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Aquilla Jan 2018
You must've misunderstood the type of women I was raised by
Because when they rose their fist and shouted
they did not put it down to raise me
But instead lifted me by their shoulders and showed me how to raise my own
Aquilla May 2016
i see myself through the abstract
gentle touches of my own skin
i can never be fully enveloped in
through the periferialls
i see myself as paper thin
i am delecate
and am easily weighted by my own self
i am a reflection through glass
easily passed by
but leaves you wondering if there  is any true substance
Aquilla Apr 2016
And the scars on her wrist only faded
Never leaving her skin
Always shining through the tan
A tint of remembrance
A tint of strength
To wear forever
Her own personal Battle scars
Between existence and Extinction
Aquilla Apr 2016
She was Quaint
  And she was Quiet
But her words came in Quantity
With nothing other than Quality
She was a Quantitative Quilt of knowledge
Full of Questions and Queries
She was an ever moving Quill
Writing the book of her life

Yes she was Quaint
                   And Quiet.
Aquilla Apr 2016
It's not just music, it's a vibe
And when that bass drops, we come alive
With the synth and the snare
We are all transported there
Our minds are in the DJ's hands
Our bodies are ***** to his beats demands
This is our one true escape
And it's entwined with his soul into a mixtape.
  Oct 2014 Aquilla
A piece of you
Reflecting back
The bitter words in your mouth
Too raw to speak
A poet is
Someone in pain
And someone in love
Someone who looks at the world
Through a kaleidoscope
Who takes a magnifying glass to each
And every
Word you say
And lets them imprint on their heart
A poet is
A star gazer
A dreamer
A chaser of
The improbable
But hopes anyway
A poet is
Tissue paper skin
A heart of glass
And a soul of titanium

A poet is
A sharp tongue
And a gentle kiss
She is a sob
He is a sigh
A poet is
The sun at midnight
Bright and
But cloaked in a darkness
They cannot shake
The brightest day
And the darkest night
A poet is
The human experience
A paradox
An oxymoron
So complicatedly

A poet is
A lover
Who refuses
To stop wearing their heart on their sleeve
No matter how much it bleeds
But rolls them up
So you can’t see
The blood stains

A poet
Is Poetry
Aquilla Mar 2014
# 4
You hurt me
And there-fore cursed me
  I can not trust
When trust is a must
  Smiling is a vice
but it has a hefty price
I appear to be nice
but on the inside
     I'm broken
  Torn to shreds
Never to be together again
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