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You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
 May 2014 julius alcancia
romane
Shower — the place where I seem
To miss you most
this love is a forrest
you hold the axe

and the gun

and the bag full of leaves you stole
from my branches.
you told me once
that sleep deprivation
is the equivalent of
seven shots of whisky.

so i drank your words
on tuesday afternoon
and slammed down
seven shots of whisky
on wednesday night
and watched the sunrise
on thursday morning.

the whisky wore off long ago
but i am still here hoping that
if i stay awake long enough
i will stop dreaming
of you.
i haven't slept in days. why am i still thinking of you
10w
All these people talking, but i can't hear a thing.
these are my words
(to your ears)
;
,
.
.
.
 May 2014 julius alcancia
Alyanna
Nothing.
That's what he was.

Nothing but another person in the crowd.
Nothing but a random face in class.
Nothing but an unextraordinary writer.
Nothing but a boy.

He was nothing.
Definitely nothing.
Until he wasn't.
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