one hundred-twenty one.

growing pains.

i can feel each and every

step in this process called

growth

and it is not a pleasing feeling.

satisfaction.

the highlight , of my day was when i walked into subway and i was greeted with the wealthiest smile and warmest "what kind of sandwich would you like" on this planet. the lady's voice was stuffed with an accent so familiar. she was hispanic and embodied so much appreciation for her job. she was amazing. an older woman, at that. very respectable and very kind. i starred deep into her eyes and told her, "you have great customer service." as she smiled, she shyed away. then, we greeted each other goodbye. i was more than satisfied with my visit.

crawfish with bud.

and there it was, good people, good music, free laughs, free crawfish, free beverages - all in the mix of cool breeze and the warmth of the generous sunshine. summer love, thank you for showing up.

daykeeper.

"and when the Son rises, He watches over me."

saint patrick.

having fun and having too much fun. i don't know if there is a such thing, but i love to feel free. you know, the kind of free fun when you don't have to pay to do anything. but the laughs you let out are worth more than a million bucks. with people who have your best interest at heart. because they're balanced and want to have free fun with you.

inhaling the clouds of cigarrete smoke and the aroma of heavy beer on the tip of every persons breath = priceless.

[to the right, our infamous highschool poses.]

there's nothing more exciting than ceasing the day, in this case the night, and owning it like you'll never have a chance to own it again. there was not a moment of gloom or a second of lament. free spirits floating around , remembering what our purpose on earth is. i even got a chance to relay the Good News to a guy i have never met before. there is a time for everything.

and on st. patricks night, we enjoyed our girls night out - with no worries, no stress, and no regrets. just. free. fun. i loved every second of it.

a long walk.

i often wonder if there is a such things as walking too far ... too long ... or to forever. what if we could walk to forever? i mean, what would it look like. what would forever feel like. what would it smell like. how would forever treat us. we walk aimlessly, sometimes. our arms swinging slowly, off tempo. head hanging down, hopelessly. i watch people march along with purpose, depending on the rhythm in their feet and the speed they move with. ready to execute whatever may land before them. it's nice to observe what is around you. to pocket into memory what you may never meet again. like forever. if we met forever, will it leave us there, standing, with nothing. or will it hand to us a souvenir to remember forever, forever. i love thinking about things that don't know reality exist. it enables me to imagine what imagination would be like if it were imagining itself. if that makes any sense at all :]

take time and pay attention to what is settled, moving, flying, and dying around you ... it will paint appreciation in the depths of your heart and lock a memory deep down within that can never escape your being. one reason why i love capturing photos.

these were taken 08 APR 10.

a lonely flower.

because i can't sleep tonight, i'll write - for you.

lonely flower. i mean, she was a beaut. her stem held her up stern and straight. she wasn't frail, nor flimsy [or atleast she didn't appear to be so]. her potent fragrance lingered into my nostrils attaching a scent so fresh inside of my mind to feel at ease. she had it going on. she caught the eyes of every bystander that passed by and she did it, with little pride. i could tell, her vessels were swelling because she had loved so hard and so strong for so long without receiving it back. her pollen had been used and abused by others, stinger bees were attracted to her. killer bees. bumble bees. even honey bees. they were always raping her of her kindness and her generosity was misused. still, she stood strong and held her petals up high and stern and she did this with little pride. she was bright, like the light of the yellow sun that casted from above. she was free like the breeze that God used to speak to her. she moved easily, with no restraints. but still, she had been battered by her lovers and choked by the crowd.

all the while, she stood alone - i always wonder how you feel when you stand alone. because you look so beautiful when you are not meshed in with a crowd , especially the ones that don't complement your character. i see passed your physical appearance. it's the essence of your presence that keeps me alert, that singles you out. i think you are beautiful, when you stand alone. because i can see the whole of you, without distraction. you are not lacking because you are alone. you are your own ... when you are on your own. and i love seeing you powerful. more distinctive and delightful. with strength, beautiful flower. i love seeing you, alone.

just in case.

just in case you are wondering ... why i am posting more pictures with longer paragraphs : i am doing so because i have grown bored of this blog and i want to try something new. i feel like , i have limited myself to small short words and i have run away from actually expounding on what i write/type about. i miss this way i used to write. i have been inspired by a few other blogs by their words and their photos - now, the inspiration is like fuel and i am igniting the fire on my boring blog. ;] i guess you can say, i am starting fresh, but leaving everything i already have in its respected place.

my name is jasmine and i enjoy writing. i love to write short and i love to write extensively. i am finally crawling out of my shell ... defying darkness of fear, exploring the Light of courage. i'd like to express myself more, so i do pray this is effective. :] ready, set, go!

one hundred-twenty.

eye-solation.

i've heard it said , over and over again that "the eye is the window to the soul" ... but i wonder how often we've held eye contact with someone and have been able to envision what lingers around in their souls. if we see that they have been battered verbally, or have given birth to new life. if we know their family is dying in the pits of poverty or their lives have been drowned out by lavish. or that early on in life, they had been attempting suicide because they were brought up in a home of abuse that distributed no. love - or maybe they were raised with kisses and nighttime stories with cookies and milk on their bedside. all they may know are guns, shacks and violence - all they may know is mercedes, mansions, and tender love and care. but what do you know , when you look into their eyes. are you looking, seeking, and feeling what they have felt? or are you just looking and blindly starring at what is right before you? i love speaking to people and i make sure , that eye contact has been established. and sometimes, i don't reciprocate what i dish out - their eyes wander off into a place where i don't exist and i sit, settled, without worry becausae i know how awkward it may be.

their body language begins to tell me another story.

one hundred-nineteen.

weak muscles.

i have noticed, in many photos that i capture of the people who surround me, there is a lack of happiness. no smiles. just mugs. straight faces. lips hanging raggedy. eyes droopy. even in the midst of an event that is enraptured with joy, somehow, they lose mobility in their lips and their cheeks fall weak and while they were smiling right before the camera made its arrival, their expression changes and they pose ... as if someone has extricated their lovely life out of them. they turn into , zombies and lack happiness. i have noticed this and i have contemplated on the question, why? ... what makes that appealing. what makes it alright. what makes it wrong. what about it has me wondering why. i don't know.

but i have even noticed , in times of boredom, i capture photos of myself and my face looks as though it has been dipped inside of a grey cloud - moody and gloomy, i become . when in me, there is a Light that flickers and is burning with hope, joy, and life. but my expressions show otherwise . what is it? what is it that comes over us. what is it that moves inside of us, flipping our face to frown and hang , low. what could it possibly be? maybe it's how we are truly feeling, on the inside.

maybe our muscles are falling weak ... lost smiles have been featured on milk cartons. but if i find yours, i'll give it back to you in a hurry, because i love to see you smile .

family affair.

yesterday, my mother treated my brother and i to lunch - and we ate very well. we held very good conversation over some filling food that tasted as if it were prepared on a show like the iron chef. i was very pleased , with my dish.

this is my lovely and very loving mother.

this is my older and silly brother.

this was my plate of food that lifted me up so high, i couldn't even remember the existence of gravity. [cedar planked salmon with corn that was cooked with zucchini and tomatoes, with a side of mash potatoes and onion rings.] my taste buds were dancing like they had been on punishment for a year. :]

i enjoyed the time spent with my mother and brother - it was very peaceful and i thank God for my mother keeping us in tact with her unconditional love. i know Christ lives in her because she treats us wonderfully , even though we do not deserve it.

the night she found out what she never wanted to know - her mind painted her emotions on film.

one hundred-eighteen.

the finale.

there will be no more to you, for you, or about you.

because there should have never been any including you.

being unraveled . slowly. dwindling away - out of. sight.

rotating on a pivot that is immovable - here i am .

but i am being rebuilt, cultivated, and refined .

by the Love who gave me life.

this is it. the last one.

i wish you well -

one hundred-seventeen.

last night, i couldn't sleep - so i wrote this.

after all.

after all these years

you still have a resting place

on my fingertips.

you showed me all things

may not be what they may seem

due to corrupt eyes.

i still see one day

our digits locking under

the mix of the sun.

and your arm clothing

my thin figure with embrace

between our cool breeze.

i can feel our smiles

at a distance connecting

almost like magnets.

because we belong.

after all, no one else can

identify us.

one hundred-sixteen.

exploit detroit.

daddy just covered me up in my favorite blanket

and i was slowly falling into a sound sleep.

i didn't know.

i never knew.

they were looking for you.

why did you kill him?

because now, they've killed me.

they broke down our door because their

warrant gave them permission to invade

our privacy - to take my life from me.

they tossed in a flash grenade with a bullet lodge

lingering in the path behind it - and my neck was its target.

and now, my body is lifeless.

they slammed my daddy's face into a pool of my blood and

he. was. helpless. his cheek swam in my blood and his tears.

what made you kill him because now

they have killed me, in the quiet of my sleep.

i was my daddy's only daughter and now ... now he's left

alone. with no little girl. to hold. no little girl. to tuck in.

because you were hiding - not even in the same property we were in.

they treat us like we are criminals - ruthlessly stripping lives away
from innocent bystanders while vindicating their wrongdoings.

now, i am dead.

at the age of seven.

i no longer live.

i was a victim.

even while i was asleep.

aiyana jones.

when will you. write like you used to.

one hundred-fifteen.

moving right along.

they say.
slow motion is better than.
no motion.

and i am watching you move.
s
l
o
w
l
y
away from me - and i am thrilled.
because i need you to.

one hundred-fourteen.

visit her.

i miss the days when she used to
genuinely smile and lovingly
give hugs to people she loved because

she knew Love and never wanted to let go.

i miss the days when her tears were strictly for
joy, very seldom were they shedding for the release

of sadness and pain - fears and disdain but for cleansing

and liberation and embracing peace, within.

i miss the days when she would wake up with purpose

ready to own the day with her steps ordered by her new Ruler

and Lover and Leader of truth that kept her chin elevated and

her eyes on what matters most in life.

i miss the days when she would be accompanied by laughter and

triumph would never go a day without greeting her and telling her

hello, that she would eventually be placed in a cube of success

because she was obedient and had much respect.

i miss the days when she was really she and

when incomplete did not have a home in her heart.

i miss the days when her mindset was set on a high altitude

and it was untouchable and unchangeable -

she wants to know, desperately, how to stop missing those days

and

if they will ever visit her again

...

one hundred-thirteen.

fearful learning.

dear fear,

how are you? i'm sure. you're fine.

because you've accomplished exactly what you set your

goal to be - to keep a hard head from softening.

you've opened your arms, warm and welcoming,

embracing karma with much love and comfort.

allowing it to rush in like a hurricane -

making sure that hard head does not see what is yet to come.

fear, thank you for being avid and determined - making life

more complicated for the fearful than it has to be.

you deserve execution.

today, i'll be your electric chair.

sincerely,

a fearful learner.

one hundred-twelve.

slumber III.

this time 'round midnight, i flee. from you.

because you tend to capture me when you choose to.

selfish.

and let go when i refuse to - demanding.

you are a demander and i can't formulate my
being to fit around your grief because you need me.

and i need you.

i run and i run and i hide away from you to avoid

seeing you in dreams that collide with nightmares.

marred images of the framework our art created
in between sheets and pillows of dusty night skies.

slumber, 'til we meet again.

maybe it will be sweeter.

maybe.

one hundred-eleven.

action on foot.

i remember the day you

asked me to recite john 3:16

and ... i couldn't.

you looked me deep into my eyes

and i felt your iris latch on to mine

your neutral pink lips separated from one another

and you said i must be joking.

and i wasn't. and i was ashamed. because
i wanted to make you proud and i wanted you
to love me the same - and i thought you wouldn't.

but you did. like a gentleman, you spoke the scripture
to me and told me i need to know it, but i didn't know why

because i didn't know the Subject in the text like you did.

and i knew there was Love in you to share Love with me

in a public scenery without shame, just direct connect

between you and me and His words binding us within.

and i love you because He lives in you .

i find you to be . beautiful .
so beautiful . i feel your beauty.

one hundred-ten.

communication.

distance is permitting a lack of communication
between the two because they've allowed it to.

and neither of them want to combine their senses

to redeem what had been created while they were reckless.

their eyes well up with tears of sweet agony and pain of riches.

hearts swelling cracking the cages of their ribs with disdain.

they must rearrange the way things came and came and claim

that they are no longer who they once were, who they once were.

because who they once were counts less than what matters most.
they felt a choke coming along and almost hung each other from a rope so long.

they would have dangled back and forth as a result of words that weren't spoken.

because their usual silence of words have become immeasurably potent.

but there is a Saviour.

and His name is Lord.

one hundred-nine.

nonsense.

room filled with steam of confusion and

boiling pots of frustration, bubbling regret

while the weather man dates a temperature

that's out dated and misstated and highly rated to

be wrong.

i think these words just want to be seen and red and

read with no true meaning ... but they still mean something

to me.

one hundred-eight.

up and at 'em.

i feel so good right now

it's like

i'm marching inside of the dreams

MLK believed to be or like

that brisk taste of lemonade sifting down

the throats of the homeless on a hot summer day.

like the day Jesus Christ found me and saved me

from myself .. where i was .. and where i'm at.

and i don't even think there's a feeling

that can top that.

i feel .. so good. right now.

one hundred-seven.

out of there.

i'm almost completely out

of

breath

and i can feel my lungs falling

sluggard

collapsing

because my eyes have been shut

down

solid

and stuck as if someone sealed them with

super

glue

and i can't even think straight my mind is

spiraling

uncontrollably

and i don't even think i can walk because my feet are

weak and

unsteady

but somehow some way one thing One person is remaining

unchanged and

faithful

and i need to stand on His promises because right now

i'm standing under a bridge and i am waiting for it to fall

just like my lungs did.