“My Poetry is Ministry”

Recently within the past couple of weeks, I’ve struggled with comparing myself to other creatives, specifically other poets. This caused me to experience a lack of expression because I was too caught up in what other people were doing. I found myself forcing words onto my paper rather than truly finding inspiration in my day-to-day, and I longed to please others rather than to write what I feel, and connect with others through that.

Most importantly, I forgot where my ultimate source of creativity comes from; I fixed my eyes on myself rather than on my Creator who blessed me with the gift of creativity.

After talking with Honey (my stepmom, for those who haven’t been reading my blog recently), I was inspired to write this poem. She said some wise things that I’ve incorporated here, one of which is the actual title of the poem – “My Poetry is Ministry.” I’m grateful to have such a godly woman of the Lord in my life to help steer me back on the right path when I feel like I’ve been lost.

So Honey, I dedicate this poem to you. Thank you for your prayers, and for always looking to the Lord so that you may speak His Word to others. 💛

“My Poetry is Ministry”

My poetry is ministry,

And I have treated it lately with such

Carelessness — scribbling down verses and words to try to impress rather than to

Try to connect.

My focus shifted towards selfish ways and it became more about filling a page and

I let comparison run rampant through my brain,

When what I truly needed was

My Father’s grace – the grace that bestowed this

Gift of words to me in the first place that

Birthed such beauty from ashes that I sat in —

Grieving a loss, questioning the purpose of my pen, trying to

Comprehend where I was headed, where my value lied.

My Father’s grace is the only thing that keeps my poetry alive it

Makes me feel like I don’t even have to try because it

Freely flows and

The inspiration is divine and

I know this to be true because

When I look back at what I’ve written when my heart is aligned,

There’s absolutely no way that it came from my own mind.

So, first things first —

My words are more than just sowed together scribbles that simply sound deep and that,

As my stepmother once told me,

“Could contain hell underneath,” no,

The bars I spit originate from the Most High and are

Spoken and written through me —

“A broken reed, a smoldering flame.”

Yes, my poetry is ministry so

Take my name out of the equation and see


But my Father’s grace.

#MishyWrites 🦋🌿

“My Healing (Growth)” – A Poem


So…I’ve been doing a lot of growing recently. Like A LOT; more-so than I thought when I first began this GROWTH series. And it’s been interesting to see how I’ve handled it; how I’ve had to have my toes lightly stepped on by the observations of my close friends, but also feel them wrap their arms around me in encouragement. How God’s put words, feelings, and situations in my path to help me realize that I wasn’t as far as I thought I was, but also feel Him smile upon me and say, “But I love you anyway, and I’m still working through you. My grace is sufficient.”

I’ll be honest, I have watered myself through so many tears earlier this week. I’ve had to uproot some prideful thinking that was beneath the surface that was eating away at me being able to grow up and grow out of things I was pretending not to idolize. And I’ve had to stop using being busy as a way for me to avoid processing through things so I can heal, and turn my branches towards the true Light.

The poem below describes my healing during a different time in my life, but I love how it still pertains to my healing now. It was created from a prompt out of Alex Elle’s poetry book Neon Soul. I’m excited to share this poem with you, and to keep these words with me as I continue to live, grow, and thrive.

“My Healing (Growth)”

The branches that I thought I needed that
Had potential fruit to bear
Were either cut off by my Maker or
Naturally separated and
At first, I thought it wasn’t fair since they were the
Only branches that seemed to have fruit.
How could God possibly take away these blessings before they could even bloom? Before they could
Grow into something more and
Ripen for others to eat?
They were the only branches that made me feel like my purpose was complete and
Now they’re gone and
It hurts.
The places they used to reside in now ache and I
Struggle to see how this wasn’t
Some mistake, how
This could be good for me in any way.

As the days went on, however, that aching eased and
I no longer envied the branches and fruits of other plants and trees.
My sore spots healed up after much
Sun, rain and love and care
From my Maker, Who despite my
Feeling lonely mostly through this process was actually
Always there, through every step.
And so, more branches began to grow and
Once they came, more fruit did too.
But this time both branch and fruit were firm and strong
So much so that I realized it had to take this long for
Good limbs and good fruit to produce.

This is the story of my healing.

#MishyWrites 🦋🌿

“uprooted” – The Poem

You moved me and I didn’t want to go.
I complained and sighed at the inconvenience of the timing of my misfortune; I was moved from my comfort zone and
Placed in a spot where I didn’t expect to bloom.
Initially I longed for the familiar dirt that I’d grown so well in…
How was I supposed to realign my leaves and branches back
Towards the sun, towards the Light
That I’d hidden from under shades of
Distraction and shifted focus when
I wasn’t in the secure location that allowed me to
Grow and thrive?
A couple of days later I found that I’d
Slowly adjusted –
That I no longer longed for the soil that I’d built a routine in but
My Maker had realigned my focus back towards Him and
Away from my discomfort, and in the ability of me or my surroundings to
Fix my problems.
My roots, although displaced,
Grew deeper and stronger and more dependent in my Maker’s Hands and care.
My uproot from there to here was more necessary and bigger than my mind could comprehend.


“Dear Poetry…”

Last week, I attended a poetry event called “Poetry is LIT” hosted by the beautiful and talented poet Erika Roberts aka Velvet Poetry. One of the prompts she gave us was to write a letter to poetry. I wrote the first portion of this at the event, and decided to finish it up.

“Dear Poetry…”

Dear Poetry…
I am sorry.
I’ve always hated you out of misunderstanding, for I was always taught that you were nothing but
Stanzas and rhythms,
Lines and rhymes and
The only reason I ever gave you a try was because
He was a poet…
And I wanted to show him I loved him by
Learning to love you.
Who would’ve thought that he would leave and
You would stay.
And we’d build a stronger bond than I could ever imagine.

You healed me, Poetry.
And even as I waited for him to return you
Took a hold of my darkest moments and
Unfolded all the things I never dreamed I would become.
It seems you have always been a part of who I am and
All it took for me to discover that was
Giving you a chance.

So, I’m so sorry, dear Poetry, for ever doubting you.
Now using you to express myself is the least I can do.


Mishy 🦋


“To All the Singles on February 13th”

Tomorrow you will be tempted to compare yourself to those who
Have someone to hold.
You may smile in happiness for those who are showered with
Gifts and candy and flowers,
But on the inside, your heart is
Melting…like a forgotten piece of chocolate sitting out in the sun.
And you’ll try to be the “strong, independent one,” who doesn’t really care that
Another Valentine’s Day is here, but
You don’t have anyone, excuse me, that
“Special someone” to share it with.

Maybe you’re tempted into thinking that you’re
Unlovable, unlikable,
The only one alone, or
The only one who may receive gifts but
They’re not from your lover, but
A family member.

I want you to know that tomorrow is just like any other day.
That just like any other day, you have people who do love you and care about you.
That even though it hurts to be alone sometimes, you don’t let it stop you from
Being who you are and doing what you wanna do you
Don’t let it define you on any other day so
Why let it define you tomorrow?
I know single people get tired of hearing someone say to them
“Love yourself!” but it’s true:
Take the time, the money, the space to
Spoil yourself, love on yourself:
Eat that pizza, go to that movie,
Sit out under the stars with a glass of wine in hand and
Do a little “I love me” dance and
Through loving yourself, remember
The greatest fact of all –

God loves you.
Not just today but
Every single day.

Luvvy, you are created for love.
You were created with love.
Today and every day,
You are loved.

And in these moments when you’re ready to give up,
To throw in the towel and say,
“I’m tired of throwing myself out there only to be used up and hung out to dry to
Cry every single tear that’s left from my eyes
In those moments, luvvy,
Breathe in, breathe out.
Open your arms up then close them
Shut around your rib cage and
Breathe in and out again.
Squeeze tightly and remember:

Love is in you. Love is with you.
Love surrounds you.



The foundation doomed me from the start.

It didn’t matter that the material I was building with was reliable, for when I set the pieces in their places they
Automatically shifted.
Instead of standing straight and tall, they were tilted,
Yet I ignored my disfigured creation and
Continued to pile one thing atop another, beside the other.

I should’ve known that it was hopeless,
Watching the disfigured shapes I formed immediately crumbling before they could stand tall on their own.
Yet I continued to attempt the task;
The sand slipped through my fingers, sat crumpled in my hands.
I picked up my building pace, thinking maybe, if I just built
Fast enough I’d
Create something stable for the time being and
Make it stronger later.

But as I said…the foundation doomed me from the start.

#MishyWrites 🦋✨

“To Dr. King”

Dear Dr. King,

Thank you.

I know today, you’re hearing a lot of that; people from all over the United States
Declaring their love, support, and gratefulness for all the sacrifices you and your family made
So that I could have the family that I have –
Brown skin and white skin peacefully under one roof,
No discriminatory speech from either party, simply
Love, serenity.

I pray to God, Dr. King, that today not be the only day
In which all people, white and black alike
Remember the struggle that it took for our country to get where it is today.
Because even today, there is still struggle;
There is still misunderstanding, confusion, blatant hate
When there shouldn’t be, and we should all be moving forwards instead of

I admit that even I, a woman of color
Am guilty of overlooking the issues that our country currently has
Because of my complacency.

I pray for courage like you, Dr. King, to stand up for what’s right.
To realize my voice matters in the mix of all the
Opinions and
To use it instead of fearing that
My thoughts are unpopular or
Worrying that what I have to say is irrelevant.

For posting about you, or talking about what you did means nothing
If I, if we, do not take a step towards change,
Towards caring when things begin to move backwards instead of forwards.

You said it best: “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”

And so, Dr. King,
I actively decide to
Break my silence and
Speak up for what is right,
What is true, what is just.