I think when we struggle with the feeling of feeling homesick

For a place we’ve never been

It’s actually our ancestors reaching out and pulling us back in.

From the mess of the world and the drama of the day

And realigning our focus onto what matters

Like trying to satiate that hunger that brought your people here in the first place.

I took an African dancing class once.

The instructor told us to move with intention

Because your ancestors are moving with you

In you

Alongside you

Guiding you with their spirits in the direction that

Your feet walk toward.

“When you stomp, STOMP. Feel your ancestors in your bones.”

I took a yoga class once.

The instructor told us to shape our spirits.

Mine was a sphere.

Then she told us to think of a color and fill in the background.

Throughout the session she would bring us back to hands raised at center,

Pulling our attention inward.

Mine to the sphere floating amidst blue waves.

Lying in Savasana we were to exhale.

I was scared because my sphere began to float away

Out toward my lips.

Paranoid, I jolted and lost the blue waters.

I took a circus class once.

The instructor told us to think like a team and we would become one.

I was more enthralled with the silks and the dainty small girl

Who was actually a woman knotting her body and unraveling

Leaving the long pink strips without wrinkles.

All through these times there was a longing deep inside

To wander

A wanderlust of sorts that turned to drugs as a recreational sport

That turned to personalized rehab because I was too stubborn to get help

And I hated it when things would get out of control

And people would realize

Because that meant they were watching

Because that meant that they cared.

When all I really cared about for the time being was when my skin was going to stop

Crawling like the snake on the tree in the Garden of Gethsemane

Except there was no snake there, it was in Eden

Just like there were no snakes, under my skin

Just the realization, that all left over toxins, within, were being extracted.

That the poison that stashed my hidden memories would

Like a yard sale, open box after box,

Repression flowed out like depression

And I ended back up in the same spot

Wash Rinse Repeat

I would beat with my feet

Stomping in any direction to find the fix

I needed because my blue waves were turning a frothy white

As I begged to become tangled in the silk bed sheets of drug induced hazes

Letting me slip away


7 tries too many and I was back where I started

Except this time with a band on my wrist and 5 other kids

In a room painted a bright mint green.

The floor smelled too clean.

We wrote with felt tip markers and were fed 4 times a day.

Showed films on depression and loss

And talked to a small Indian doctor with an accent so heavy

That he barely talked.

Charged and dismissed

I had to become submiss-ive

Back home because all trust was lost,

The veil had fallen off.

She didn’t know it all but she could do the math,

Her daughter was a drug addict and she was only 14.

I am not proud to say that I am not 4 years clean

I stand here before you at 18

With 18 years of mistakes in my pockets

Overflowing with regret and the constant want to find something greater

A wanderlust since my attention wanders so badly

Due to the lack of stimulation in my neuron synapsis.

I get headaches and confusion —

We thought it was a brain tumor when I had trouble remembering

But just like an alcoholic shakes

A pill popper’s brain quakes with mistakes.

Even years after.

I look young but have the body of

Selfish decisions.

Precision? My hands shake on a daily basis.

Good thing my dreams were never created to lift off the ground

Because dreaming is a new concept.

If you had asked me where I wanted to be 5 years from then

I would have plainly said ‘dead’.

And sometimes I feel that since it all happened so young

That I’ve aged as I watch my friends and strangers play on the gateway

Pushing at the fence

Just friendly exploring until things get intense.

Until you’re diluted enough into thinking that you can switch spots with your friend

Who you just buried six feet under.

I cried but not in public. In a chorus of sobs I remained still.

Those blue waves turning into icebergs that through time

Would melt into snow,

Turning back to the waters I saw

In my Savasana, muscles relaxed, tension replaced, ancestors laying at my feet erased

Of all thoughts. Just one with the world.

Focusing on breathing and trying to figure out the true meaning of

Where this longing stems:


I decided it was California.

My ancestors wanted me to walk there

But the one time I hitchhiked I was grounded,

And now my feet are firmly placed grounded on the hills of the

Tallahassee ground

Dead? Like the languages I tried to learn

In an attempt to find answers?

Latin, Greek, Hebrew

I took to the Bible but didn’t find any

So I flipped it on its back and got out my razor

Making sure to clean the rims of my nose afterwards.

I stopped for a while. Could never quite make it through a year entirely clean.

I would always find something white to swallow

Or puff on something green.

But laugh with me when you hear that last January,

On the day of new living life style decisions,

I can’t remember it.

The night before and the morning of

Completely written off the face of this earth

But the next days were like a painful rebirth

As I crumbled in shame and distain.

And promised myself I would change so I downloaded an app to count my clean days

Which I deleted because it made me feel like all those days were mistakes

When if I hadn’t of done that I wouldn’t be right here today.

Hands risen at center with my ancestors leading my feet.