• Everyday, There is a New Revelation


    I was today years old when I found out that The Book of Revelation is not called The Book of Revelations. Even though the entire book is made up of multiple revelations. Yet, seemingly all forms into a single revelation. Such an enigma.

    Poetry is an enigma in itself. A language only few, or even only one person can understand.


    Revelations of the Springtime

    I used to say in my bedroom at night
    That even the Revelation couldn’t keep me away from you
    Last night I had a revelation, that I must stay away from you
    Why the sudden change? Why the onset of pain?

    Simply, I am tired, simply tired
    It is March, simply March
    Time for a fresh start, a simple start

    April is coming, which means showers
    There is no sunshine without rain
    It will come just in time for the flowers
    The May flowers, a pilgrimage on the Mayflower


    Sunshine

    Written on March 25th, 2024

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    . . .

  • Let There Be Light!


    A long overdue love letter to the woman I have become, and the God that made her.

    ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊


    There is an episode of Frasier (the exact episode escapes me), when a listener calls in with a problem. The joke was that the caller was obviously robotic and seemed to be reading from some sort of script. When questioned, the caller reveled this to be true, reason being he was afraid of public speaking. Frasier attempted to ask the listener a question in attempt to help. Being unprepared for the inquiry, the caller fumbled and read Frasier a prompted goodbye message and hanged up the phone. I found this joke to be funny on a level higher than it was meant to be received. (Like my father says to me all the time, I over-analyze everything). It sets in my mind this fact:

    There is the most truth in jokes.

    When words form in my mind on the way to my mouth, they somehow get lost in translation; Fearing of saying something tactless, too blunt, or revealing my true feelings. I stumble over my words, talk fast to try and cover up my mistake, or outright pause in mid-sentence. Being bashful and sappy doesn’t help either. Most days I choose to say less, I wouldn’t call it selective mutism, but a simplified way to navigate life. If my prepared words could be read from a script, I would traverse even easier. Like my grandma always said:

    Be seen and not heard.

    Writing makes me seen, more importantly, heard. Whenever it be writing notes on random pieces of paper (I don’t have a special notebook) or typing on my laptop (This is my primary medium). I feel like I am reciting I Have a Dream. In which, I do. The dream has always been to write, the spark just had to be ignited. That spark came on a dark day in June, June 4th. when the rain engulfed the world into a flood not seen since the times of Noah. 40 days became 365. To the man that though he left a void, it actually became filled with light. I would thank you, as I convinced myself in the past you leaving me be was the spark. Gravely mistaken, there is a different He I need to be thanking. The only thing I have left to say to you is:

    Go with God.

    My name is Sunshine, and I am many things:

    Woman.

    Artist.

    Lover.

    Daughter of the Sun.

    Mostly, I am loved by God, who gifted me everything!


    Sunshine Signing Off

    Until We Meet Again!

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    . . .