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My eyes are different from yours. In a sea of ignorance, one might look upon me and feel I must look like the rest of my racial background. Are they too lazy to see the amazing sight before them? My eyes are different from yours. Everything about me screams uniqueness as I breathe. I am a mahogany person. From head to toe, I see the reflections of those that came before me in magnificent hues of brown. I look into my own eyes and become entranced by the orbs of truth and hope. I let my soul flow out my lips and laugh life into being. My eyes are different from yours. I don’t feel like I must be bound to my mahogany skin. I know what it feels like to be a human being beyond color. Nothing can take that from me. My eyes are different from yours. I can see tomorrow. My smile lights up the day and my long black lashes flash intrigue into to the void.
This is one of my UA poems. Written before 12-7-2012. Mahogany is the color I believed was the color of my skin. I think I'm more of a Mocha now. I'm still trying to figure it out.
I never understood the squirrels around this place. Their behavior is horrible in the extremes. I remember a squirrel that laid on his belly in the courtyard and didn’t move for a significant amount of time unbecoming of a squirrel. Did he not know he was making a scene? I’m pretty sure he didn’t care. Because there he laid, for the namely masses to past and stare. Then there was the time I was riding my bicycle, minding my own business. A squirrel was running and hit my leg and petal. I was so shocked I couldn’t believe it happened. What did I ever do to that squirrel to warrant such a random attack? I’m lucky I didn’t fall over in fright and injure myself. If this keeps up, I’m pretty sure the squirrels are planning a united ******* to ruin my mental state.
This is one of my UA poems. Written before 12-7-2012. Squirrels are strange at the University of Alabama. I guess they are too use to people.
I saw a butterfly today.
Fluttering in daylight
Jewel of the sky

I was compelled
To speak with this butterfly
To know what thought
A butterfly would have

With her colors shifting left and right
Making the world jealous of her beauty
With an arrogant air
She ignored me

Stayed out of my reach
I eventually gave up.
My march no match for the vibrant colors
That loudly ignored me as I chased

As I tried to catch my breath
I found a moth on a bench.
She did not run away when I sat next to her.
She looked to be off in thought or severe concentration.
But my curiosity was stronger

“Why are you sitting here?”
                                            “I’m blending in to confuse the predators”
“Is it working well for you?”
                                            “It has thus far”

I examined the moth and found
Her artsy array was a profound example
Of nature’s artistic talents.
Browns and mahoganies and siennas galore.

“Why are you different than the butterfly?”
                                                    “­She is flashy and loves the attention. I like being invisible.
We each found something that works for us.”
To each its own I suppose.
This is one of my UA poems. Written 9-2-2010.
I never would have imagined the weather that day. Sure, the weather the day before was pretty intense, but let’s face it. It was a short tornado warning with little damage. Yet it was the weather the next day that caught my attention and interest.
I awoke to rain. I love the rain. Rain is one of the natural creators of this planet. Through the rain, the plants gain water. Through the rain, the pollen and the dirtiness are washed away. Through the rain, the weather changes from hot to cold. Through the rain, the atmosphere is tranquil and relaxed. I love it when it rains hard. It is the ultimate stay in weather. It makes me want to sleep or meditate.
Today, however, the rain was not as hard and not as predictable. I looked out my ***** beige shutters out into the world. I wanted to make sure it was the rain I heard outside my window. I saw the green leaves of the trees across the parking lot and the bushes in front of my window. I saw the black of my small parking lot asphalt, and my car, named Larry, after my father. It was his car first, then he died, and it became my car. That was well over a year ago. I miss him a lot, he loved the Crimson Tide more than I.
The sky was the color of melancholy gray. It was probably depressing for some, but I thought it was lovely. So I settled in my mind that it would be a rainy day. I also didn’t want to start the day, but I knew I had to. Life waits for no one, least of all me. I procrastinated for a few minutes, staring at my plain eggshell walls and my bumpy off white ceiling. Above me was a very tiny black hole, the size of the smallest part of a round chopstick. On the closest wall there are more holes, the size of tacks. I wondered how they got there for a moment, and then I decided I would create a magnificent story about them and how they got there one day…
As I was well lost in my own random thoughts about…holes…I suddenly noticed the light through my blinds were becoming brighter and brighter. The sun was coming out of its melancholy gray hiding place. This was unusual however, because within minutes the sunlight intensified. I could tell because the light got brighter between my ***** blinds. I looked outside and saw that the watery curtain I had become so fund of had lifted, leaving a veil of water everywhere. So the day decided to be a sunny day now. I was a little bummed, but sighed and got ready for the day.
About 20 minutes later, I came to find it was raining again, much harder than before. The watery curtain had returned. By that time I was confused. The sun, in all its magnificent glory, was out a few moments ago. It had to still be there, it was daytime. The sun was shining, at full force no less, less than thirty minutes ago. And it was now gone. I didn’t understand. It was being so unpredictable, like weather can be I suppose.
When it came for me to finally leave, the clouds had returned. From that, my imagination wandered. Was the sun and clouds at war today?  Could the forecast not make up its mind today? Was someone in control of the weather playing around? Was God having a story told to him that made him laugh and cry multiple times in one afternoon? The sun showed a little while the sun was out. Sun showers I guess they would be called, but I know them as the time the Devil beats his wife for trying to escape. One day, I hope she’ll have the nerve to beat him senseless and leave him; then again, it was just a story to begin with.
The weather would be wishy washy like that all day. All in all, it rained and stopped at least 5 times, maybe even more. By the end of the day, I felt the weather just couldn’t make up its mind as to what it wanted to be. So it decided it would just do both.
This is one of my UA poems. Written 10-28-2010. I wrote so many poems about weather before April 2011. I guess I don't anymore since the tornado...
I remember when
School was a good word
Spoken about through child to parent.
School is a word
A four letter word that has connotations
Of obscenity and frustration.
There were the fires. Three in my memory.
5th grade, no one to blame but wires.
7th grade, no one to blame but a random man.
8th grade, no one to blame but students smoking.
There were fights. Many fights.
One that stands out involved a teacher, a student,
A parent and her sister, and a gun.

There were elementary days.
Those were the times when I was young and naïve.
Those were the beginnings of my troubles, but
I didn’t realize. I was too young.
There were the girls that pulled my hair
During my slumber party.
There were the children I tried to play with
That would not play with me.
I never knew why. I found out later…

Ah, the 6th grade. When all the schools came together.
I met what would be my entire age peer group.
It was disastrous. How I was the best, but suffered.
I was the school queen, head angel in the school play,
And a cheerleader. Yet I was an outcast.
There was a girl that told me once
I didn’t deserve anything. She told me
My peers wanted to wrap a rope
Around my neck & sing,
“I Believe I Can Fly” by R. Kelly.
You can imagine the damage that did
To a twelve year old mind.

Then there was high school.
By that time I was evil to the ignorant.
There were over 50 bomb threats in the first two years.
That changed with September 11th.
Though some speculated I was the one
calling the bomb threats.
There was the interrogation of my religion.
To most, I was a devil worshiping voodoo witch.
My ideas of life made me evil.
I wasn’t attempting anything but surviving to graduate
And live beyond the school walls.

To whom it pertains and concerns;
Was my suffering entertaining?
Was my love to learn so hard to understand?
I changed my life after the 6th grade.
I tried to be prepared for the ignorance.
I tried to live in a way that would bother no one.
Yet you found a way to annoy me anyhow.
Did you enjoy making me feel the way you did?
An outsider. A creature, not a person,
deserving of nonsense and suicide?
None of you deserved to see me at my best.
I kept that for my closest friends.
Yet you plagued six years of my life with *******!
What say you now?

I thought of your demise.
I shared it with some.
Then it was all over.
This is one of my UA poems. It talks about my feelings of going through regular school. Written 4-25-2011.
I find myself. Or maybe that’s too presumptuous. I’ve lost myself in my mind. I forgot. **** memory. What was the name of that cute guy who never loved me? There were many, but in this case his name was Richard. I miss the butterflies, but I know that now is winter and winter is cold. I don’t like the cold. When the butterflies return, breathing will be harder.  It’s hard to breathe in spring, one of the many things out to get me. Like opossums. If there was a Hell through my creation, there would be high pitch noises and opossums in a perpetual spring. There would be all my bad memories and experiences, and soul food. I like trees. I imagine they more about time than me. I married a tree once. He cheated on me and I divorced him. Once a tree was clocked by police and was going 15 mph. The police should have given the tree a ticket for being so ninja like. I can recall a time where the trees would attack me in darkness. I use to try to find happiness, like an endless quest for a mystical object. I think I found it now, so I stopped looking.
This is one of my UA poems. Written 2-21-2011.
The elements amazing.
They are numerous and infinite.
They affect everyone and everything.

There is water.
Water washes away.
Water in a pure form hydrates.
We are all made of water.
The world is 70% water
Water is use in cooking.
Water is where we all come from.
The tears of the sky bring life from the earth.
Hot water burns.
Drinking too much water can be deadly
Breathing underwater is called drowning
cold water below freezing turns into a solid form
Freezing is the easiest way to get frostbite
In spite of it all, I love water.
I once told my mother I wanted to be a mermaid.
She told me my father wasn’t a fish.

Next there is wind and air.
The air is invisible.
With air, we live.
The weather changes by the wind.
The wind cries
The carries the smell of life
The wind swirls and moves.
The wind destroys everything in its path

The wind throws things everywhere.
The wind is my brother.
We talk from time to time.
I asked my mom why I couldn’t fly.
She told me my father wasn’t a bird.

Soon there is earth.
The earth is where we dwell
The earth brings life from seeds
Earth is ever-changing
Sand can become glass
Lots products in life come from the earth
Dirt is sometimes hard to wash out.
The Earth spins on its axis around the sun
The Earth is very old
The earth shakes violently
The earth falls from high places
We return to the earth at death
I love to run my bare feet through the dirt
But I have to be careful not to catch cold.

Followed by that is fire.
Fire burns
Fire brought forth ingenuity
Fire makes the world run.
Fire is used to control the world
Without fire, people would freeze
Fire burns in the hearts of people
Passion burns like fire
Blue fire is super hot.
Fire is the core of the Earth
Fire is dangerous
“Only you can prevent forest fires”
Fire is used in smoking
Fire destroys all in its path.
Fire is my zodiac element
I love to play with fire
As a child I played with fire dangerously
My mother punished me to play safely.

Finally, there is static and electricity.
Lightning exist in nature.
Electricity makes life easier.
Computers run on electricity
Static can **** computers
Men are more likely to be struck by lightning
Love is electrifying
Water and electricity don’t mix well
Too much electricity is deadly
I’m sensitive to static electricity
It makes me uncomfortable in high doses.

These are just a few of the elements in life
Without them, life wouldn’t exist.
But each is a destroyer in its own right.
This is one of my UA poems. Written 9-30-2010.
I went outside one day,
Trying to make sense of the universe.
I didn’t believe, at first,
That the answer was in my secure domain.
So I ventured out into the opposite of inside.
This is what I found.

There was a tree.
A cherry blossom tree.
With purple and orange blossoms.
I marveled at the uniqueness.
Then I named it McRae.
I left the tree and went along my way,
But every time I looked behind me
There was that tree.
Ever beautiful.
Ever strange.
Ever stalking me.

I ran and ran,
It followed me.
I threw a rock at it.
The rock turned pink and fell,
Making a sound of metal hitting glass.
The tree jumped sideways,
Landing on a wall and turning it olive green.
I looked closer at the tree.
The bark was blue black and radiant.
It made me smile with fear.

It was then that looked at my skin.
It had turned a bright yellow with hints of red.
I yelled at the tree as a golden bird landed on its branches,
For I had enough of the stalking.
At first, my words fell out of my mouth life blue acorns.
I covered my mouth and coughed,
Hoping I wasn’t coming down with a terrible sickness.
I felt my forehead, and was relieved.
I didn’t have a touch of sanity, but I was half crazy.
I would have to treat that later.
I looked into the soul of the tree and spoke.

“Do you need something?”
“No just following you”
“You looked interesting enough to follow”
“What’s the deal with that bird?”
“It just seems to be there”
“Why are you able to talk?”
“You ask too many questions”

It was then that everything made sense to me
And I decided to go home.
This is one of my UA poems. Written 3-23-2011.
Upon a day the past did meet
My mind beyond a silver sway
All of my future plans defeat
And the present stood in désolé

When I stood to face the  reveal
I found more than I wanted, true
No longer could life put a veil
On my understanding vous

You lied. You’re caught. Unable to
Defend my trust.  You failed this day
To keep my innocence immune
And for that crime you must perdre

The secret here is sorry you lose
My vase is broken, and so are you
One of my UA poems. Written 3-23-2011.
There is a special chair.
It’s not mine.
I like to use it anyways.
It is so easy to take.
It moves
Like a walking pace.
It can go faster,
But not for my mother.

I remember when I first met you.
You’ve been around like anything that’s come before me.
Already there.
The shiny handle rims
On wheels.
It always looked like
A giant silver grapefruit
Cut in half.
The thought makes me smile.
I always thought it was so heavy then
I couldn’t lift
But I could knock it over.
Make the giant grapefruit spin
Faster and faster.
I would have to stop it.
Give it back.
It’s not mine.
It is needed.

You’ve changed a lot
Over the years
Just like me.
You’re still needed.
My mother walks less these days.
I push you more then I use to.
I spend so much time around you.
I’m not afraid.
You’re not mine.

I’ve used you before.
When I was little
I would see how it felt to ride in
My mother’s personal chariot.
It was complicated
To be bound to a movable chair
The way she was.
If I fell over, I could get
Up again.
My mother could not.
You are still needed.
You chariot with silver
Sliced grapefruit wheels.
You are not mine.

You’ll always be around
You’re still needed
Till death parts you
This is one of my UA poems. Written 2-16-2011. My mother is such an interesting figure. She has been in a wheelchair since she was 15 years old. She is my hero. I'll never stop writing poems about her.
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