Blurred Mirror (Ted A Richard- Church Point, LA)

As a little Catholic boy I was always taught not to sin.

Sin is bad, Sin is evil, Sin is destructive.

Yet I sinned and sinned and sinned again.

But I knew everything would be better and I would be forgiven.

All I had to do was tell a priest and say a few prayers.

I was a kid then, and I appreciated that life could be so simple.

All of my wrong could be made right by simple absolution.

But as I got older I found it more and more difficult

To hide from the evil that lurked within me.

I was a tortured soul with a devilish streak

That hid behind a mask of self-hatred and disgust.

I abused others and justified my actions.

I abused myself which directed my fate.

As a child it seemed that absolution was such a simple thing.

Forgiveness was easy.

As an adult I realized that the absolution I craved

Had to come from others.

And the absolution I searched for

Led to destruction and despair.

I mutilated my mind, my soul and my body

In ways any normal human being would have thought impossible.

And every scratch, every cut and every burn

Revealed scars of my own self-loathing.

The forgiveness I yearned for

Was lost while searching for the soul I had left behind.

When did I become this monster?

How did I allow myself to become less of me and more of something else?

I no longer recognized myself.

A mirror blurred confused and clouded

With both honesty and deceit.

Where was my truth?

Was there salvation to be found?

And if there was, where was it?

The blurred mirror constantly lies to those of us

Who refuse to forgive ourselves!

We are the only one’s with the power to prove to ourselves

That we deserve to be happy.

That we deserve to be proud.

That we deserve to loved.

And that we deserve to be free!

Free from self-hatred,

Free from self-mutilation,

Free from self-deprivation,

And free from self-destruction!

The monster I saw through the blurred mirror

Was only the reflection of who I perceived myself to be.

But as the clouded mirror slowly cleared,

I began to reveal to myself

The image of a person I now began to recognize.

I was learning to forgive myself,

And realized that the only forgiveness I really needed

Was the absolution I could give to myself.

And soon, the blurred mirror was crystal-clear,

I now knew exactly who I was and who I was becoming ,

And I liked it.

A clear mirror can reveal only the truth.

And I learned to own my truth.

It’s not always good truth, but it’s MY truth.

Absolution isn’t always easy

And sometimes the forgiveness we crave

Is not the forgiveness we need.

But I learned that having the power

To forgive myself begins to un-blur the mirror.

Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

Lunatic (Lily Lechler - New Orleans, LA)

“Lunacy” comes from the moon, Who cycles through brilliance and darkness Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed Opposites not so well harnessed Who cycles through brilliance and darkness? The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Opposites. Not so well harnessed As she thought, her brain gives reason the slip The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Her body, depressed, her thoughts manic. As she thought, her brain gave reason the slip And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic. Her body depressed her thoughts. Manic Lunacy comes from the moon And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed

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