July 11, 2015.. The day my transition and transformation began. The sleepless nights didn’t kill me. The abandonment didn’t kill me. The abuse didn’t kill me. The rapes didn’t kill me. My attempted murderer didn’t kill me. Depression, anxiety, and (ptsd) didn’t kill me. Fear mongers didn’t kill me. Lack of love and self love did not kill me.
I decided to stop suppressing myself. I decided to stop making myself unhappy to make others comfortable because they sure wouldn’t do the same. I became my own support, my own cheerleader, my own love interest (Yes, it’s possible without perversion). And once I made those changes, I felt and saw the support and love flood into my life from every corner, The Sky as well as every grain of soil. Finally, I openly followed my intuition which has NEVER BEEN WRONG. I will always stay with my gut instinct and intuition before anyone’s word. I’m sharing this because I know there are more people out here who have been through this (and more).
And you still haven’t let go. Fear holds us back. It’s a type of slavery you can’t easily see, nor are most prepared to acknowledge. The worst part about this is that there are children who are taught that they do not matter, that they aren’t loved, they aren’t worthy, and they should be silent. Then as they grow older they are left in pieces to clean up the destruction that was bestowed upon them. Every excuse is made in this world to make them slaves, to break their spirit. I went from local churches growing up, to NOMA, and Waymaker ministries to help change things. But I had to start with myself. The summer of 2015 was the evening that I fell high, reborn.
If you didn’t know, you are needed. You are worthy, you are loved. Please love yourself. #AllIsABlessing #LoveYourself
black water photo
To the point: I don’t write to be a writer. This is clear. Yes I’m shading myself. The best self care is being honest with yourself about your flaws and faults. Okay, so I write to heal. Also, speaking (typing) in this way begins to irritate me. I get restless so I like to use a poetic “format” because it’s quick. Even when it’s cliche rhyming. That doesn’t matter to me. It’s a healing process. Which brings me to..
I hate being censured. I don’t include highly sensitive personal details. So I’m already censored. If I am here to heal, In one of my many ways of healing, Let me. If I let you break me, allow me to heal, please. I am not putting anything extra into the atmosphere. Which brings me to…
The epiphany that anyone who doesn’t want you to peacefully heal want you to dramatically die.
glass of blood
The Daily Post- ZOO
Walking a famous street
Wild energy feels subdue
Everyone screams here
They like to call this Moulin Rouge
But this seems like a zoo
Laughter and loud gestures
This is heaven’s hell
Stampedes of women carrying their woes
For the sake of pimps swallowing women’s prides
And from her cage she watches the show
Beer bottles cling
Cigar smoke rising
A little bit of sex and smeared lipstick
Just little bit of crying
The world spins as she points her toes
Silly glares and pointed noses
Everyone has opinions
As well as having their place in this hole
While she thrusts her hips to the music blaring
All she could care of is the would be more
She watches them fall to the pavement
They watch her explore on the floor
They paid for admission
A price for the lesson learned
© Keota Picou “Owl of the South”
Strong vibes resonating
Between the bricks and trees
Melodies married as one
The Den connected friends
Spirits on a whim
5 6 7 8 and then
A pact was born
Smiles laughter and passion
Beyond labels and judgement
Owl of the South
Late October mornings feel like arms around my waist
The early sky whispers in my ears
All the answers to reflections I question
I wondered if this cloud knew
Sunsets are passionate and wild
Like a caress on the neck
Something more than a bite on the lip
The night wind chills my skin
Just like the trails of a lover’s finger nails as they pull me in
I bet the moon feels our secrets
I see the crows like to watch
I know the wolves can hear me sing
And my lover chants to the owls for mercy
I will not choose the universe’s sunrises or sunsets
That perfect seventh hour found me
And I intend to be fair
I remember that need
Waking up to morning dew on the skin
Feels like love
Which is the most righteous sin
By Keota Picou
The Daily Posts Dubious
A ha! If there is one word to describe my actions it would be dubious. Such as believing the sweet nothings of the rolling stone variety. At the moment, I laugh at myself for being so idiotic. But it isn’t funny at all, is it? I feel it’s a bit too early to pour myself some Black Magic Rum. Either way, I have to explore it at this point. Me, dubious as I continued to walk through his door. Him, dubious as he looked in the mirror. But that never stopped a lie.
I should’ve charged. Thieves lose hands every night. He’s probably laughing hysterically- belly filled with poison devoured from tongues. There I tore the pages and ate them. There is no more soreness. Some shiny apples are rotten at the core. Little girls better grow up and learn. Savagery and low vibes hide high. But boomerangs continue to deliver. Deep within the marrow he knows..
That his mask will either melt or mold. And both are most certainly the heart break he gave generously.
Photography by E.J. Bellocq
I would like to be photographed as a silhouette. So they will see all of me.
Every inch they will have to read. And every mile in their minds they will have walked with me.
Yes they rationalize to hold me in. I break the boxes. I damage floors.
My gut is stretching I suppose.
Call me Phoenix
Photography by Nilo Burkhart
Model: Keota Picou