” I Have No Love Song To Sing”
I have no love song to sing.
No sweet soliloquy to recite
Underneath the stars.
I’m sick with a disease that has no cure.
My heart barely beats,
As the confusion of what justice is
Proves to be a consistent strain.
I feel as if a single bullet aimed for my heart,
And pierced it multiple times.
A single body is housing multiple deaths and heartache.
As I drew my last breath,
I whispered a little prayer to God
And ascended upon Heaven’s path.
I have no love song to sing tonight.
Only a puddle full of tears and blood.
Copyright 2015 samaramarie.com All Rights Reserved
Jeff Nguyen, thank you for posting this!
Originally posted on Deconstructing Myths:
From his first day in office in 1930, Harry Anslinger had a problem, and everybody knew it. He had just been appointed head of the Federal Bureau of Narcotics—a tiny agency, buried in the gray bowels of the Treasury Department in Washington, D.C.—and it seemed to be on the brink of being abolished. This was the old Department of Prohibition, but prohibition had been abolished and his men needed a new role, fast. As he looked over his new staff—just…
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Today is Saturday, April 4, 2015, and it is my 43rd birthday. I have to stop and be grateful for my life, and reflect on how far I’ve come. I never write anything of this nature on my site, but I wanted to write something on this day. I know where the inspiration comes from to write this. But, I don’t know where the inspiration came from to write this today. I just took out a sheet of paper and a pen and started writing (Yes, I still write everything on paper first before I type it out. LOL!).
I remember growing up in a hell I didn’t know how I would ever escape. A lot of tears were shed for a lot of years. I always received everything I ever wanted, except unconditional love. Not every single moment was a house of horrors, but it was dysfunctional to the point where I didn’t understand why I had to be born into a tunnel of chaos.
I remember the Saturday that my father drunkenly humiliated me in front of family members. He said, “Just look at her. She’s so stupid.” All I could do was stand there and be hurt and embarrassed. I wanted to cry, but I held in my tears, and at the age of 8, I silently made a promise to myself. I promised that I would never become a victim of drugs, alcohol, or a miserable relationship. I promised that I would go to college and make something of myself. I promised to grow up and be happy. I promised to never make any child suffer. I promised to be greater than the poor examples that I was being shown at home. I promised to one day fly away and be free.
I remember on this same Saturday where I, as a stupid little 8 year old, as my father called me, had to help my father steer the car and keep it in the right lane. My father was driving on the wrong side of the street and cars were approaching us. I had to keep him awake, help him steer the car, and tell him when to stop. As hurt as I was, I wanted to live, even if he didn’t. This was the beginning of my will to survive and to keep my promises.
We made it home safely, and I didn’t mention anything to my mother, as I was somewhat a motherless child. She was there, but only in the physical sense. For my entire life, my mother has done and said every despicable thing she could do and say to try to break me down to feeling worthless. I remember her calling me a whore when I was a teenager. I just looked at her and laughed and shook my head. I wasn’t sexually active, and I wasn’t even allowed to date. As a little kid, I didn’t understand her actions, words, and hatred towards me. I never did anything to deserve such horrible treatment. I had God, my promises, and hope to see me through the storm. I knew one day I’d fly away and be free.
I did fly away to my freedom, as I kept all of my promises I made as an 8 year old. Through all of the dysfunction that I was subjected to, it made me strong. It made me be able to stand on my own two feet, no matter whrere I am. It gave me the courage and confidence to survive. Through all of their dysfunction that they subjected me to, I have to thank my parents for the strong woman that I am today. Here I am today. Free. And I can look myself in the mirror each and every day and stand proud. I’m proud of who I am. Thank you, God, for looking after me. I am truly grateful.
© 2015 samaramarie.com All Rights Reserved
It’s nearing the end of 2014. Another year has come and gone. The time has come for me to say my “Thank You” to everyone. I truly appreciate you taking the time to visit my site, liking my posts, and leaving comments for me. I don’t consider myself a poet, but poetry has been a way of expressing my thoughts and coping with my emotions since I was a teenager.
2014 has been an emotional roller coaster for me and others around the world. I have certainly shed my share of tears out of both fear and sorrow. It may be my naive thinking, but as bleek as our “justice” system is here in the U.S., I still believe that one day we will have a such thing as a fair and just legal system, and we will all be free. I still have hope and stars in my eyes. If this is only a dream, then let me dream it to be able to carry on. Only time will tell if true justice will ever be seen.
While waiting for justice to show it’s face, in the meantime, my heart is weary and I’m tired. But still, I must move forward with my head held high.
In spite of the world’s cruelty and troubles, may 2015 be a productive and successful year for you all.
Samara Marie Douglas
I’ll leave you with the sweet sounds of John Coltrane’s “A Love Supreme.” Enjoy!
Is love the answer? Will love prevail? Is love our saving grace?
Posted To You Tube By Falsario Chicote
My Feelings: When will you see me? See us? I can’t stop crying. No matter how righteous I live. No matter how educated I am. No matter how eloquent I speak. No matter how well dressed I am. I can go on and on about how well this, and how well that. Respectability means nothing, and I very well know it. Respectability will never save me from a bullet, and I know it. Nor will it ever shield me from the cruelty of racism. No matter how much of a good human being I am, I’ll always be seen to some folk as an animal. A savage. A gang member. Uneducated. Sub human. When folk see the color of my skin, they don’t see me. They see only what they’ve been taught to see and know. It’s America as I’ve grown to understand it. Sad. And I’ll spend the rest of my life fighting against a system that insists on fighting against me.
“When Beautiful Black Turns To Blue”
My heart weeps of sorrow,
In the darkest hour of the night.
Tears are shed inside,
Deep within my soul.
Yet, my tears can be seen and felt.
The weight of an unjust world
Has taken its toll.
It rests upon my shoulders,
And the load is much too heavy.
As my weakened heart barely beats.
My heartache is too much to stand.
America has been killing me consistently.
A slow death it has been.
No knife to the heart.
No bullet to the dome.
Injustice will be my demise.
Won’t even have time to bid thee farewell.
Another black body blows in the dust.
It’s a sad song about us.
It’s about me.
It’s about you.
It’s what happens when black changes it’s hue.
It’s what happens when beautiful black turns to blue.
© 2014 samaramarie.com All Rights Reserved
What do you see when you see me?
An intelligent woman whose free?
A poet with a knack for self expression?
A woman with the right to just be?
What song do you hear from my sweet voice?
Do I sing a song of misery?
Do I sing a song so unfamiliar to you?
Do I sing only of what you want to see?
What do you feel when we’re face to face?
Is it fear that enters your mind?
Or yet, an image of a thug or disgust?
If it is, then why can’t you feel that I can be kind?
Even with endless cruelty, my heart still beats.
I walk forward with my head held high.
Walk with a fist in the air that you see as racist.
But I just call it solidarity, self love, and self pride.
What is it that you see within this body?
And why can’t you just see me?
Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler) By Marvin Gaye
Marvin Gaye VEVO Published On July 5, 2011
© 2014 samaramarie.com All Rights Reserved