i miss you

I'm trying out poetry.

I figure it's like writing music, right? Just, with whatever structure you want, unrestricted by music...

So. Here we go. My attempt at poetry.  Actually... it's more like a revelation from God that I needed to write down.  I'm somewhat of an open book in this blog post, but what the heck. I don't really care.  Testimony is amazing and God-given.  So enjoy... i guess:

To hear that everything I’d once clung onto is no longer there,

Leaves me grasping the air, gasping for air.

I’m utterly confused, because my anchor is in Christ,

And yet the pain of one tie being slowly wrenched from my heart

Feels like it’s enough to paralyze,

Taking away with it my ability to stand

I look into the past and realize

That the glass fortress that I’d placed around my heart

Was perforated with weak points

And as the wall fell, I fell. 

But where to, I can’t be certain.

I don’t think I ever will be.

I miss the very much appreciated me.

I miss my quirky uncertainty.

I miss the places where time had no dignity.

I miss the selflessness.

I miss the laughter.

I miss the innocence.

I miss how my heart used to flip uncontrollably.

I miss feeling like I’d found what everybody else was searching for.

But, as my heart cries for healing

I realize that I missed so many directions from You.

I missed a SEASON of intimacy with You.

I missed it, when You sent one of Your souls my way.

They walked by that street corner where I should have been standing.

I missed my point of no return.

I missed it when You were crying for me to show Your dignity.

I missed the sacrifice.

I missed the peace.

I missed the wisdom.

I missed so many challenges that were meant to create Your me.

I missed the very moment when You were whispering to me my purpose in life.

Yet, I receive grace.

And although I cry when I think about how I miss you.

I moan when I think about how I miss You.

I don’t want to miss You again,

and so I’ll just cry.

SO... I've been failing.

I apologize blog world for neglecting my just-a-cloth endeavor. Heck... I've been paying more attention to my Christian-Carpology endeavor, and even that's been extra extra scarce.

I've noticed that my crazy, enlightened words don't come on demand. We'll just say that.

As a forgiveness bribe, I will post something now.
(Is it grimy to post the same entry to two different blogs? Welp... if so consider me temporarily grimified.)

This was meant to be a personal poem, but why not share it with you, blog world.  I'll sacrifice a little bit for you all... why not?

Please ask me about it, because I'm definitely not a poet, but apparently sometimes ppl can get that random motivation to artfully express themselves.  If you wanna hear about that motivation, jussst ask!

The pressure builds up inside, fighting

against the walls of my heart, mind and soul

that were meant to contain me.

The bursting bubbles take their time. 

They’re random, but at the same time dependent

Dormant until their existence is revealed to me. 

raise your hand, class, if you... know where WEAVE comes from!

I currently have a large amount of hair on my head... hair that my own follicles did not happen to have birthed themselves.

Me getting twists was the unfair compromise made between my mother and I.  Twists, because that's how I usually wear my hair. And the extensions... well, because I had no choice. Skipper pulled the "Please do this for me?" card. You know where your parents get all nice when they ask you to do something they know daggone good and WELL you don't wanna do? You know what the coy is.... if you say no when they're angrily demanding something, you feel half good about yourself.  As if you've stood up for your right as a human being to pursue happiness, despite the oppression.  But if you say no when they're asking you a favor, in their calmest, sweetest voice possible... all you do is feel like crap. Cause that leaves them "disappointed". ugh.

moving on.

On Tuesday morning at about 11:00am, I abandoned my pursuit of happiness. smh.  The hairs that did not belong to me, went INTO my head.

Right. So maybe it's time for a little background story.

NOTE: Remember those self directed adventure books from when u were a kid, where u had the power to choose the story you read? You're about to experience that power once again... as a grown person. (well... kinda). If you don't care about the background story, then skip the following blue writing:


I started wearing synthetic hair when I was in elementary school- maybe 4th grade.  Braids.  I loved em.  Because they were long... and straight... and easy to style (Plus "Cleopatra"(comin atcha!) was on Disney channel at that point in time. They were kinda cool).


Coming from an entire life of sitting for hours as my mother unhappily slaved over my nappy head of long thick hair... on a weekly basis, in my bathroom, on a hard behind stool that made my butt hurt. well... Fake hair was a blessing.  In middle school, I graduated from plastic hair to human hair. smh... I definitely didn't take the name to be literal.  But don't be fooled by what was once my ignorance.  It definitely was hair that once, in its past life, belonged to another human being. And I would strut around the halls of Radnor High School, flauntin the hairs of Leah (and probably Susan, Kelly, Patty... and Jessica... and Mikah. psshhh. Hey, maybe even Tommy and Brian contributed too). I thought I was cute. I reaallly thought I was cute. smh. Pride is an ugly thing, people. Please don't be deceived.


Last summer, of 09, I decided to keep the braids out and try wearing my natural in twists.  Mind you, this was the first time I was about to let my hair free in public... ever.  (I mean, I'd straightened it a couple times... but u know the hot comb doesn't last very long sometimes.  Not with THIS mess that was on my head. I had that hair that attracts moisture).  In went the twists. I did em myself.  My hair ended up bein short, frizzy... and hideous. lol. at least the first time it turned out that way.  The more I wore it out, the more comfortable I got with the style... even adopted new fasion trends that complimented my short curly hair. I was rollin wit the punches for a minute. =)


And then CMU came along. ugh. Carnegie Mellon... smh. I am making an extreme understatement when I say that everything in Pittsburgh complicates my life. and long story short... due to some of these complications, I neglected my little short, curly head of hair...  Like some child-services level of neglect. (plus i wore this hat made outta rabbit hair everyday for like 2 months. That friction musta been makin a mess)  THIS right here was my mother's motivation.  She doesn't trust me with myself.... basically.


Now. Back to Tuesday. I came home from the African braid shop pretty upset.  My hair was tight and my scalp hurt like crazy.  I had a good 3 additional pounds more than what I was used to... all being supported by my neck.  I felt brainwashed from having just spending 6 constant hours watching cheesy game shows and The Martha Stewart Show.  I was very (internally) bitter with my mother for making me put this mess in my hair again.  I literally felt like a helpless teenager in colonial England who had just been forced to marry the ugly rich guy.  I had made my desires clear... and they had been ignored.

I started to think about how other people would respond to the borrowed hair on my head.  What would my friends back at school think??  I revisited a conversation in my memory where I was speaking during a meeting about why young black women feel the need for weave, in order to feel beautiful.  I had made a pretty strong stand on it being the influence of popular culture, lack of confidence... blah blah blah.  I shared about how I escaped all of those things when I decided to wear my hair natural.  Last year, I had experienced life, for an entire year, comfortable with myself, loving my hair, and making it known.  My short curly (and damaged lol) hair had become a part of my identity.  And even though this all sounds wonderful n everything...

I now realize that I had also embraced a new sense of pride.

I had allowed myself to fall into an identity other than one that's dependent on Christ for confidence.  I (literally, just today) realized that I started to get upset about this hair on my head, because I thought that a part of my identity was gone.  I felt like I was returning to campus as a hypocrite.  I was relying on how I physically portrayed myself to other people, for my appearance as a confident woman of Christ.  Even the issue of humility popped up.  "Only humble females can give up expensive, FAKE hair in order to flaunt what God's given them". That statement almost looks like it could be true.  It's a LIE. Don't you dare believe that the state of your hair can determine whether or not you possess a God-like quality.

1 Samuel 16:7 LITERALLY says, "The Lord doesn’t see things the way you see them. People judge by outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”


smh. I couldn't have made that mess up. Now, I mean... of course that passage wasn't in direct reference to me and my situation.  That's the Lord talkin to Samuel about how to determine who'll be King. None-the-less. It's still talkin about MY GOD.  and my God is consistent.  If he looks at the king's heart... then he's checkin out mine too.


I was letting my mind tell me that everyone who saw me as an individual, and sophisticated... and STRONG, would change their opinions about me.  I thought that these opinions would walk right out the door with my sense of hair freedom.

But forreal? To be completely honest. I don't care, at this point.  This individualism, sophistication and strength should be proven to people through my walk. with. God... and nothing else.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I still love my natural twists much better than the chopped-off-mailed-over-seas-and-dyed-twists.  and OOOOooo!... also. This summer, I discovered something called "daily moisturizer". Ha. Yeah... my hair was much happier with me after this. and even decided to grow back, replenish, soften and cooperate into a little afro puff for a while.  This was, of course, before I had to break the news to the head that it would be incarcerated within the confines of the dastardly "product".  My hair was perfectly happy. So, I am still not a huge advocate for hair on my head that won't reveal my DNA.  But I will definitely be struttin across Carnegie Mellon's campus, proud... but only of the Christ inside of me.  My heart, and how it changes my interactions with people, should be the only indication of who I am.


I am beautiful... with or without the twists, with or without the horse hair.  I'm beautiful because GOD is beautiful, and he lives inside of me. Reveals Himself through me.

Thanks for reading, I know I'm long winded.
That is all.
Glory to God!

signed.
kent.




P.S. There is nothing that I've found in this life, worthy enough to boast of, other than my God.  Everything else has flaws. smh

this is the intro.

welp.

Since this is apparently my very own, personal blog, I am going to assume that it only be cordial that I introduce myself.

My name is Brianna Patrice Kent.  I was first born on August 25th, 1990:

3 sisters, mom, dad, 4 bedroom house, suburbs of Philly, varsity volleyball, spring track, honors & AP classes, graduation... Carnegie Mellon University.  

Right... 

now. 

My name is Brianna Patrice Kent. I was reborn on December 29th, 2008:

My best friend is Jesus Christ. This place that I mention underneath life number one? Carnegie Mellon University? Well, during my first semester here, God decided to reveal himself to me.  Understand, dearest reader, who you are messing with.  You are reading the words of a diehard, striving-to-see-Christ-in-the-mirror, beautiful woman after God's own heart, who is imperfect, sinful, disobedient and worthy of death.  I'm going to give a general disclaimer that stands for this entire blog:  Do not be offended by what you read, after you've decided that you believe something that would deem what I report as miracles, to be impossible.  Rather, understand that my God loves you. Point blank. No hidden fees. 0% interest rate... Instant rebate.

[He really does love you. I'm serious]

I suspect that you, dearest reader, are observant enough to already know that this blog is entitled "just a cloth". To some, my other name is Cloth of the Kente.  Well... actually, no one really calls me that.  It's one of those whack nicknames that you discover yourself, resulting in you having to present this "nickname" to other people, and actually wait for them to associate your face... with those words. Yeah... way too much work. I know. On an occasional basis, I am referred to as Cloth, Kent, Kente Cloth (which was the original), or other things of that nature.  Yes. I made up a name for myself.

None-the-less, the name stays.

Let's remain observant, however, and realize that there is no "Kent" in the blog title.  You see... "Kent" is my surname.  A lot of the time, a person's last name is associated with respect.... or pride.  For the few brief moments that you spend reading my latest revelations and such, I'd like for you to throw those type feelings out your head.   

I would have no name, if it were not given to me.

I've recently discovered that we were all created for the specific purpose of glorifying and worshipping our God.  Our lives are meant to be "however-many" years spent on this earth, devoted to displaying to our Father, the level of sacrifice that He shows for each of us on a continual basis. Relentless atonement. smh.

I am just a cloth... or maybe calling myself a rag would be a more accurate statement.  This name that I have come to love identifying myself with? Well, it wouldn't exist without Christ.  I would have no IDENTITY without Christ.  Christ is my "Kente".  Christ is my pride.

Without the name, the word cloth only can be used to describe a pliable material made usually by weaving, felting, or knitting natural or synthetic fibers and filaments. But WITH the name, 5 teeny weeny letters, the meaning... the purpose of the phrase completely changes.  The two aren't even on the same dimension.

And I emphasize my previous referral to myself as a rag.  Some free online dictionary, which is conveniently open in the next tab on my browser, defined a rag in this way:

rag (n.)- a worthless piece of cloth

Understand that this life has no worth without Christ.  Without my Kent, I am a worthless piece of pliable material made usually by weaving, felting, or knitting natural or synthetic fibers and filaments. smh.  


Shows me how much I need my God.

This blog is not about me.  It is meant to be a humble report of the regular doings of the creator of this cloth.  Prayerfully, this blog will serve it's purpose of existment and glorify God the way that we all should.

All are welcome =) I won't delete comments, unless they rightfully deserve it.

That is all.

Signed.

Cloth.

"Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you" Psalm 63:3