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Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?
Democracy will not come
Today, this year
   Nor ever
Through compromise and fear.

I have as much right
As the other fellow has
  To stand
On my two feet
And own the land.

I tire so of hearing people say,
Let things take their course.
Tomorrow is another day.
I do not need my freedom when I'm dead.
I cannot live on tomorrow's bread.

      Is a strong seed
      In a great need.

      I live here, too.
      I want freedom
      Just as you.
I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.
Want you to spend the night with me
While we are still young and have the chance
To enjoy eachother, I just need you,
No useless emotions or insincere romance.

All I long for; your skin against mine,
Found everything I was looking for
In your embrace, in your kiss,
Promise I won't ask for more.

I do not know what it is you do
To bring my smile each day,
I love it. I find myself
Wondering how long you are going to stay.

I know you shouldn't be on my mind,
What else do I have to think about?
That will not bring me down when it's late at night
And stars are starting to come out.

Think feelings are beginning to bulge,
We both agreed not to cross that line,
I am afraid of getting too attatched
Because I'm certain you will never be  mine.
The worst way to miss someone is when they are right next to you and yet you know you can never ever be with them.
I inherited my mothers unnecessary fear
It is unfolding as we speak, inside
I am going forth courageously
In my stomach it's moving side to side.

The weight is heavier
Than I thought I could carry
Even seated, brings me down
And now I am growing wary.

Not delicate or weak anymore
Fighting this made me strong
I am a servant to my burden
Dragging worry painstakingly along.

I have been taken over by this
Helpless, it lets itself in
Persuades my eyes to stare at the ceiling
Not allowing me to win.

I escape out the window
Step onto the porch inside my scattered mind
But it is only a feeble reprieve
Flimsy and shoddy, albeit intricately designed.

My head a paper-thin labyrinth
A maze of my unique making
I wander, I lose myself
Within high walls, cold and aching.

I roam to and fro, inch by inch
North or South? I do not really know
What are a hundred directions worth
If you haven't a clue where you're trying to go?
I hated how overprotective my mom is growing up but now I understand why she was always so concerned about me. I am always thinking about the worst possible case scenarios at any given moment.
The instructor said,

    Go home and write
    a page tonight.
    And let that page come out of you--
    Then, it will be true.

I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:

It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me--we two--you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me--who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records--Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?

Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white--
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me--
although you're older--and white--
and somewhat more free.

This is my page for English B.
 May 2017 Esridersi
mσσnlíght ín thє mєαdσw
cαѕtѕ thє ѕhαdσw σf thє trєєѕ
í cαtch α glimpse of ѕílvєr
αѕ thє вrαnchєѕ cαtch thє вrєєzє
thєrє'ѕ juѕt α ѕσund σf ruѕtlíng lєαvєѕ
ín ѕσlítudє í ѕtrσll
thє wσσdѕ αrє mínє thíѕ єvєníng
αѕ í plαч thє wσmαn'ѕ rσlє
pαuѕíng вч thє rívєrвαnk
thє ѕчmphσnч вєgínѕ
thє ruѕhíng wαtєr'ѕ cσuntєrpσínt
tσ lívє σαk'ѕ crєαkíng límвѕ
thє gєntlє wínd, thє tєmpσ mαkєѕ
αnd í вєgín tσ hєαr
thє rhчthm σf thє pulѕє σf lífє
αn єαrth ѕσng ín mч єαr
hσw ѕwєєt thє єvєníng ѕєєm tσ mє
αríαѕ fíll thє níght
αnd thєn thєч mαkє α chσruѕ
αѕ thє mσσn rєѕumєѕ hєr flíght
hσmєwαrd вσund, í pαuѕє αnd líѕtєn
α mєlσdч ѕσ ѕwєєt
rєgrєtfullч, thє ѕpєll íѕ gσnє
nσw, juѕt thє trαffíc'ѕ вєαt
Happy Earth Day!
 Apr 2017 Esridersi
"just breathe," they tell you. but no one understands that you can't breathe. your chest has an invisible weight stopping you from taking a breath. you try but it makes it harder. you close your eyes and see all of the thoughts that you hear in your head. you've been like this for so long. "don't worry," they say. but they don't understand that you can do nothing but worry. you can only drown in your own thoughts, unable to swim yourself to safety. your mind is cluttered with "what if's" and, "remember this?" no matter what you do, or how hard you try, you are trapped in this nightmare. the nightmare of your own thoughts. this is is anxiety.
p.m.b. 1:34 am
How do you taste a woman?
Do you let your breath
Take over her skin
Or do you,
Her treacherous,
Deceitful, delightful touch?

Do you take her sight for granted,
As if it was yours to own,
As if she would
Never vanish,
Or do you know
She's nothing more
Than a chimera on a wall,
Than Clotho's spinning thread
In an ancient story of forgiveness...

Do you trust her soft and humid body,
Like a silky cloth soaked in
Spicy peppermint oil,
Or do you fear
Her lips
As if they'll
Harm the pulse
Of your easily grown
Desire for all that she has enchanted?

Do you let her fingers linger
Somewhere in between
The locks of hair,
As they were
Her only to poses,
And make them come alive
Like serpents shadows on a desert's moonlight?

All in all, a woman cannot be
Taken for granted,
As she isn't there
Only because
You see her
A woman is
A passing shadow
For your mesmerized vision.

A woman is that summer rain
On your heated body,
Or that devastating
Storm on a
She is both
Dust and wind,
Love and hatred,
Hope and despair.
She is nothing more
Than clear, cold water.

So drink the woman
As you taste
Into good wine
And tell me, stranger...
How do you taste a woman?
thank you for all your comments and likes. never thought that this poem would be so appreciated. thank you again and again.
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