Speak Life

There once was a little girl, around 4 years old. She was on her way to see her grandmother in Pittburgh, PA. While her mother drove, the little girl talked to her mother for four and half hours straight. No breaks. She never even went to sleep. All the way from Washington, DC to Pittsburgh, PA the little girl talked, and talked, and talked...

Speak Life.

I desire communication. Close talk.

I often fantasize about addressing a Joint Session of Congress, speaking with dignitaries on U.S. Foreign Policy, and having a scholarly debate with great minds like Henry Louis Gates over a cup of Starbucks Coffee and a Cohiba cigar.

All eyes and ears alert as I give a lecture at Harvard University on the impact Langston Hughes, James Baldwin, and Countee Cullen had on American Literature even though they were treated less than American.

I want to speak of African liberation to liberate the African-American.

I want to stand in front of the Sphinx, fall to my knees, shout to God in each Afroasiatic language: "Thank you God, I love you God, you are most Holy God, I praise your name God, you are majestic in all your infinite power!"

These are my thoughts, my dreams, my inner most desires. I bury them inside because that's where they remain protected.

My pen has become my voice.

She's the only one who listens. She's the only one who'll never pass judgment. She gives me security. You never have to see my face and I never have to face my fears...

What happened to that 4 year old girl on the way to see her grandmother in Pittsburgh? So open and free. Spoke her mind. Unrelenting. Spoke life into her dreams...what happened to...ME?