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i'm more of an optimist now
than i was as a child
i've seen past my own walls
and have decided i will walk
as far and for as long as i want
someguy 2d
You knock on the door, you cry and you fight,
You take a sip form a cup of somebody’s lies
You rage like a kid, you laugh and abuse,
Try to make all those fools see the stupidity of their own rules

Others don’t get, they don’t hear nor dream
To find deeper meaning in things that they see
To explore this life on their own cul (***)
Feel the pain, agony, thirst and again be refueled

With pleasure – drop of rain, winds’ kiss on your cheek,
Rivers’ flow, roses’ smell, suns’ bright shine on your skin

Describe the emotion, state of mind, things with words
No, old language won’t fit here… must invent new, my own
With more of a meaning, and passion in it
More precise, more refined, and no “censorshit”

God I shall doubt, folk I’ll despise,
Contemporaries shall call me “spoilt little child!”
I won’t pay attention to those hypocrites,
My work now is done, pay attention to the…

My gift to this greedy, rotten, sickening world,
It’s this book of poetry, which shall speak in my stead when I’m gone
For I talk through the ages, through decades of time,
Now genius I am, and this is a testament of mine
memory of Arthur Rimbaud
Jules 3d
When I was a child, I had all these hopes and dreams.
I believed I was capable of anything.
But now as I'm older, the realization of the world around me finally sinks in.
Those fantasies and stories I once knew became sad tragedies that'll never be my life.
But something in my mind has shifted.
The color and brightness have once again come back into my existence.
Has the world always been so colorful?
It was the way you looked at me.
The look in your eyes sparked a feeling in me.
Almost as a renewal.
My inspiration came back.
And I just wanted to say...
thank you.
I am an African child
Born with a skin the colour of black
Bright, brilliant, Strong and bold; I'm gifted, blessed and Talented enough to be the best

I am an African child
Sailing far from my home,
traveling to America the land unknown.
Scared and lonely I can only wait,
for the white man I am filled with faith

I am an African child
Sold to the white man
Captured in metal shackles
Work all day and night
I am so afraid
The big white man captured me
Will I survive this?

Often the target of pity
My future is not confine to charity
Give me the gift of a lifetime;
Give me a dream, a door of opportunity;
I will thrive.

I am an African child
Strong, Fearless, Resilient
Son of Eidangbe the Great-Grand father, and Grand father Ugbozorba  the father of Ogudu, and Eluede the father of aziagbemin son of the soil.
Rich in texture and content
Full of potential for a better tomorrow.

© Godwin Valentine 2019
This poetry is a piece about the live And childhood of the the African Child, growing up in the early 80's and 90's wasn't a very good experience for the African child as he was surrounded by so many vices such as slave trade and and human tracking but regardless the African child remains strong, fearless, resilient and full of hope, not letting his immediate environment affect his potentials, the African child is blessed, he is successful and he is the real definition of childhood, and I'm proud to be black and I'm proud to be an African... The names on the last verse are my ancestral African father's names originated from ancient city of Benin...
Jack and Sill
Swallowed a Pill
Ran up to the Hill
To kil* a heavy Monster

Jack shot and Missed
Sill shot and Killed
The ugl* heavy Monster
Let's Cherish Childhood.
Oh I don't like Hello Poetry's system of automatic selection and marking of offensive words and displaying it as ***, because it often fails.
More often it marks those words or parts which are not at all offensive. It fails to understand the context in which the words has been used.
To avoid this I have myself tried to put *
I was the light you had to vanquish
Just like your light once was
For I was too much like you
To ever earn your love

I’m sorry for what you went through
They were wrong to take your smile
But being haunted by your own monsters
Does NOT give you the right to be mine.
You became the monster under the bed. Never will I do to my children what you did to yours.
sidra Sep 29
A childhood spent playing around caskets,
peering at the mournful glances,
leaving flowers in several hundred baskets
daughter of a funeral home director
Jay M Sep 25
Living like a ghost
Walking by all I know
Hiding from everyone
Denying I need anyone
To walk alongside

Night falls
Darkness reins
Emotions overcome
Control the individual
Curled into a corner
Embracing a comfort
An object from childhood
Absorbing rivers

Still, child cries
Still, child hides
And still
The heart dies.

- Jay M
September 25th, 2019
annh 1d
He is a child who covers his eyes with peep-hole hands and thinks himself unseen; he talks softly when the multitude shouts out loud, and hums sweet tunes to
block the trembling arpeggios and clashing riffs of humanity in discord.
He is overwhelmed by the silence of life's unspoken words.
He is a listener who also has something to say.
He sees into the hearts of men.
Will you let him

if you will, Shy,
of what lies within the hearts
of men - unspoken thoughts and peep-hole
tremblings - the whole of life’s silent and unseen somethings.
Softly now; block out the discordant shouts of the clashing multitude.
Close your sweet eyes and listen to those tuneful arpeggios and undercover
riffs. Talk to me. Can you hear the sweet sound of humanity humming out loud?

‘My feelings are too loud for words and too shy for the world.
- Dejan Stojanovic
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