Talisha Simpson, Kindred Feeling

Kindred Feeling

Talisha Simpson

My pulse suggests that I am breathing but the truth is that I am barely living.

My mistakes ring loud in my ear like an overcrowded city.

Battling with listening to my doubts and the harmony of my ancestors.

They are singing to me.

Telling me to join in and liberate my soul.

I stomp my feet but I don’t dance anymore.

I was once in tune with their vibrations until the west got the best of me.

Teaching me that my pain is indeed the real me.

Like a simple child I posed for the frame.

Allowing them to weave my mind into a shell of vulnerability.

I forgot the strength I used to carry.

These echoes say that it is possible to remember so I am fighting to wake up.

Still, I cannot fathom why I ever chose to battle my own reflection.

Their whispers remind me that my flesh is the shelter for my soul but I am much more.

I am an infinite being.

So infinite that my heart beats in tune with their chorus.

They take hold of my hand and clasp me in their embrace.

My heart feels light as if God put them on a platter to serve me.

This feeling is anything but common; it is sacred.

I am smiling because I no longer feel the need to clamor, I trust me.

Like a stanchion they surround me praying prayers just as they did when I was forming in my mother’s womb.

I see my grandfather as he holds my mistakes so tender I know to let go.

They scoop me in their arms and the shade feels more like sun.

Adding luster to my soul like I do my fro.

I am thankful because in this moment I let go of all doubt and fear.

I am awakened.

Vibrating on a frequency that will allow me to receive all God has for me.

So yes, my pulse suggests that I am breathing and there is life within me.


Talisha Simpson believes that self-care and healing can be achieved through the power of word. At a time when she felt lost, poetry was her return to freedom. She feels that poetry is her mother, father, and ancestor’s way of reminding her that she has a voice which needs to be heard.

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