Dear Lord

 Dear Lord, When your heart is broken, you plant seeds in the cracks and you pray for rain. ~Andrea Gibson My only crime is loving him. It's all I have ever done. At his worst and at his best. Choosing him. Standing by him. Praying for him. Supporting him. Nomatter what the world had to say. I guess it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. He didn't even try to know my heart. All he ever did was talk at me and not to me. All he ever did was laugh at me and not with me. All he ever did was force himself on me. Sweat. Cum. And forget about me. All he ever did was make me doubt my choices. Doubt me. All he ever did was take, even if I had nothing more to give. All he ever did was make me feel like I am not enough, not pretty enough, not talented enough, not wise enough. Lord, it's funny how I thought he was the one. I remember the way my heart beat as it were going to rip my chest the first time I laid my eyes on him. Well, look where that got me. On my knees, crying, trying to knit

  Dear Lord, I am not. I am becoming. I know I will be. Be loyal to umqhele on my head. I know I will be.  Be a Cinderella of my generation. All I have in place of the two mice and the pumpkin. Is a dream. A dream to be a voice of the voiceless. To speak the truth without fear. A dream to sit at top table talks and tear all limitations set for the girl child and woman alike. A dream to stand on power podiums, to write powerful pieces and address the African woman. Tell them that they are enough. That there is still hope. That they can win in life. It's not much. It's all I have. A dream. A dream to be.  I promise to leave my glass shoe behind when the clock strikes midnight. My only ticket to being found by the prince. My ticket to a dream come true. A happily ever after. An answered prayer. Ngikhanyisele indlela to green pastures and still waters. I know. I know I am tired of wishing. Waiting. Wailing for rain as I stand in this desert. I see me. A seed. I see all I can be. A

  Dear Lord, Galatians 3:28-29 There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus. And if ye be Christ's, then are ye Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise. Grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, that we are women, we are powerful and we were born with amaphiko. To sour. The courage to change those we can, the injustice, the silence about abuse, the fear of going after amaphupho ethu hard, the tendency of letting other people and our past experiences define us and making decisions based on imizwa. Feelings that are wavering, questioning, shifting, denying, hurting. The tendency of not questioning things. Floating. Letting the waves carry us where they want. Tossed to and from by the tides no matter how small, nomatter how big. The rise. The stumble. The fall. From being weighed down by the combined effects of forces exerted by umhlaba, ilanga lenyanga. And the w

  Dear Lord, We’re broken. No. I am broken. To a million pieces and nomatter how much I try to glue it all together it only leaves me with scarred hands. Bleeding. Trying hard. Too hard to stop the blood from gushing out like a mighty waterfall. Trying hard to blur the memories that become a little more clearer by the tick of the clock. The memories that crash me a little bit harder every time against the stone walls. Tall walls. Prison walls that trap me in thoughts that are in darkest shade of black. Darkness that I can feel take form. A form so thick with no heartbeat. A form with a foul smell so strong I can feel my head spinning. Slowing down. Breaking. Breaking a thousand different ways. Again. And again. And again. The battles that count aren’t the ones for gold medals. The struggles within yourself – the invisible, inevitable battles inside all of us – that’s where it’s at ~ Jesse Owens Lord, help me keep my mind on things above. Where Christ is seated on your right hand.  If t