It all sounds good.
Riding with the windows down and your music loud all throughout the hood.
Neglecting your homework,
putting hours in at work,
because you think that you should.
Emulating a sound that you know is
because it sounds good.
You think it’s because you should.
You should follow your own voice,
rhythm, and beat.
Be free in spirit, and feel
the beat from ground
through your feet.
You can’t be her.
You can’t be him.
You can only be you.
Just, be you.
Sometimes, I want to disappear into thin air.
I am certain no one would even care.
Sometimes, I feel as if I am invisible;
People overlook me as if I am not there.
If I could disappear into thin air,
I’d go someplace where I am understood.
I’d go someplace where people care.
I’d go someplace where people would notice my presence there.
All I want is to be seen.
I don’t want to go on in life constantly feeling like an ostracized human being.
An eye for an eye,
and a heart for a heart.
Two people so close, that they’d never thought they’d part.
Twelve years today, they had to say their goodbyes,
for God had a plan only seen through his eyes.
An eight year old girl was filled with sorrow,
but hopeful that her mother would turn up tomorrow.
As the years went by, she learned mom was gone for good.
It took some time, but she finally understood.
Things in life happen and we don’t know why.
That’s why it’s always so hard to say goodbye.
One thing for sure is, she’s going to be okay.
She will see her mother again one day.
Oh little girl, you’ve grown beautifully.
Your mom smiles at what you’ve come to be.
Take my hand and come with me,
so we can become everything you’re meant to be.
Mom, I hope you’re proud of me.
Today makes 12 years since my mother passed from colon cancer. I wrote this in remembrance of her.
I think I have writer’s block.
Please, make this stop!
My brain feels like it’s on lock.
I can’t find the exact words to say;
This is torture and pain.
This is probably the result of veering out of my lane.
God, please make this stop!
Writer’s block isn’t for me,
for it limits my liberated, poetic being.
The tears won’t stop falling.
She has erupted with sadness.
Her chest is aching, and it feels like her heart is breaking.
“Is it possible to die from a broken heart?”
She wonders, as she looks outside her window at the vicious rain and thunder.
I am a delicate flower; beautiful and radiant.
The sun shines upon me, reflecting a luminous glow.
Water, sunlight, and air, keeps me afloat.
I blossom in the spring and summer weather.
With little care, I start to droop.
My leaves start to crumble and fall as they may.
From the bottom up, I turn into decay.
Take care of this delicate flower, for she is beautiful and radiant.
Everyone is beautiful in their own way, but not everyone is beautiful.