Yesterday I went to my friends funeral. She was thirty-nine. 39. Something to do with her heart. Her heart. 39. Heart. She used to come over my house and sit on my couch for hours reading me her poetry and stories. Sharing her life, love, family. Hers was face I could look to while I was performing and know someone in the audience was feeling it.
I will remember to be beautiful because of Nenya. She was always together. Boots, gear, make up, belt and the smile that topped off everything.
This is a poem of hers that was printed on her obituary.
Just Because
I would love to have the outspokenness of Jill Scott
The eloquence of Maya Angelou
Or the fierceness of Nikki Giovanni
But I am plainer and simple
I just let words roll off my tongue
With no design
I could quote Shakespeare or even a sonnett
I could plagiarize knowing that the words
Would sour once released from my tongue
Because I wasn't their keeper
Talking about love, insecurities and pain
I may be a novice
But it doesn't make it less real
Doesn't mean the paper doesn't bleed
As I write my own personal experiences
Accepting, I am not Jill, Maya or even Nikki
I ask my pen permission to write my own style
Of outspokenness, eloquence and fierceness
After all the laboring and toiling
I will give birth to someone
Who has no labels
That JUST writes BECAUSE
It feels good!
Nenya Coleman - June 2009
I miss you Nenya! Thank you for sharing you with me.
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