Sophia's Artistry

I hope you find pieces of yourself in my work. And I hope those pieces whisper, "Welcome home."

[themysticscoven]

I have to remind myself...

I have to remind myself daily. of the strength that I carry. the strength that’s in these bones. the strength that I know my ancestors sung onto the winds about. the strength that carried them forward and brought me here. i have to remind myself that forgiveness is a necessity. it’s sometimes more necessary than love. a healing nectar from love’s labors. you can’t go anywhere without it. if you learn it well enough, train yourself in doling it out. Giving it to the most bitter parts of your wounded spirit. Forgiving yourself becomes your superpower.

I have to remind myself that I am not perfect. That I have been hurt by hands that did not intend to sting, and I have brought pain to the kindest spirits without a second thought. I have acted from pain. I have acted from hate. Jealousy. Rage. I have been human. I have to remind myself that some memories take years to erase. Long after the person has disappeared, continued on down the road of life. And as they have, I must too. So if I need to forget you, I will. One day. It may not be soon, but one day. I have to remind myself that there’s more to me than just you.

I have to remind myself to keep moving. to honor my strength, my forgiveness, my imperfection, my life that has been lived and has yet to be. daily. daily. daily. I have to remind myself to choose me.

[themysticscoven]

I’m not sure when I started telling myself to stop believing in my dreams, to stop believing in myself. But I did. I’m not sure when I started wearing complacency as tight as a sacred scarf, one that left red marks around my neck like a noose. But I did. I’m not sure when I started to suffocate under notions of becoming as if my life were nothing more than chaos that constantly needed fixing. But I did. I’m not sure when I started to sell myself short, to see myself as nothing more than who I could possibly be to escape all of who I am. But I did. I’m not sure when I stopped trusting myself, when I said this is all that there is to me, that I could not be greater. But I did. And I did it freely, without a second thought. I did it almost immediately. I turned my body into a shrine for fear to rest gently while bending the rest of me in admonition. It became me. Inseparable. So easily I shrugged off its signs of trouble. Thinking it could never take hold of me. That I could never be someone so cut off from her heart that fear started to look like a companion. The sweetest friend I had ever known, though it did nothing more than steal the fruits of my labor and serve them up as offerings of their own. I lost my appetite for greatness. But since then, I have spent days clearing out this room, cleaning out this body, of any dust, of any remainders from its residency. Days that turned into years. I opened every window, every curtain, and I sang life back into me. I called for happiness and joy and freedom. I started to look up towards the sky (a plane I thought I would never reach). I started to make room for light. And pushed myself onto the tips of my feet. And believed I could make it. I started to dream of myself, surrounded by birds of the air and clouds of white, there to keep my soaring high. I wanted to soar for a long time. And for once, I have. I will. I did. I did.

I Did (This Must Be What Freedom Feels Like)

[themysticscoven]

I’m tired. and I’m scared. I’m tired of being scared. and I’m scared of being tired. Because I fear that one day I won’t want to shut off the alarm clock. That I'll stop changing the sweat-drenched sheets, or brushing my teeth, or washing my feet to start the trek through another day. another day. another day. another day. another day. another day. what’s the point of walking if i will never reach the horizon and greet the sun. i could drown in all of my despair. tears after tears after tears. and it’s hard to keep one's light aflame in pools of sorrow. to learn to swim off hope that's borrowed. but then there comes tomorrow. and tomorrow. and tomorrow. and tomorrow. and tomorrow. and i may still be tired and still be scared. but to live is to grow. to break limbs and heal joints. and it sounds lonely. and terrifying and suffocating, to desperately want to reach for the sun when a whole ocean stands between you. but i still stretch, and cry, and i still try. until i get tired. because i will always get tired. so when i get tired all i need is rest. the sun will still be there with its tantalizing glow, shining. that's all it's meant to do; shine. and shine. and shine. and shine. so that I can rise, and shine, the light inside too.

Sophia E., I Know You Want To Achieve But Sometimes You Must Just Be (Tired)

[themysticscoven]

08.22.16

My friends are beautiful, soaring spirits.

[themysticscoven]

“no” is a different kind of love, it’s not sweet like honey it doesn’t dissolve like sugar there’s no hiding its bitterness it burns like rubbing alcohol and goes down tough like Robitussin but do not mistake its intention it is there to heal and to cure, to create new boundaries again and again so that “yes” can spring forward and keep building the self that “no” has fiercely preserved.

Sophia E., and There You Are, Still Standing Tall and Strong

[themysticscoven]

Some days, I am not too sure I know how to love another woman. Does the slenderness of my hands draw her as close as a stronger pull could? Does the shrillness of my voice mean my words don't ring as deep as a lover's words should? Do I give her more than a man would? I ask this over and over again in my head. Because I hear that this is wrong. We are wrong. I just want for the world to see that I'm tired and need rest. That I need to fall asleep holding her in my arms without feeling like we've started some war that can't be won unless we let go of our love and save our own (somehow) misguided souls.

Sophia E., But That’s Not Victory To Me

[themysticscoven]

Thank you for the "I Need Someone In the Now With Me" piece. Thank you.

Thank you so much! Means a lot! xx

[themysticscoven]

The first time I felt dirty was at a high school party; where the eyes of the Dominican and Black boys glided over my body and confirmed that my mahogany tone made me too tough to hold. I crawled into a closet, and cried. When my mother birthed me, she recalls curling against my frame to shield my fresh veins from the venom searing between Aunt Pearline’s teeth. “Wow. She’s so dark.” But my mother saw stars in my midnight. She didn’t want to let them burn away. I crawled into a closet, and cried. My sky started to dwindle as I sat catching my burden and my fortune in my hands.

Sophia E., I Know All About Dimming and Fading and Breaking

[themysticscoven]

Her hands feel so light. I laid undressed in them once. Completely exposed. Praying that if this were to be my last breath, it’d obliterate my lifetime’s worth of sin. Because I have sinned. A lot. Too much. So much so there were days when I thought I couldn’t stand in the sun. That its rays only shone for the humbled and the holy. That which I am not. I’m used to prowling. At night. On knees. On forearms. Choosing cocktails over church bells. So I shudder as her fingers dance in my hair. I start to think: maybe even God has turned away from his own divinity because I so desire for this bed to be carnivorous again. To forsake gospels and scriptures. To be that angel that loses her wings and falls back to her roots, scrounging on pennies and lust. I am losing my taste for this sacred flesh at her beautiful altar. But I still find myself offering one last hallejuah.

Sophia E., In Moulin Rouge

[themysticscoven]

I could feel my sickening story and the tears pooling as it crept up my throat, revealing itself yet again. "She hurt me. She really did." And you said, with daggers in your eyes, hearing me for what I am: "Are you're looking for me to promise that I won't? You're looking for a pain-free kind of love? Where will you find that? Who on earth won't hurt you?" I stare on. Into her eyes and her mouth, waiting to be swallowed whole. Wishing I could find cover. But she doesn't stop. "I'm sorry if I sound cold. But look at you. Hurting yourself holding onto that. Nothing and no one will hurt you more than you. Definitely not me. If there's a promise to be made, then that's a promise I can keep."

Sophia E., Dinners With A New Lover While Burning Under Old Flames (A Short Story)

[themysticscoven]

I wrote my first poem about pumpkin pie and flowers and your smile. That's how much I needed you. But, Grandma, please – give back the light you stole from us. It's hard watching your daughter weep over unpaid hospital bills and a crumbling marriage. It's hard knowing you forced her to choose: Your life. Or ours. And neither survived.

Sophia E., But I Will Always Miss You (2007)

[dark-radiant-mind]

Mars Central Park Conservatory Garden, 4/24

[themysticscoven]

[themysticscoven]

[themysticscoven]

At the Central Park Conservatory w/ @marsthecreative

[dark-radiant-mind]

The only difference between us and them is a boat stop. And still, I know no difference between the pigmented mud drops that shade our skin and our souls Black. We will always share this home.

Bonded by Black (From Caribbean to African to African American)

[etoilearts]

Hi all! 

This is an animation I made for the launch of an up-and-coming website called In Other, Other Words. This site was created in hopes of giving black women a platform to share their personal experiences dealing with the aspects of life and womanhood. We’re looking for writers and photographers, so if you’re interested in sharing your writing, and/or photography and you’re between the ages of 16 and 26, please feel free to contact me or submit to [email protected]. Also feel free to contact me or @sophia-e-artistry if you have any questions. I’m looking forward to any submissions! ✨

[themysticscoven]

Submit!!! We wanna hear your voices!