Category Archives: Positivity

Between breaths

Between breaths these thoughts lead me to a future beyond these moments of rain
Fight through the torment of unforgiving stares
The glares of disbelief
This change ignited by a love pure
We without the intent of self
A past left to days now gone
That feeling of incomplete diminishing
Feel accompanied by your spirit
No longer alone
With you, I envision a home
Embracing you as you are
Just as you me
Engraved in heavenly discernment
Our hearts on a path
Lead by faith
Will leave behind fear
As you wipe away the single tear
Right now here in between each breath
Death seems worth these beautiful moments of living
What I’m giving is unadulterated, unedited displays of me
Looking toward a we

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Filed under a rant of love, Emotion, love, Positivity

Between breaths

Between breaths these thoughts lead me to a future beyond these moments of rain
Fight through the torment of unforgiving stares
The glares of disbelief
This change ignited by a love pure
We without the intent of self
A past left to days now gone
That feeling of incomplete diminishing
Feel accompanied by your spirit
No longer alone
With you, I envision a home
Embracing you as you are
Just as you me
Engraved in heavenly discernment
Our hearts on a path
Lead by faith
Will leave behind fear
As you wipe away the single tear
Right now here in between each breath
Death seems worth these beautiful moments of living
What I’m giving is unadulterated, unedited displays of me
Looking toward a we

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Filed under a rant of love, Emotion, love, Positivity

Another Crossroad Looms Near (For You, My Innocence)

Raging screams of anger quell deep within the lost thoughts and the burned  bitter regret of not trying harder, not wanting more for the person who was gone the moment I left the sunny palmed streets I called home in late August of 1999. I wanted and wished for nothing more than to rid myself of not being apart of, not being accepted, of being Wugga. The name stung my chapped lips, hot and ragged gasps of air held me in my churning pit of want. The want was the addiction, the drug, the true burn to run far way from the here that has claimed me once again, the crossroads another day looks so much like the same one I sat in front of before with life full of opportunity. Funny how then possiability was a foreign tongue, beautiful but unable to be translated into the language that I spoke in those days. So willing to jump, without fear, naive to the opportunity of making choices beyond the emotional downpour of hurt and people who use the hurt to examine your vulnerabilities to make weaknesses appear like a flaw that is ugly and dirty. Yet, weakness was the mask left on a blind face of strength in eyes that didn’t fear wrong or right.  Right can never be wrong, even when it’s chain and ball feel like pain over dungeons of hell like wanting and needing to be seen in the right because wrong was not the multiple choice option chosen. To do right in the eyes of being seen again will yield no more beautiful days then the wrongs done in not being seen. We feel and we continue to feel even when feeling numbs the distinction of each feeling to be identified. Just like the words of a language so beautiful to the ear yet completely lost in the unknown to the mind.

Possibility has saved many good men, many beautiful expectant mothers and children unborn, more mistake than miracle expected. Possiability has saved lives unable to forgive reflections of days pasted, of mistakes burdening the ability to give hope a role in the experience of living. The road so familiar met again, with that same hurt holding on, riding my back. Inhale breath, exhale breath, keep breathing, (thank you Keith, thank you netflix, thank you tv, thank you home, thank jyou past) it’s all going to be okay. No breath exhaled is one that is for nothing. no struggle! no triumph! It is  possible to survive each breath, those links to keep living even those struggling to escape fearing that the next will be harder to release, the one after unable to survive the possibability of failing.

The screams are loud and resounding, the distant ache of hurt buried behind smiles that don’t spread far enough, of laughs never truly felt, of people who don’t make it to the experience of the better version of me. The anger is louder, and louder, it screams but it never reaches the surface, never burns through to my heartbeat. It lingers in the shadows hoping to take my hope for possiability, to take the road traveled again for fear is no longer here but a lost of risk is just as stagnanting, just as harmful, don’t lose the ability to risk for possiability.

Dear God give me my faith to leave here where fear is binding and bounds us to the belief that love is lost on the undeserved, that love is a lost art given to those who buy it, those who leave it bruised and broken, endanger it’s species of change. I am not that girl, Yet I am not that girl left at this road again, to make decision of lessons never learned. I am not the girl who does not risk the ability to be, or am I.

Here in this alcove, I have hid, hid myself away from the world, hoping to find the the best of me who was buried beneath those ashes of regret, and sadness, the jones that allowed me to lose my belief in hoping for me. Hope lived in my heart for those around me built bridges of love to understanding, each whisper they spoke unto my ear fueled the ability to keep the hoping beating, feeding the opportunity for healing and now they old fires sparks, they never did burn dry, never really were ashes. That flame again thirsty for my tears. The eyes of my desire have been dry from the inability to lose touch with vulnerable. For this cave was no place of safety, no place of opportunity. This place was a a lying sheep, only disguised like good, only disguised as safe. This place was the beginning of, the reason why, the timeline ‘s beginning to choices made unfearful, not destined, languishing in disbelief. A cacophony of whispering memories, haunt my present self. Home looked good in the eyes of storms, yet storms don’t really leave as much as they move when systems of negating factors of wind, and water meet in experiences needing a smell of fresh, a day of new and the storm has come again.

Change is looming dark clouds of unknown sit in the distance. The night is dark, the day to light, and darkness is closing in on my heart, Unable to stay here with resolution only within my actions. The still is cold, the quiet born again, a rebirth of silence, solitude in the mist of a crowded past, yet the solitude is not deafening with sounds of that past. A newly planted tree on the side of the road. The quiet no longer a trigger to pull, no gun of bad choices in my hand, no targets of core pain. The whispers are much different then before, now possible is a language so fluent to my ear, so uncomplicated. These looming clouds, in these final days of confronting accountability, they hang high haunting me, the spirits of serenity. I am haunted, the clouds in my sky they haunt me with haunting ideas of new, haunting signs of move, haunting abilities to be fearless, haunting opportunity for great fortitude, for the most miraculous moment to take off the training me and use this person in a world, that does not know how to embrace the negative of the past days, of mistakes made, of moments that being the person on the other side of my reflection creates shame, so I shed the name of my past, shed the name of mistake, shed the shame of wrong choices chosen. I am choosing me, and the screams they quiet, and although fear lingers near my door it looks like challenge instead of obstacle, it smells so much like possibility, it feels like opportunity.

Maybe that tumble in my gut, in the core of desire is just the pit of fright I need to excel beyond just and reach for more , to even the score, for those loans of love I have given only to have the debt paid to me in unkindess, high interest of change. Maybe today is not an end with waiting on the looming clouds to destroy a new day. In the light of day, with a reflecting sun it may spread open with a many colors shinning, may look more like yet another door, a new rainbow. A rainbow that says like the book says, that it may rain but never again destroy your world. May rain, and the pain may remain arriving some days but never devasting the same way, in the same places. I inhale, drag slow, and deliberate, my rainbow is near.

a little bit like that girl who stood here with a four way signal, yet without the knowledge of how beautiful the open road can be, when a two way street doesn’t restrict, but demands that you be big. Bigger than circumstance, here on the open road the high way is not able to be manipulated with with a u turn, no busting a bitch here. Yet I look all around and the pain still lingers, it still burns way deep down under the new pavement, yet the road ahead is open, clear. Reaching out I see shinning, glittery obstructions catching my inner light, i see the jewels within left by this storm. I look back and see nothing standing so much has washed away. Some good but most the depris of unresolved anger. I look forward again and it shines brighter, forgiveness is within my treasure, kindness, change. The rain had left and come so many times, so many times, each storm taking pieces of my hope, my belief, my faith, my honor, my ability to choose for possible, and possibaility it was not here before, now it shines within the sun that lives within me, that single light of seeing. My rainbow is here, and at the road in the light, looks so right, , so clear leading to to ability to see more. The obstructions also bare a future, and it doesn’t look like right, but it’s very very bright.

Dear  Wugga,

I heard some time ago when we were at a fork in the road we were on that sometimes we must go hunting inside ourselves, to rid ourselves of our darkest parts, because if we don’t we would just become them. I almost lost myself to that dark. I met so many of us, experienced them each with vigor and without fear, then I began to realize I wasn’t hunting, I had become your prey. You were hunting me, not to kill me, but to live here so you could feel the heat of the sun. I am not angry with you wanting to believe that you needed to live. I promise you won’t die, your my innoence, where my belief was born, you didn’t believe enough in you, in your worth , in your precious part of how we become home, and I vow to never let you die in pursuit of getting to know more positive, we didn’t believe with eyes or stories heard, we had to go seek, but I am here, will never leave you, now that I have survived the worst of it’s consequence, without you innoence, we would have never met perservence, your inability to just be told, has built a prototype a mold that can never stripped of it’s purpose or beauty. You allowed me to forgive, because you hate a lonely home. The shade is only temporary and best with it becomes to hot, and we become frustrated and sticky with hurt. You met resentment, you met neglect, you met complancy, and while they were not toxic to others, it was our kyprotonite. It caused us to lose our first love, we were so close to dying, we resulted to pairing with dependency, lived on gluttony, hung with denying, and we almost lost you innoence. Never again, you have my words, you have my vow, that I will hunt daily so not to allow us to die looking for love, that we have here. Yes, I love you. We traveled to One Tree Hill and we found inspiration and inspiration has got some good friends, and shows himself more now then ever, we may not have those outside rallying for us, not a whole stand of supporters, but the few we have deserve our ability to not only believe in possiability but apply it to opportunity, and that’ can’t happen here, being bulliedd by fear. Here in the between, faith is powerless, we must choose, and it’s time now and you don’t need to hide, I need you now more than ever, I need that piece that does not care about how long fear lingers, she is a fool for the ride, being peaceful you have t asted it now, but it was just a taste, because you hid, afraid that if you appeared it would take you, but you didn’t notice how much had grown, now faith is our roommate and we live in our heart, so self sustaiining, It’s time you join me, say goodbye to Wugga who can be left here, she is the soildier, whering her medals of honor, she was strong, and loud, and showed them why she lead this army, she forgave it all, she taught us how to fall, get up and have no shame in shedding the name given, to wear the name earned  and stand upright and tall.  That’s right.. let’s take this ride, you feel the heat of that light on your skin, no more survive, what do you say? Ready? Let’s do it… Let’s thrive

With Love,  A’Nya Khadija Monea Lewis

PS. I like your new Label.. Nya Monea, sounds good to me

The Weapon, The Cure, The Reason

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Filed under a rant of love, change, destiny, Emotion, growth, Inspiration, life, love, personal understanding, Positivity

Audible Smile

It is beautiful how it happens when you think you expect something and find that you only expected to be. To be in that moment, when you feel happy or end up in a smile that is audible, escaping a place that you really don’t understand is there because when it happens it’s always a surprise. Even when I stimulate it, intentionally; that place with stories that sell reality with a sense of play, memories that take you back to happy days that have of comic sighs and those smiles that become audible unexpected moments of beautiful. I mark the days that tears meet those audible smiles because those are days that acceptance of the most unexplainable seems to happen. When my expectation is exceeded beyond what was somehow inbred inside of me due to previous action or choice or interaction. To live each day available to the ability to have unexpected connection to that place within myself in which a smile arrives and that sound escapes me. The reflection that images share, that mirrors, that me can put a smile on, that is expected and intended, yet that me where sincerity is born with moments of unexpected who sometimes can’t find the smile when I need it the most. Each moment, each heartbeat, each extension that connects you to the life you live is appreciation if you share it with yourself first and then whoever shares your place, the place that can give birth to your audible smile.

Believe in the unexpected, in the unexplainable, unique beautiful that is not sold by opinion of others, by past versions of some other humans version of it. We spend days seeking truths and happiness, and some other person to connect to, and we forget that all that we seek can be found in that place that is pregnant trimester into day into moments still coming with availability for those unexpected moment of smiles that become audible, taking the body sometimes into full body spasms and then a deep breath that escapes open lips as we give the body oxygen for the souls invasion.

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Filed under personal understanding, Positivity, Written Emotion, you

Bed Made

I am not about being the oppressor, being the one to call your bluff

but what the fuck…

Do you know how many good women are sitting at home praying for a good man to walk through the door and be home

lay his hat on the coat rack, his briefcase at the door

How many women who put up with bullshit

just wishing he was the right kind

in his right mind

will stay the night this time

and you have one who has offered you everything to just make him your play thing

Okay men have played the game with hearts for centuries

it might even be coded into the chromosones before they are multiplied cells

for it seems that on average it is a commonality that men

treat hearts with brutality

Especially after they have  played honestly once to just be played

Yet if I calculate the stories of true pain

I mean the kind that change the core of belief in love

then men seemed to be the most effected. Us ladies

must be tenacious

able to fogive and move to the next without the penalty of war crimes

holding us hostage

The male ability to logically repeat with the next

the same beginnings of the ex are simply

not as easy for them to comprehend

so why with the knowledge would use your womb

to gain access to not just love but security

taking our greatest possibility

to being living proof o miraclous beyond the high

beauty

why would you use his seed to feed your body

decorate your homes or to right his wrongs

for as you laid in the made bed

you lead his heart with his vulnerabilty

his need to connect emotionally already

without your legs opening you were in the zone of wrong

see his heart don’t beat so fiercely or as long

built with the belief that men provide and not complain

that while hurt is universal without name or claim

told to blink back leaks fom expressive eyes to square shoulders

the wars of emotional tyranny are told to be released. when hurt in this life, against  the world… son you fight…

is that what your going to teach the son you just gambled

when you  played, plotted and trapped his daddy with his physical pull to lay with you

penetrate you, copulate knowing after he pulled out he probably would walk out

All you had were thos sensually driven moments, those honest words he spoken a million days ago before you showed the holes in the script you you wrote with the intent to make him yours

when he implicitly said, no desire to wed, no desire for forever, just need this.

this hit that i will manipulate with lip to lips sweet touches some define as kiss

Now his child that he loves with whole cognitive not intent freely and completely

no desire to be so running like forrest unless toward this creation of two even if the half was you

the woman who he hurt then repented loved again but then

you played him, with the perparation of making his station in this life to also include father to soon

a baby wasn’t something he hadn’t projected to be added to his life, just not befoe he asked his heart desire to be his wife and he was hurt mostly because you knew about the blueprint he had designed for his accession to manhood

no what’s up hood, no banging gangs, no baby making for mama’s to define him

you said that baby was not in your current plans reciprocated his desire to just be a young man and you the woman to compliment him

You knew and you said you would never do that type of thing to a man

never use his youthful lust and his naive love to be the glove

that fit his fear just to keep him near

no babies frivolously made friday nights in his bed

you know what you said

I don’t mean to judge but I know him without the romance of sexing, texting cute hellos

I know him beyond what he protrays

what he sells for interest, understand the truth he didn’t onfide in you because he was afraid you yell dismiss instead showing him glossed lips to kiss

I know he said he loved you to, he did, and still hold love for you but what you did was wrong

now you are the predator no greater than he before you told him he would be a daddy

the only true risk in this game you play is that seed that fertilized that egg and lays present before the eyes.

Already it defies the ability to not believe in love

but jealousy is where the beauty dervived from

now barely surviving your truth

“Daddy isn’t dead, and no he does love you…it’s time I tell the truth”

Mommy told daddy that you… interject and inspect the truth

Before you bleed out your ability for complete selfishness

adolescence will need truth and daddy.

Don’t allow the bed you have made to be made for you child to

Teach him that while every descision won’t be his best

how fortifude is the most acclaimed of life heroic actions

to bravely go forward toward redemption

 

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Filed under a rant of love, change, growth, personal understanding, poetry, Positivity, relationships, Uncategorized

The Arriving Man

As a woman I live in an understanding of my emotional culture. With each documented moment I live binding a library of books of my experiences. Something I find on my journey are moments of interaction with men in my community some of them from homes broken and others from families assembled by time and others in the traditional make up. The black man has been the consequence of negativity and forlorn thought. The black man is an elusive entity of strength and as the community of my peers evolve from young men to men it’s most powerful era I look at the elegance of transistion and the opposition of being a  legacy of decisions that maybe the men before them took. I am a woman and I like other little black girls were left to become women without the presence of a man in the home. Yet as God provides me the gift of  his love he has shown me the new understanding of the black man who has shed the heavy coat of prejudice and the cotton of a too hot life when trying to get  to a moderately comfortable temperature in there atmosphere of being the man on the outside of privilege. These arriving men whom I have named arriving because through the storms of history and disrespect and the lack of support These men truly need they still come through those foggy moments hoping and trying their best. They even arrive to the storms of us loud talking, strong willed, fatherless and fathered mess of understanding women.. Yet as a woman sometimes loving that man who needs so much love is hard but see him as arriving.. Why? Today I hear more men say… I have full custody of my baby… insert son and alot more in my world insert daughter. They breathe for these children, facing the disappointment of being not enough or not having enough in the dank aftermath of heated summers of no lemonade stands and no baseball games on shoulders of that elder likeness and those of us who live amongst the on the streets of father non-applicable to me… cuz I don’t know my daddy we know the pain of being apart of a single parent home and feel the strain of traits not owned by mommy. We are the generation of change and we are changing our outlook and we are fighting loudly with  the access of technology,,,, I am proud of us regardless of these colored skin suits. And I know in the colonies of different hues lives homes broken and children hearts broken by the choices of those who are our key to lifetimes of lifelines that teach us how we think, and live and celebrate life.

SO it’s for the man arriving in your world as well, those colored life coffee, deep and brown those with layered choices with skin so bright and illuminating, those have culture built in this soil, their heritage with their land stolen…  so do not be left out. Yet my fondness for these men made so much like me with deep brown skin, shadowed eyes and hearts of solid beaming gold left hidden with cavities of teflon. My little boys who have taken the stereotypes and made them enterprises, took the grid irons and concrete courts from games to headlines and fame. Those growing boys turned men with need to fight and survive instead of drive and arrive are still beating down the hot block with hearts that want to be home, want to know those kids even when they laid down to be incarcerated by women who still have the learned lesson that men leave… don’t believe, don’t grieve, left to live with pain than to have it eased. SO many days they sit with breaths caught in chest hoping to slang enough, dunk enough, take enough to be the present father and not just the donor who fertilized a egg with his seed.

Yes I want you to be the best man you can be, yet I also see the struggle and desire to aid you in knowing your worth and those small things also mean something. The desire, the attempt, the faith, the hope, the strength and the experience you both show, and provide bleed your love. As women we can nurture those strengths. Your power is in the love you feel, the meal you cook to quell the hunger, the sex you indulge in to show him the importance and need to not just your heart but your body.  The love they so seldom vocalize but will always show in their resounding baritone as they ask where we have been, if the oil has been checked, how they will walk on the outside, and do their best to apply what they have never learned but know in their hearts is right. Just the fight to live will show how much many desire to not be the stagnant typed without the stereo for its never displayed how much it hurts to have to say, not applicable and does not apply when it comes to the language we can’t identify whether it be fatherly or motherly love. This community of strength taught to survive… we need to learn how to thrive, be our own resource of love… Move away from the belief that we must be the dog that dined on the dog of circumstance. Must unite if you want to fight and win.

A generation passed full of daddy’s rolling by home home to collect stones they were made to believed were jewels…NO HOME IS WITHOUT IT”S STRUGGLE… and no parent meant to create and mold life alone. These men are a special breed, descendents of man made Achilles heels, robbed of identity, used as common artillery, bred to do the work of building empires of which they could not call home and while slavery had died on the dark hot tar we call pavement… it has already been paved and if not actively fought will remain submerged in hate.

No this is not about slavery for we are each free.  wanting to make a loud noise in the sake of revolution to be another block of words strung together about being the victim looking on to the inside with too much fear, too much pride and just enough anger to be forced to grow. I am a woman among many women with matching skin id’s and similar history, The women who love these black men, lets us the be their place of  love make his house his home so he leave behind his spot, his crib , make our homes kingdoms. Not with things but with those jewels of love… we call them support, trust, forgiveness, loyalty, kindness, tolerance and self control. Let us use our action of physical love with fortitude and and be the woman who sees his heart and chooses it above all. Yes we women have pains and hurts, yet me make the time whether right or wrong to sing our song, some constant singing his wrongs. Each replay comes with a fine of his worth, and time for he sees your pain and despite what all continue to think… a man in love with a woman in love with him… is not afraid to speak freely when she wears her priceless jewels daily and shows him the ultimate jewel is him.

… why do you think these men stay with you even when love didn’t build that home. Even as your belittle his masculinity instead of just telling him your pain. Why do you think they are not so quick to divulge in (sorry about my language) sharing the true power of his magic wand , his sword you’re so quick to use in a scheme to shut you down.. ONce it’s been offered you no longer hold the cards… he already  has part of your heart. In no way am I taking away  the power of a woman, a black woman who might look something like me…

I know your pain, I know your need… and part of our want is based on that man you desire… so open your eyes and see him arriving and love him gently. Promote his power in your world, Provide a safe place for his emotional vulnerability so he may use it has the secret weapons to slay his enemies and practice love in your words, needs, and actions… Show him that even know love has its flaws and you certainly don’t take lies, abuse, or negativity. Just do it the way love would.

For the world in which he lives and struggles to be seen as a equal… befriend him… he is a man just as you… regardless of the clothes he wears, his choice of song, his difference in opinion. He is like you really the only difference is his flavor. Regardless he is arriving, from shallow graves of mis conception, perception , and infectious outbreaks of humanity and their ignorant thinking.

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Filed under a rant of love, change, desire, Emotion, evolution, motivation, opportunity, pain, Positivity, preception, relationships

The First Glimpse

     Are these just my thoughts, is it my beliefs or should it be my judgments that are listed in a rant of  personal experience. These are my first thoughts as I begin this new “possibility for greatness”. So many people have begun to blog; documenting and chronicling their unlimited thoughts and what each defines is oblivious to me. I am at a lost to the true goal of my new possibility and I wonder without a direction how far can I actually travel.  At the exact moment I felt as though I was bamboozled by the content, pretense, subtext or plain ole subject, I just said run with the wind. Just like that “bam”, a “Positive Peyton” had been born and I was on the road to changing the world, one blog at a time. I had begun to ask myself why if the rest of the world could be so arrogant to think the world wants to hear there rants and raves on any subject or situation why not me.
Okay so that is not exactly a true depiction of what actually happened. Okay so it was more like…
                 A Joss Stone compliation was creating euphoric energy by use of my ears, a rapid beating heart was beginning to tear when I thought of the man I shall call my “Urban Prophet” and as the first liquid promises escaped my eyes, I was sure that somehow today was the day I was strong enough to do something different. I was going to be courageous and choose happiness, and this was the second step. The first step was admitting that I had changed, that I had now begun to see the world in a different way. I was now an adult and a chapter in my life had been sealed, signed and delivered to the publishers and I might as well admit that I was ready to complete the transformation to “Spiritually Lead Bad Girl Almost Reformed”.

    Not many years ago I dreamed of being a published writer. I wanted to tell the world stories of fictional love affairs between women. Yes I was speaking from experience and yes I “WAS” a lesbian, okay well that’s what I was calling myself when I was diving between shaved legs and embracing endless episodes of  “The L Word” and kissing full lips that converted me from men to women at least temporarily at first glimpse.

I suppose that and my endless run ins with narcotics, r and B, and devastatingly tempting sexual experiences I deemed myself a “Bad Girl”, oh and the fact that I have for myself created a criminal record that reads… she is only bad enough to get misdemeanor charges.  A true lady rebel I am.

    My desire to write fictional novels of lesbian love began as a sizzling hot idea about a good girl turned lady lover and somehow ended up being kidnapped and as the woman with beautiful lips left my world, so did my desire to finish the book that left me confused. So many hours of writing left in a cold file labeled “Within Dark Hands”. Yet writing still was in my heart and although I have ignored the calling to tell a story, I still dreamed that maybe one day I would be courageous enough to reach higher than he stars and go for a heroic attempt at using my love of words to make a change in my world, and on some level touch the lives of others as well.
     
 Well the desire lead me to write my own story, and believe me it’s not a bad idea, and that idea is in the works. Yet days have gone by and my desire to write has been absent, the only thing present in the corridors  of my mind, the one thing that survives both good and bad days it seems was love. Love survives my thoughts daily and I realized that I needed to release the unspoken pledges of forever I felt for my “Urban Prophet” in the lessons that I have learned in knowing him and applying myself to every new activity, goal or experience. This is the first of collage of hidden glimpses into the entity that is my soul and spirit.

So it seems that love is a  true friend, surprising you with  kind thoughts, moments that are truly miraculous and a new belief in everything. So here we are beginning this new journey.

I will share that I am afraid that I might love documenting the random moments of love and pure wonder I feel almost every day. Is it possible that love can create a life, an income? Is it possible to be an employee for love, working diligently to promote it’s power? When asked for Industry: Can I mark Health and Wellness, For occupation: Love Advocate; Duties: Creating and building more understanding  to the survival, belief and commitment to love in romantic, familial, and professional relationships.

Until the next time
Nya Monea is Duality Defined

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Filed under change, love, Positivity, The L Word