Skip to main content

I'm Sorry, God (Louis Toliver Jr - Swartz, LA)

I am just a soul.

God, I don’t know much about you, except that I am a part of you. I will never let the world separate us even though it has tried, and is trying. Now, there was a short time we had a miscommunication and Lucifer created a wall between you and me. He sealed me inside hot darkness. I lived in darkness. Hell. There were so many lost souls around. I saw no light ahead. That was until a dark soul asked why I was shining while we stood in line, we always stood in line. But a line started to form behind me suddenly. It was then I realized that you had been shielding me with light.

I’ve never really taken the time to truly apologize for the wrong I caused rather I realized it or not. Hell is a messed-up place to be in. I’m not going there. But, you know, God, I’ve never met any harm to anyone. So, instead of letting my regret build-up, I will let my walls come down and I will shout, “I believe in God!” I may not be a role model, but I’m no demon. And Lucifer and I never hung out in hell. I’ve been a fool enough and I should know by now that you are my true guardian, my man, my woman, my hero, my saint, my love, my everything. I thank you.

Let’s celebrate you, God, by continuing to spread the good you have given us the ability to know. I swear to God if I can function today and until I die, I will always trust my gut and focus on my spirituality. Let me never forget that if I may have cast my shadow on the wrong paths, that I held you as my compass, my savior and friend.

Mountains may be high and valleys may be low, but my God is level and on I’m his path. I’ll stick the road and follow the map. No stops. No detours. No exits. I’m focused.

Amen.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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

Louisiana Words Remembers Jorge Arturo

There’s nothing that hurts more than when we lose someone from our Louisiana Words family. But, the beauty of our writing movement is that the words of our loved ones live on with us.   On June 20th, 2023, Louisiana Words Allstar, Jorge Arturo, moved on from this world leaving our hearts broken. He was a charismatic and talented human being. Jorge resided in New Orleans, LA and had been active on Louisiana Words for over a year. To honor Jorge’s life and work, we will be sharing his writing and live performances all Summer 2023. Please help keep his spirit alive by sharing his work. We know that Jorge’s words will connect with our readers and we hope to keep his spirit alive.  Jorge’s first submission: “The Dog Show” debuted on February 6th, 2022 and is his most successful piece to date. In 2022, Jorge spent 10 weeks in the top with “The Dog Show,” “Weavers,”  “They Say Love Kills, This Time It Really Did,” and “If Hell is Real, It Looks Like an Airport.” His la...

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 ...