Tag: blackgirlswithlocs

Joy Writer. Joy Rider. Joy Fighter.

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Joy is described as the fruit of the Spirit, and as I am a believer, this means it is a deep, abiding, and abundant gift that comes from God. It’s not just about fleeting moments of happiness, but a lasting sense of contentment paired with peace that fills my heart. This kind of joy is a reflection of my walk, a spiritual quality that relieves and helps me see the beauty and grace in the life God has written for me. When I cultivate joy as a fruit of the Spirit, it transforms my perspective, allowing me to experience a profound sense of healing, connection, and liberty. In Galatians 5:22-23 (KJV) it states, “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such things there is no law.”

AGAINST SUCH THINGS THERE IS NO LAW.

Embracing joy as a fruit of the Spirit also means that it’s nourished by a relationship with His Majesty. It’s not always about having everything go perfectly; rather, it’s about a learned radical belief that understanding the liberty of living and walking in the spirit will harvest love and worship unto God. This joy is resilient and enduring, providing strength and hope even in challenging times. It’s a beautiful reminder that God is actively at work, and soon the spiritual richness and fulfillment of God’s promises will manifest through every part of life.

Just Benny Bennasi.

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cinema featured on a five by seven screen

how  do you rid of remnant memories

how can i occupy that space 

the space that fills my mind

my mind up of remnant memories

remnant memories that still remain

the ones i can’t seem to erase

the ones remaining in my mind

how do you rid of remnant memories

the ones inside my head

to replace with bigger pictures

while im waiting

to clear up that space

ill be occupying the time

with remnants of memories

the man in the tailored black suit: The Coat

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strange women use propaganda 

gentlemen use proper gander…

he’d heard reckless things bout sista, the “oooooh i can’t stand hu’h!”

his conditioned heart felt the fire in those words and how it made sista quiver

he takes off his tailored black coat, hands it right to her….

and sista turned to gold…

because

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I am a 5’7 Novice professional.

The dreamers visionaire.

A visionaires dreamer.

Millennia renaissance woman, i think.

Mother of 3.

An On Demand, anime, and Netflix binger.

Podcast junkie.

Jackie of some trades

Tacooooo 😮 savvypreneur, but only for taco tuesdays.

Poplocker in my head.

Dance fever advocate for those who dance like nobody’s watching.

Like that time my son performed what I assumed to be an eight count of moves he’d made up while we waited for his name to be called at the doctor’s office.

With a room full of people the only person who cared to join him was the nurse who’d politely welcomed us when we’d entered the door.

They had the moves.

Entertained, I cheered them on.

I was the hype woman.

no, no, Ororo Munroe

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There’s a storm cloud floating above me, its thunder is shaking the place

Fahrenheit at 108

I admired two birds standing still as the wind blew

while witnessing lightning strike

they stand firm as the thunder swoon  

the thunder swoons

One facing left and the other right nesting in the blended CG tunes

The cloud breaks, rain falls, and they fly away

the feeling, OF

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There is nothing like the feeling of, the feeling of.

The feeling of the tightest hug

and a box of love with meanings in it.

You know the ones with the dreams in it?

Yes those, The feelings of…

It was the feeling of my lightest dream.

Glistening diamonds

the sweetest buttercream

the feeling of the best of the feeling, of.

Progression

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pro·gres·sion

/prəˈɡreSH(ə)n/

Definition: the process of developing or moving gradually towards a more advanced state.

    So…

    I.

    I am.

    I am a.

    I am a work.

    I am a work in progress. 

    I admit, i’m aware of this. 

    No matter how much I try to run away from it, it pulls me back in.

    the work.

    the progress.

    It churns my stomach. Makes my heart ache. Produces the sweat above my lip. Insists on fogging the lens of my glasses.

    The progress.

    The work that I am.

    The work that I was

    no longer am i leaning on my self absorbed mastery

    only depending on the Lord to instill in me understanding. 

    Understanding.

    Understanding.

    Understanding 

    the work that is made in me. 

    The new work that is made in me. 

    I heard pleading in streets. “Simplicity! Change from the simple things!”

    …it’s time to progress