Throbbing, pounding,
Growing in intensity.
Every sound magnified
A hundred fold.
Even the slightest ray of light
Is a stabbing pain.
I do my best
Trying not to concentrate
On the pulsating pain;
But it’s so concentrated.
On bended knees I rock
With my head cradled in my hands,
Hoping to ease the torture.
Nauseous and aching,
I cry through the pain
Cursing this body
That suffers migraines.
By: Linda Duncan
© 4/27/2000

I look at the beautiful countryside
I feel the refreshing breeze;
It's like feeling God's presence
Whispering through the trees.

It's amazing to think such a tiny seed
Could grow to be so tall;
But miracles tend to happen
When God's in charge of it all.

How can you look at a sunset
Without knowing He is real;
You can feel His presence
If for a moment you just stand still.
The beautiful brooks and rivers
Flow freely through this land;Everything is beautiful
When created by God's hand.

I walk through the beautiful countryside
I feel the refreshing breeze:
I give God all the glory and honor
As I praise Him on bended knees

I follow the paths that man’s created
Until at some point I see;
There’s more to this world then what meets the eye.
The cross has shown that to me.

I look at the rocks and boulders
And I see how strong they are,
But I stand on a solid foundations
That is so much stronger by far.

Though at times I’m engulfed by the shadows
And it grows darker each minute by sight;
I know I’m not afraid of the shadows
For I know they are cast by the light.

As I walk each path reminds me Lord
To look with spiritual eyes;
Let me show your love and at upon
The needs I realize.

Keep my thoughts upon you Lord
To be encouraging in all I do;
Help me walk humbly to live a righteous life
And to be an example for you.
© 4/25/2015

I can't hold you
Like I really want to,
Hold you
Where my hands
Could leave imprints
That will not be easy to forget,
I can't caress you
Like I really want to,
Trace every inch of you
A map that leads
To the stars in your eyes,
I can't love you
Like I really want to,
Ardently consume you
A feverish attempt
To absorb you,
But for a moment
Intensely rage
Against the night sky
Feel your soul
Bubble beneath your skin
Peel like a sunburn,
But I can make do
Just being next to you...

APAD16 - 017 © okpoet

Will you write me
A poem?
Something for me to read
When you're gone
And the days get lonely
And the nights become long?
Will you write me
A poem?
For when I cannot Love myself?
Will you write me
A poem
To show that you care?
So that we can last until the end
Of time
As words
On paper.

My white privilege is being proud to be black
I am white so I can be over the top and outspoken about being black
I can say whatever I want about whiteness
and
or blackness
It is self criticism
nothing to do with anyone else's assumptions
black lives matter more than white lives
is the mantra I use to self medicate
pick yourself up by the bootsraps
making black children excited
instead of scared
from the trauma of a racially imbalanced
world of whiteness
in a world that legally denies its traumatic process upon its victims
a society structured on the denial
that whiteness is a mental illness

My mother told me that you can't cure depression,
that taking pills wouldn't fix me and taking six instead of the one the doctor prescribed definitely wasn't going to speed up the process. But then I met a boy who tasted better than Sertraline. He made it easier to get out of bed. He kissed me like I was alive, like I wasn't empty, like maybe there was something left inside me. He made my bones ache less when he touched me. He made it okay. When my world was crashing down around me, he picked up all the pieces. When I stopped breathing and tried to tear open my veins to find the last bits of happiness left in my veins, he was there to lace me back together. But he left and I haven't washed my hair in three weeks.

My mother was right.