Tears on my pillow

There are tears on my pillow
From a broken heart
Caused by not only a man
But also a woman and child

There are tears on my pillow
Because the world outside my walls scream
And the ghosts of life’s victims past
Come seeping into my black and white dreams

There are tears on my pillow
For bombs dropped
And wailing sirens

There are tears on my pillow
For all the hungry children in the world
For the homeless man on the train platform
I couldn’t spare the change for

There are tears on my pillow
Because my eyes burn with
The atrocities I’ve seen

There are tears on my pillow
Because mushroom cloud images and aftermaths
Tear at my soul

There are tears on my pillow
Because as I fell asleep last night
I could hear the sobs of mothers as they held dead
Sons, brothers, and husbands in their arms

There are tears on my pillow
Because during the day I have to maintain
But when I’m alone it all breaks me down

There are tears on my pillow
Because embedded somewhere in my soul
Is the struggle my ancestors went through for freedom

There are tears on my pillow
Because the revolution will not be televised
And that means so many won’t get the message

There are tears on my pillow
Because I know how that raped girl feels from personal experience
And this society will make her feel like she did something wrong

There are tears on my pillow
Because I’ve had ‘the struggle’ shoved in my face so much
Some days it’s hard to see more than just the past

There are tears on my pillow
Because of the cowardice of guns
And the arrogance of men in their seats of power

There are tears on my pillow
Because street hustling poison pushers
Are no different than the one’s in white lab coats with prescription pads

There are tears on my pillow
For all the voices that have been ignored
And in worst cases silence

There are tears on my pillow
Because so many just see Us, and Them
While I was raised to see me, you, and we

There are tears on my pillow
Because inside I’m just a scared little girl
Who also has to play the dual role of my own mother
Just to comfort me through the evils in this world

There are tears on my pillow
For all those who are too stressed and strained to cry
And for all the couch, stage, and internet revolutionaries,
Who do no more than talk

There are tears on my pillow
Because men sit on capital hills and vote for their own raises
While the streets around them scream

There are tears on my pillow
Because my government cares more about digital television
Than it does about education

There are tears on my pillow
Because somewhere right now, there is a village being torn apart by war
And some child was told he was a man because he can aim a gun and take a life

There are tears on my pillow
Because some teenage girl gave birth to a child
She never wanted, by a man she never knew

There are tears on my pillow
Because being anything else but capitalist is wrong
And being communist is worse

There are tears on my pillow
Because freedom isn’t free
And freedom of speech is a twisted illusion

There are tears on my pillow
I get so angry and enraged
I cry

There are tears on my pillow
Because we are all still being judged by the color of our skin
Than the content of our character

There are tears on my pillow
For all the days, and all the ways, and all the times
I’ve prayed for peace – that hasn’t be delivered

There are tears on my pillow
Because I’ve looked into the eyes of those less fortunate than me
And I’ve looked into the eye of those with more than me
And although we all may be created equal, at some point something shifts within the soul

There are tears on my pillow
For all those dying of disease
While we make products to make women more beautiful, and guys last longer

There are tears on my pillow
Because there is no money to be made in curing the problem
Only in playing with symptoms

There are tears on my pillow
Because fists in the air mean nothing
While serving meals, and cleaning streets, and planting trees, and teaching children, and housing the homeless, and giving hope to the hopeless – goes unseen

There are tears on my pillow
Because as much as I want to have children someday
I cry thinking about what kind of future they will have
And what kind of world will I bring them into

There are tears on my pillow
Because I have to cry myself to sleep

Autobiography of a poet

I picked up a pen at the age of 11
Nightmares written out in red ink
being the therapy the ten therapists
couldn't provide
Popped full of pills
until it made me sick
Not understanding that paper and pen
were the only medicine I needed

Then one day the writing became prophesy
as I wrote lines that described
the death of my grandfather
two weeks before god took him away

After the dreams of death
came feelings of puppy love
young love
Equating ourselves to Romeo and Juliette
our love dying just as tragically

Once again death knocked at my door
God took away the person I loved most in the world
and inside I was numb
Straight A student losing interest in class
Powerful actress no longer interested in scripts
Just writing
writing
writing
pages
upon pages
of grief inside

Only to realize that the universe molded with me
and made an opening to voice me out loud
Dressed as the Goddess Aphrodite
Back under the stage spotlight,
this time reading words that were my own

Teen angst and a war zone at home
led to notebooks filled with suicidal writings
Notes that I thought would make my mother’s heart bleed
If she could just for a moment understand
I didn't know then that my words were a reflection of myself
Saying the things my mouth couldn't open to speak

Then a shift came
a transition in consciousness
I embraced my inner poet
at the same time I connected with God
Or so I thought
Hind sight is 20-20
It was me connecting with me

21 was a golden age
I found myself inspired by other poets
Never leaving the house without pen and pad
Needing to write every day
Mind constantly churning away

Another prophesy

The birth of Morgana Phoenix
The conception if you will
For her entrance into this world would be 3 years away

Mind filled with big dreams
fresh heartache
and misplaced passion
Writing erotic scenes
about burning beds
and angelic strip shows

Setting out to conquer the world
just to find my place in it
New love found
Deep
Profound
Hearing wedding bells ring
Because THIS was the one

Military dreams of his
left me a shaken
mentally disrupted mess

Writing not being enough therapy
caused a disorder of conversion
Body taking on the mind’s overflow of stress
No pills this time
just wired to machines
While writing
and him breaking
my heart into a million little pieces

Swept up the mess
bought 2 new journals
took the journey of my lifetime
out to the west coast
Cross country on a train
with a laptop replacing pen and pad

God and I speak through travel
always have
As much as I try to fight it
I can't help but be compelled to fit all his beauty
into blue or black on white within
the borders of an 8 1/2 by 11 piece of parchment

In California, my world came undone
torn apart bit by bit
in a violent manner
I hope never to repeat
and wouldn't wish on my worst enemy
Learning that the very foundation of my being was all a lie

Schlep back to the city that never sleeps
and writing more than ever
because it truly is the only thing I have
Writing was the only truth
Even when I couldn't trust myself
I could trust the words on the page

And just when I thought it couldn't get
any worse
that the world could fall apart no more
Death reached in again
and snatched the woman who is the cause of so much pain
yet the only one with the answers
even though I know she wouldn't give them

Followed only by true fear for my own life
when my dead mother's husband
sought some sort of sick revenge
For what? I don't even know
She loved him more than she loved me
and love just isn't the word for how she felt
about her own flesh and blood
Proving that blood may be thicker than water
but makes a bigger mess

For weeks, my pen was silent
grieving and terrified
Nightmares
And tears that never seemed to end
Spending 14 hours a day
lost in confusion and internal agony
on an air mattress in a living room in Virginia

The complete concept of time
lost on me
because I don't even know how I made it 23 years
let alone another second after the day she died

Something switched on
Realizing I can only move forward
and rebuild
a new life
a new me
a new reality
Morgana Phoenix Alexander is its name

I moved home
for the first time in my whole life
Where green trees
brush against perfect blue skies

I learned hard lessons
in 18 months
Not just from the books
I slaved over in school
But the lessons
I was never taught
Having to grow up quick
too quick
So painful
and I fought against it almost every step of the way

Until she sat me down
God bless her wise old Scottish soul
and asked me
“Who are you rebelling against?"

So Tressa Morgan Whitney died
laid to rest
with nothing but a paragraph to summarize her passing

And Morgana Phoenix Alexander
was born and graduated
at age 24
A healthier baby girl
Standing 5' 7 3/4"
and we just won’t discuss her weight
Still with bright brown eyes
that drank in the world around her
and thoughts that passed through her mind
like butterflies in an open field in summer

And with pen in hand
and paper at the ready
I finished the first book
Vent: Emotions in writing
Brown glossy cover
housing writings from age 13 - 21
And continued to work on the next chapter
Phoenix Rising

Over time, the writing has changed
felt on deeper levels than I ever knew I was capable of
back at the 'ready world? - Here I am!' age of 16
I've broken down love to a spiritual level
Made peace with my makers
Mourned for things many won't understand
Felt the fires of passion run wild and free
Found true joy and bliss,
and understood that contentment is indeed
a pearl of great price

But now there's a transition
where these words are begging to be shared
screamed even
out loud
off the page
and leaking into other people’s consciousness
by way of sound waves

Writing words not to be read
but spoken
Transformation within
ready to be unveiled
Knowing part of me is still unable to keep a secret
especially my own

And as long as there is breath in my body
I will pour out words
to tell my story