So magnetized, drawn to you its unnerving
Eyes hold me first, roving too low, observing
For every move I make you can keep pace
Let light finger tips willingly lead the chase
I’ve already given up, I wont hold back
You pinch tip of my chin to begin the attack
Perspective
Tragedy is so familiar with my face
Joy comes but is out paced
Finally I saw everything happens for a reason
Though the darkness marks every season
If I didn’t fall, I couldn’t rise
Would routine be so seductive without surprise
Hurt made me strong, quick to retry
Count the days as months fly by
Until one day I met the love of my soul
Who convinced me to give up control
Gave me a reason to smile in the darkest night
Look forward to dawn’s coming light
Truth
Grim history changes my future
Steals my childhood makes me mature
I beg you in my own way to let it rest
I stole my freedom no contest
I was dying for a piece of the life you were born to
A birthright shouldn’t be reserved to the few
You Tell me I’m the reason that I am not really free
That I must unite my mind and truly be
The woman I strive to understand to resemble
And the pieces of broken life will assemble
Still I fought tooth and nail for crust of bread
And still to unfair life I was dragged and mislead
If you think it is I who have poisoned my youth
Maybe it’s not I who am missing the truth
Posted in creative writing, Poetry, writing
for my friends
Three little birds singing of sorrow
Told me to pray give my faith to tomorrow
Don’t worry so much of today
God will bless me make everything ok
typical
Irritated at the way you typify me
Like I’ll let you get away that easy
I am not the sum of my skin and my hair
Judging me so quickly is completely unfair
I am so much deeper than the blood in my veins
I am not the attitude in my voice nor the aggression it feigns
I am not the summation of every woman you know
Nor am I another hoe whose neck does roll
I am not the diva with airs’ for each day
Nor the sista who lives only to pray
I am not hood or unable to blend
I am not “the bitter one” who cannot mend
I am not angry at everything and every one
I am not the mother with no daddy for her son
I am not the artist with a weave for every club
Nor am I the prissy one with a nose made to snub
Stop assessing classifying digging for me
Stop pretending I’m the girl you knew I would be
I am smart and pretty and chubby and meek
I am sexy and funny and a closet geek
I am popular and unpopular and different and new
I am sophisticated and humble and my words are true
I don’t care, I do care I am invested and heart broken
I am worldly and local and clearly outspoken
I am loving and loveable and passionate and real
I learned from my heart break but I can still feel
I wont say anymore because you’re already confused
obviously I’m not the first whose feelings you’ve abused.
Posted in creative writing, Poetry, writing
Tagged categories, me, poems, poetry, who I am
fantasy
So close souls must be meeting
Kiss shoulder in sweetest greeting
Draw deep breath give all to exhalation
Give it all to me forget rehabilitation
Drowning in sweat for friction I yearn
Even in the heat I long for the burn
Weight on me tells me your taking things slow
Lucky me it’s late and I’ve nowhere to go
breakthrough
I keep reaching out into the dark
for someone, something even a spark
a light, the grasp of a hardened hand
the flood that preludes a kisses demand.
Nobody comes to save my sanity
curse my heart for my minds amnesty
wandering through memories buried down deep
through events, days and promises he couldn’t keep.
Traipsing through meadows full of regret
even the pillows wont let me forget
still smells like him, brut, that’s his cologne
the mattress with his memory wont leave me alone
scattered are candles in puddles of wax
not enough ambiance for me to relax
in their flame I saw fragility I saw me
in the wax the girl I was expected to be
clothes all around in random pile
remind me I haven’t left in a while
somehow it gathered while I lay there and cried
until it mirrored the mess I carried in side
im sitting up now eyes on windows view
turning over the prospect of something new
not a man, not a lover, just will power
enough to walk out and get into the shower
take step by step one, by one
until finally my grieving is done.