did the housework, the drudgery; true, she reared the children, often alone, but she did all of that while occupying a place on the job market, a place her mate could not get or which his pride would not let him accept. And she had nothing to fall back on: not maleness, not whiteness, not ladyhood, not anything. And out of the profound desolation of her reality she may very well have invented herself.”
— Toni Morrison