I am Beautiful

I am Beautiful



Sometimes my vision gets blurry
and my hands weak
I pinch the fat at my waist
noticing my figure's imperfections
but what is remaining is more than flesh
I stand as a mere image
onlookers may gawk or turn up their nose in disapproval
as long as I love myself
beauty will never leave me
I don't need you to tell me I am beautiful
I already know.

Book Now Available

My Relation to the Sun, a book of Poetry and Photography by Rebekah A. Frimpong is now available to to buy online!  Go to My Relation to the Sun and purchase your copy there.  Look for book readings, films, and more later this year in celebration of the release of the book.  This book was self-published by Rebekah A. Frimpong's creative think tank BGNB Productions and CreateSpace and Amazon Books online.  This is Rebekah's first book, and is dedicated to her late mother Joanne Hopkins.

This Woman's Work

This Woman's Work (reflections on motherhood)
by Rebekah Frimpong



This woman's work is akin to
strong women carry babies on their backs
keeping their heads high facing the sun

I carried my son full term
9 months
40 weeks in the womb
Each kick he gave me pushed me to live each day remembering
remembering what it is all worth

My son's father left us at about 30 weeks
since then it has been him and me
My sun and I
my sun = my son is my circumference

I think of this woman's work; my own worth
This title as mother I accept and honor
I love deeper now than before
my back is stronger then before from being bent inward
to birth life forward

My skin shines a bit brighter
laminating a glow from nursing my joy
I see life from a different perspective
this woman's work is endless
dreams of my offspring's future
I smile wide reflecting his smile; my sun

The depth of connections like mother and son
this woman's work is this woman's worth
I think about the space between now and then
and between love and hate and the space between knowing and not knowing

I relish in the idea of pure joy at the idea of being a celestial guide for my child as he navigates through life
this woman's work is as I define it: beautiful

New Poem: Broken Home

Broken Home by Rebekah A. Frimpong

Your words sting my heart

And I wonder about this cycle of flesh

movement is constant 

We argue in the wind

not referencing solutions 

yet the change we yearn for comes as frequent as autumn snow 

Cycling backward trying to fix the problem

never finding resolution because we created the source of our own despair

doomed to repeat a past unwanted 

we keep cycling back

Why?

Is your ego bruised? 

Did you forget love? 

The key to break this cycle of self hate

the love given to you by your mother 

you forgot her sacrifice and let your progression stay stagnant 

your dreams stuck in mud 

You looked in the mirror and ignored the reflection 

you cursed your dreams saying they were Sinking destinies lost at sea 

where ships of desire float on 

weary waves from the chains of your pride 

Free yourself from this cycle

broken hearts and broken homes

I see too often fatherless children cry out 

Daddy was caught in the cycle

repeating hurt once afflicted upon him 

Now mommy is like the other 

single mothers seeking love

repeating the cycle of lost love

she keeps pressing repeat

thinking the cycle is like a record player that can be stopped 

wanting to press repeat in hopes to erase time and go back to that place of love 

But mommy it is too late 

the cycle has started once more and tears have already formed in her infant's eyes 

Now we point fingers bashing men shaming women when the cycle repeats

as if God's Womb is barren like the minds of ignorant men wandering deserts 

wanting to quench their thirst reaching for water glasses half empty 

This wicked cycle man created he is too scared to confront 

You lost me

A child cries out 

Daddy you lost me

Daddy is too busy impregnating women whose names and souls he does not know 

He is too busy running from ghosts of a fatherless past 

repeating a cycle of abandonment 

inflicting loss on generations he has yet to meet 

We are at war with ourselves our hole hearts corrupted 

we don't see this invisible circle of collision and fate

Doomed to repeat; cycles of hate of violence, wars , broken families and intolerance .

What more needs to be said: stop the cycle 

Turn off repeat 

Go home and now sleep 

Writing In the Moment

The writing process is not easy, sometimes you will see writers write in blogs about the process being "painful", "awakening", or even "combative".  There is a lot of fighting with self and trying to get a grasp on the audience that you so want to please.  But how can we get to writing in the moment? Taking the time to breath and see that each thought that enters our mind that is more than just basic instint could led to getting us where we want to be as writers; finished.  We writers want to get whatever it is hid up inside us out and finish what we seek to resolve.  I write for this purpose but also to heal, to help me get to a place of ultimate contentment.  Being at peace with your words is for a writer, the begining of a new relationship.  Our words can stand the test of time and can make an imprint more lasting than one made in sand.  So I seek to write in the moment, get those words out that need to be said, take my voice and expound to degrees beyond what I imagine by letting creativity be my guide to getting to the core of my imagination.  Check for the release of my book to finally be available for release in May 2013.  I took last year to revise and reflect...stay tune

Unexpected Victim

An Ode to Trayvon; The Legacy of Black Boys
Written By Rebekah A. Frimpong

"The Unexpected Victim"; the title on my epitaph
They said I was young Black and "dangerous"?
Unexpected victim; my dreams were not respected
They say: "Black boys don't dream, they die young"  
but I saw my visions true and my steps towards a legacy were not yet written
I tell them: " my mother knew I'd be something and my dad was proud "
labeled an unexpected victim, I had fear in my eyes
at that moment I did think he would pull the trigger
to him I was just another nigger (his words not mine)  
a word older than my mind
They say: "Black boys don't know love"
I felt like the world did not let me love it
Judged for breathing, I saw my fate play out
like a headline on the news
Slain Black kid; No Weapon No Hope
Did he even see me? I mean see my light, my gift?
I am human, I am some one's son, I am not a statistic
Black boy blues
Black boy true
unexpected victim: shot by the bullets of racism
sketched chalk outlines are the last memories my mother and father have of me
Yes, us Black boys we hurt too
The world pretends our pain is not real
Black tears, Black fears
no one cares
the reality that I could be you and you could be me
does not sink in...
An American tragedy but this is America's legacy
hanging Black boys, imprisoning Black boys, shooting Black boys
from my grave I speak as a child ghost
 I am Trayvon Martin; The Unexpected Victim

Love is a Movement

Gone Too Soon
By Rebekah Frimpong


It was the darkest night 
heard the news and was in such a fright 
my heart fell apart
where do I start
to find the words to describe your light 


I guess I found love in the beat in your music
A melody that set me free
allowing me to write words of this love movement
my pen hits the paper your spirit making it glide
I wonder will this pain subside
God why do you take the good so soon?


I want to go to the ocean ride the waves 
look up and have a conversation with God
where to water meets the sky the sun just over the horizon
hoping to meet you again one day
the love you filled the universe with
will be reflected back in the smiles of those you affected


This is the song in my heart you inspired
Gone too soon...

RIP Tracy GM James and Randy Ponzio


Gone too soon... 

Words of Wisdom

I hope one day write a poem from these words:

"You should never be too busy to care, too scared to speak, too dumb to love, or too worried about what others say"-Rebekah Frimpong

Open Mic Testimonies

So last week I started hosting my first Open Mic series in Brooklyn NY.  The experience was amazing and the poets came out and shared great pieces.  I am hoping to expand the crowd and the spread the love as the series continues tomorrow.  I got a chance to share one of my favorite poems and I even dabbled a bit as a DJ.  If you are in the Brooklyn area come by and check us out!

Email bgnbpro@gmail.com to sign-up to peform.

Under Construction

Sometimes, there are poems that seem to be fragmented or undone but are still worth sharing...  

Photo By Rebekah A. Frimpong

Pieces of Me
-By Rebekah A. Frimpong


My bare feet pressed against the ground
I could feel the earth at my toes
the rays of the sun light on my back
I ran all the way home
not noticing my feet were bare
I wanted to hurry and catch a glimpse of him
see my love one last time before he departed
hold him tight kissing slightly behind his ear
we had been lovers for two years


Each season we would count the days until the leaves would turn
he made me feel priceless
Never had to worry for anything
my heart was whole and full of joy
our love was fragile and new but I thought it could last


Little did I know this would be our last embrace
the last day our lips would touch, our fingers intertwine, or I gaze into his eyes
He wanted out and said he wanted nothing more to do with me
He was ready to throw down my heart
watch tears coat my cheeks and my love drown in misery 
I stood still hearing him explain his reasoning:
"you are too perfect like a red rose without thorns, I cannot be happy knowing I am the one going to make you bleed"


For I did not know he was hiding a dangerous secret
a vicious lie that would break me into tiny pieces fragmented like broken glass


I was left an empty shell, he played a deadly game 
ripping my soul apart from my spirit 
an inhumane act of justice

The Wind Tells

Her Story-By Rebekah A. Frimpong

She was free
searching for answers in the mysteries


She was young
waiting for age to heal her rancid wounds


She was courageous
not scared to love knowing the consequences


She opened her brown eyes
saw a vision of her future unfolding before her


She covered her head with a veil
hoping to mask her beauty so her mind would be acknowledged


She gave her heart to him
she gave her whole being for a chance to live forever
because she wanted more
more than what blows in the wind
the passion and vitality within the movement of water


She longed to be strong and powerful 
like the energy that connects people together when words are not spoken


She knew all too well how the fable would end
but she wanted to tell her own story


She wrote on walls with her nails
scratching and carving out a way with blood and tears


She was like a little girl waiting for a father's embrace
alone with nothing but her dreams


She drew in the dark
silhouettes embracing and old memories


She accepted her fate; a sentence of loneliness 
She raise her head to the sun and knew she understands nothing. 

Hard Lessons

Lessons Learned-By Rebekah A. Frimpong


Falling and seeking
new feeling 
ready for love
and embracing change
this is the first step towards happiness.


Hard lessons I have learned along the way
traveling down a road of unknown places
faces seeming like mine and mouths closed shut
I hear my heart beating.

I am waiting for love
needing a space to be free
following footprints in the sand
an ocean of healing
each wave of emotion is like life
ever changing
accepting me


Self exploration
discovering my flaws
sharing my beauty
lessons in self love
lessons in losing love
lessons in gaining love
these are the lessons learned

Reflection Internal

The Journey   

By Rebekah A. Frimpong

We grasps stars filling our fists with beams of light

our dreams reached beyond borders

we met in tears and blood and sweat

liquid for life vital knowledge shared in conversation

our hearts were free and open

walking in each other shoes 

the path was narrow that we traveled together

holding hands we saw the sun reflecting off lakes and oceans

we had arrived; destination peace

Love in the City

I usually don't write love poems, because I cannot define what love is in just one word or two words, and so on.  Love is so different for everyone that is can be anything.  I can love my friend, my community, or my mother.  Love can be shared between two individuals in an intimate way.  But the most important love is self love; loving one's self enough to care, respect, and learn from other individuals.  The love of thy self is ultimately the key to loving others unconditionally.

Day One (excerpt)

By Rebekah Frimpong

This was Day One: The Awakening

My mirror's reflection was empty as I stood before it

All of me gone..taken by a god-like creature claiming to be peace

Yet starting a war in my belly that brought forth loneliness

Making me a victim to a lost cause; Love

Poetry Reflection

Poetry in the City


As a poet living in New York inspiration often comes to you in the most weird places and circumstances...whether you are rushing through crowds of people, watching a homeless person beg for money or food, listening to people speaking louder than usual saying the most fowl things, or trying to skip over a big glob of spit. 










Poem:
This city can inspire you.  
There is no place like New York...chasing my aspirations 
like a lost thought this is real the last to love and first fall 
seen it all in tiny spaces disguised as mansions
this is New York not a spoiled fruit gathering bites from an unassuming by stander 
who urgently needs a release.

Photo of the Day

Original Photography art by Rebekah A. Frimpong inspired by her poetry and upcoming book.

Footprints in the Sand

Poem of the Day

A New Declaration
By Rebekah A. Frimpong


Dear Mr. Obama, 

Thanks for the news on Osama 

but when will you start addressing the ills of the communities here in the US?

We play games with other nations, steal resources, declare wars...

but when will we clean up our own house?

Our land...before it is too late

I am asking the right questions; are you?

Yes, I am a revolutionary

because I want change

seek change to resolve and find resolutions

I understand the meaning of words and their power...

let us draw lines in the sand and declare victory

when all kids in the US get a good free education

when college tution rates don't put scholars in debt

when jobs are plenty and food not scarce

I am tired; aren't you?

Constantly shocked with news of terrorism, earthquakes, and wars

I fear my babies not yet born are crying tears for the dead in my womb

those suffering biting their nails and ripping out their hair hoping for a sign of good fatih

Mr. President Obama...I don't blame you

just hold you to a different standard

though you may be commander and chief 

to the world and to many Americans you are a black man and nothing more

so speak for black men

challenge our youth to understand the meaning of freedom and its costs

take the words from the constiution that was used to wrap nooses around the necks of black men for years

and paint a new picture

Make change something that is popular and not taboo

I question you in peace

nothing in my heart hates you instead my heart is wanting to beat

like a drum 

music to the ears of the youth

vibrating pulsing up spines and causing movement

this is a declaration of a movement

we stand in ignorance ready to point fingers

pull triggers and call each other niggas

Mr. Obama may I plead with you?

State a new address a call to educate, empower, and love

this fire can only be exstinguished with the opposite of hate 

Sunsets

My Relations to the Sun is more than poetry...it is a feeling and the book will be filled with artwork, photography, and poetry.

Missing Mom

My Birthday

By Rebekah Frimpong

This day memories of you spill over like hot tea being poured in a cup

your voice like ocean waves crashing into shore

I miss the sound

I thought of you

on this special day

a begininng of a clearing

a renewal of life

hibernating bud blossom and new eyes open

this day I remember you

warm thoughts cozy as a fire place

teddy bears and gum drops

sweet innocence of childhood

though I blow out candles this day awaken to unseen years

memories of you are more clear

this day; my birthday, I miss you mom and I wish you were here

I would tell you so much share so many things

thank you for your sacrifice

for loving me and giving me life

happy birthday

Coffee and Kisses

Bittersweet

By Rebekah A. Frimpong

In the morning he would wake me with coffee and kisses

brown ebony back broad shoulders skin satin

eyes deep cool refreshing

he was a blessing

so real not a dream

my days were filled with memories of joy

he keep me guessing

telling me love was like a river ever flowing

one day he got on one knee and revealed his heart

words from his lips coated my skin like the sun

his heartbeat made my spine move 

we were one two souls gathered

friends brought together

I sipped from his cup without hesitation

the wind would always bring him back to me

he stayed hidden in between the pages

papers soaked with tears

love never ignited left to exhaust

weary I kept hoping that my mornings

nights and days be filled up

like the cup of coffee he use to bring each morning

now mourning

finding him again not possible

no other him could be he

he completed me and my sentences

warm embraces

left me cold no where to think

yet coffee and kisses

what I miss the most

sweetness and bitterness

love turn to hate

twisted soulmates

we conversated over coffee and kisses

lay between the sheets in irony of our union

he stopped speaking and I stopped listening

drifting away he passed by

our glances never meeting

our lips pressed tightly keeping truth in

he said no apologies I felt misled

sweetness and bitterness

sweetness and bitterness

bitterness

bitterness

bitter

sweet

(c) 2011 Rebekah A. Frimpong