This is the place where dreams may die
People make mistakes while others get high
The world's a scary place I won't lie
Love keeps you sane don't let it pass you by
People try to tear you down but you have to stand your ground
Don't let them win always spread your love around
Nobody wants to die before it's their time
Push through every situation and realize in the end you will be fine.
We are Black and White.
We are Red and Blue.
It's your world.
We have the power to create.
We have the power to destroy
It's your world.
We have the power to love
We have the power to hate
It's your world.
We have the power to accept
We have the power to prejudice
It's your world.
We have the power to smile
We have the power to cry
It's your world.
We have the power to learn
We have the power to grow
It's your world.
We have the power to live
We have the power to die
It's your world.
But there is one thing that we all have in common
We are all human.
And guess what?
It's still your world.
Drinking rum and intoxicated nights everyday, Drayned
Working while your nine months pregnant single mother labor pains
Or just left Practice coach wasn't playing, take a shower, kids driving you insane; Drayned
Synonyms would be weary, shattered, tired, exhausted, and weak
Just like a child suffering from malnutrition with a shattered hope and broken dreams: really?
Who did this world get the way it is, people working' two and three jobs need support for their kids
No father figure, nor respect or love from young boys and young girls
Boys join groups known as gangs and girls sell themselves love
Chemical highs and temporary pleasures seems to be what we invest
Broken homes and unstable minds keep us always failing the test
The bad energy, the dark light, and the cloning of the world
Will leave us weak, misdirected, and empty of unique pearls
and rubies and diamonds and jewels should be
Inside of our stomachs but the world steals them effortlessly
What should we do where should we go how can we be filled with something whole
We need some fighters, we need some soldiers, we need a generation of gold
Not fold as in gold, but gold that describes the soul
Gold is bold enough to stand out when told
Gold is strong enough to submit to the speaker from old
Gold was dim and now it shines with light tenfold
Gold is made by one creator that speaks and mountains remold
Take the L out of and then you get GOD
L used to be lonely, lies, and lust
L is now love and that's how drayned people fill up: Drayned
A woman's senses love the feel of soft things in her life.
They comfort and protect her from the trials of daily strife...
The velvet petal of a rose, a baby's soft sweet hair...
All are precious to a woman, yet most men could never share...
She feels so loved and truly blessed if her man is the kind who knows softness is weak...
That gentle strength that can bind with one strong hand, while with the other gently strokes her cheek...
His tender eyes, his soft caress, says volumes that words can never speak...
The type of love they share keeps them strong and never weak...
Although passion sometimes claims them both, this light touch can't possibly be wrong...
Whoever said the male lovers touch and ways could not be soft, yet also strong..
I'd rather my ears be filled
with the troubles of your heart
and the finest works of our art
than to be burdened with the silence
brought forth by your absence
My ears lust for you
my heart cries for you
my hands reach for you
my love calls for you
yet my words seem to never reach you
At times, during the chill of fall and winter, I can Imagine my grandmother , Della Callaway Odum
By the firelight in her small living rooom. Sewing carefully, she created clothing and items of necessity.
Calloused fingers expertly jabbed her fine sewing needle through a quilt on her quilting frame. I
Doubt my feeble attempts at quilting match her had-swen antiquites, but I have, on occasion, with an
Expert quilter nearby, attempted to learn the art of quilting. My quilts, however, are machine stiched.
Flowing down the sides of her quilting frame were remnants of cloth from previous prjects. While
Ghostly shaows flickered on the yellowing wooded walls as grandmother worked each night, her
Hallowed hands held her nimble needle as it sand its simple song. she had a unique way of using
Ideas to ceate her own patterns for her sewing projects. The year was circa 1930. Life was changing..
Just as the Great Depression got underway, Grandmother, Grandfather, and 7 of their 8 children were
Kept busy with their farm. In addition, grandmother saw to their needs at home, quilting often, not a
Lazy bone in her body. Whe sat quieltly,often working alone, allowing her mind to rejoice despite the
Monotonoy of her task. Her oldest child, Rosa, Lee, was married and had two children. Youngest,
Never far from his mother age 5, held a tight grip on his mother's heart. Her baby. the quilt
On her quilting frame was certainly not a work of art. It was a labor of love. it would be used to
Properly cover one of her children at night after the fire in the fireplace was extinguished. Her
Quilting stiches were not always evenly spaced, signs of exhaustion taking its toll on grandmother.
Roger tillman Odum, her baby, my father, was the certain recipient of her endless hours of toil. I
Sometimes wonder if my quilts will become the kind of heirlooms for my children and granchildren
That my grandmother's quilts have become for me. My quilts don't warm a childat night. They are
Unique artistic items--nothing more. Pieces stiched and placed perfectly, matching fabrics
Vie for attention in the well-designed squares of my quilts--my Potenitial heirlooms. Grandmother's
Well-worn quilts are sfely tucked away in cedar chests. Some are in need of repair, but all are
X-tremely cherished. The smell of use permeates the air when the precious items are removed for a
Yearly viewing, but I dare not wash them. their glorious simplicity, created during a life of hardship,
Zillions of years ago, it seems, yet almost like yesterday,. MasterPieces. Heirlooms. Labors of love.
I open up my real eyes
To realize
The truth hurts and time flies
There will be many hellos and goodbyes
In the morning I see the sun rise
Up comes the moon during twilight
All of the days seem the same
Even when the seasons change
There is a need for something to be rearranged
something new, something strange
I figured it's my turn to take the stage
Time to coach;
Instead of being just a player in the game
My life is filled with purpose
Nothing is done in vain
I am no slave; there are no whips and no chains.
My pain hits walls that deteriorate and dissolves into blank smiles with distrust making the scars.
Crippled by the masses that I acknowledge because I know rejection has caused humans to feel victimized.
I laugh because I know you can't see what I see, the past is the truth that makes us realize that we are criminals to be it's slave.
I've watched and seen a little seed that grows inside the depths of a broken heart. She hides because she doesn't want to be noticed.
Her world has been flipped upside down because the seed of rejection grows deeper inside, because as a child she is often reminded of the footsteps of her father is nowhere to be around.
So, she becomes desperately insecure looking for anything that makes her feel like she is wanted, whether its drinking or clubbing, fitting in is all she's concerned with. So she compromises her dignity as time goes on to feel beautiful with barely wearing clothes the attention in her adulthood reminds her that she doesn't have to remember.
Rejection... because make-up, extensions, eyelashes and heels has cover that . But God sees our painful past; even in the beauty, you're still hurting deep down inside. When that person used you, left you and rejected you. You just wanted to die. I wrote this because I know it is true, whether it is a girl or boy a man or a woman. We have all felt the power of rejection. It stings like a powerful wave hitting the soul of a heart without any apologies. So what are you going to do, remain defeated, as if life is not fair or brush it off as if you really don't care(Think) ( Pause)... You can cry your eyes out until they turn red, but as long as you believe in the power of rejection your pain will remain without any apologies.
So.....
I'm often encouraged by a man who once said" Your approval means nothing to me, because I know you don't have God's love in you. So with that being said forgive the ones who rejected you, let it go God accepts you and that's all you really need to know
