Today’s post is written by our Brave Poet, Jazmyne Tamar Johnson…
It is in the dance of a maimed danseuse that the true love for her chorus can be found. Her sole purpose of creation to sway in the winds of the melodies that once held nothing but, in her perseverance, have gained meaning. Fearlessly she leaps with no expectation or anticipation that she shall find the eager, awaiting arms of her partner. She leaps for her life. She leaps with a destiny, albeit unbeknownst to herself, in that moment, she glides with hope and purpose. Instructions that once were felt to be restrictions prove to be guidelines and reminders of her value. He ears have been removed for they heard nothing but lies and consumed her joy. Her tongue has been eradicated, as it mimicked the lies that her ears have heard; it spoke them over her destiny, crippling and destroying all the hope that remained within her soul. It damned her to an eternity that was foreign with promises of death and despair-no happiness, no purposefulness, nothing but lies and darkness. Her hands remained, though bound to strings that reached to heaven’s gates. For they were unable to roam the earth’s endlessness freely, without reaching into the dark crevices of madness. They craved power over the material and disdained love in its purest and most wholesome of forms. Though the strings may be seen as a restriction of free will, they are figurative, in nature, and are simply as useful as the lines of a toddler’s coloring page. No sense of permanence in her steps from left to right before her feet leave the ground again, she is a swan in a swamp-her feathers dirtied by moss and dirty waters, but her grace untouched for it was granted by a Superior Light.
Reflections prove naught for positive reinforcement but for comparison. Shards of glass to piece together every flaw from every angle. Again and again as though in a cycle to repeat mistakes of yesterday’s past. Each reflection nothing more than the roaring of a false truth amplified to such gradients that turned this performer recluse. It was the only song she could hear. The only sound she could conjure in the stillness of abandonment and unmet expectations. In her sadness, it was the only chords that soothed and the only meanings that remained. The only answers that were provided. The only reprimand for the bad that had occurred to her. Nothing remained but the reflection of herself. No one answered but the reflected soul, lost and damned to self-pity and fear of imperfection. Articles provided no solution. Verses provided no comfort. Music provided no song. Just bland and lifeless, she remained a clone of what was expected, but an empty vessel of potential unreached and goals unmet. Repeated disdain for whom she was “growing to be” in comparison to whom she “was called to be.” By Whom? By Whom? By Whom would she be called into her intended self? Would it be by the voices of family and feigned friends? Could they possess such an authority? In reality, they’ve possessed such power over her since birth as she was the one who granted them the scepter over her. In her unhappiness she seeks rebellion, despite her holding the answers all of and within her own.
For she is the one of whom the dignity is to be clothed (if she so chooses). She is the one of whom the jewels shall be adorned (if she so accepts them). None other than she of whom the Son shines upon graciously. She of whom the Father dances above in unending, unthreatened, untethered love. Despite and in spite of her flaws, she is performing the dance as was originally planned. Every stumble and fall a mirror of her humanity. The composer still pleased at the song written just for her body to endure. She is perfect, in His eyes. Beautiful, in His eyes. For she is the one of whom the melody of Passion was written. Each note written in the blood of He Whom loved her beyond eternity’s strands. He Whom’s calls fell deaf to her ears in the presence of shattered mirrors and tear-stained blank pages in Bibles unread and journals unwritten. He Whom runs after His rogue bride without concern of her reputation prior to His finding her. He Whom desires her heart as doth the flowers the sun. His love for her remains pure and untouched by the songs that reach out from the broken mirrors that lay on the studio’s wooden floors. Her dance is for He Whom waits and chases all at once. For He Whom knows her she shall fight.
It is for He Whom her bravado is performed and it is by He Whom her bravado was given.
Jazmyne is a young artist who is learning what the true definition of bravery is through lessons of humility, patience, love, and forgiveness. She is currently studying Communications and hopes to, one day, become an influential member of the Journalism world. Her dreams and ambitions are large and, by the graces and authority of God, she hopes for her legacy to reflect selfless confidence. See more of her work on her blog Enlivened, Enlightened, and Uplifted at www.writtenbyjazmynetamar.com.
photo credit: ELCHANEL