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Just because you dont see any effort,
Doesnt mean its not there.
Im trying, I really am. And they always seem to ignore that part, but never the mistakes.
Colm Nov 2019
Volley with the moon
A ball
.
Stretch as horizons
Stretching out
..
Leap until the stars, your ears
Are all about
...
And never fall
Push back the creeping ground
....
When you’re tall, be tall
And strong
.....
When your voice is alive with song
Sing loud
......
And when they say, your hammer strike has lost its might
Pour down a rain of blows like a bursting cloud
.......
Showing all the might and rush of youth
In a Springtime unexpected so soon
........
No anvil ever lived without a thousand strikes
Or snowfall ever cared for open eyes
.........
Because where you see them looking up
Strike, with a forceful meaningful down
..........
As if we were never meant to be
Anything but alive
...........
Arise, and find your former self
Awake alive, your hammer rise
Wow, this one really exploded off the tongue. I don't usually do this, but here's what it means to me.

The dots show progression, a line by line growth of boldness and spirit.

As for the individual sentences - You should practice often, and stretch regularly in reflection. Dreaming for yourself, big dreams (this is the best way to live). And in your pursuit, you shouldn't be calling a failure a failure. Instead push back and learn from your mistakes. When you are something, embrace it. When you have cause for joy, be joyful. And when your joy is contested; push back and battle through adversity. Show the hungry newcomers that their youth is no match for your seasoned fire. Just as no winner has ever won anything, first without the loss. And when the time comes to execute, let yourself be free to unleash fury. Competing with a vengeance that'll show you your body, mind and soul aligned. Here I call you to action, my most passionate self. Arise.

I love competing.
Marlene Bailey Jun 2018
There’s something about the black women in I that I can’t figure out.
I wake up in my bed every morning wishing I could go out and spend time with my friends
Without some disrespectful ***** yelling at me:
“Ay, yo ma!” or “What a *****, mama—let me taste you.”

I’m sure my name isn’t Ay, yo ma.
I’m sure I’m not your ma.

But I used to blame myself for that.
I used to tell myself that all those men were attracted to me because of my body.
I used to tell myself that, if I ever got *****, it would be my fault.

Every day, I’m inspired by all these Black queens out there
Trying to save themselves from men's speculation—
But I seemed to be more on the men's side than the women's.

That’s why I started to hate my body.
But deep down, I was sure my heart didn’t match what my brain said.
Didn’t match what I thought.

Because of men’s disparaging opinions of me,
I began to hate my body,
The way I dressed,
The way I spoke,
The way I expressed myself…
The way I wrote.

I used to open up to others so they could understand what was happening,
But the women I spoke with seemed to agree with the men just as much as I did.
Now it wasn’t just the men calling me “*****” because of how I dressed—
Now it was also the women making me feel ashamed.

I realized that women could also be sexist.

All this time,
I’ve been hating myself for the opinions of people
Who might be worse off than me—
Economically, socially, physically, or mentally.
And I knew it.

Still,
There was something about the black woman in I that I couldn’t figure out.

I’m not going to lie—
I started dressing again like I did before.
I talked about whatever I wanted without fear
Of being labeled a ***** or a *****
By the people I spoke to
Or the ones who overheard.

I was finally following the example of all those Black women who inspired me.
I felt free. Liberated.
I no longer feared the critical eyes of the men and women who once made me feel so small.

But we all have a weakness.
Mine was myself.

I no longer needed anyone to say those horrible things to me,
Because I said them to myself.
I woke up every day telling myself how disgusting I was,
How no one would ever love me—
Not with the way I am,
Not with the color of my skin,
Not with the way I think.
Not if I’m just… me.

My friends tried to help.
They gave me advice.
They told me things like:

    “I hope you realize how valuable you are, so you don’t let anyone underestimate you.”

But the only one underestimating me…
Was me.

I always try to be strong for the people who love me.
I always pretend to love myself so they don’t worry.
I always keep in mind that I don’t want my daughters to go through what I’m going through.

It’s difficult—
I know.
But I have to do it.

Maybe that’s how I’ll learn to love myself the way my friends love me.
Maybe I can overcome all this and become the great woman I want to be.
Maybe I can teach my brain that what it says about me doesn’t define me.

I am sure that I’ll achieve it.

But even then—
There will be something about the black woman in I that I can’t figure out.

And I never will.
I wrote this in 2017 after a man told me I was cute for a black girl
Jessica Jarvis Mar 2018
“Why does she write poetry?”
“She must be in love...”
“I wonder who she’s writing about.”

My words are more
than mindless infatuation,
though they lend themselves
to this tendency.
For instance, I wrote this
in less that 5 minutes,
because “love” isn’t the only
motivation to my poetry.
Don’t underestimate
the intention of my inspiration.
3/18/18

The poem speaks for itself, or, at least I hope it does.....
Daisy Rae Jun 2017
Her walk is like a shot of whiskey
Neat & strong & full of purpose
And so many underestimate her
*punch
She is strong.
taia Apr 2016
underestimate
the power of a woman
and she'll destroy you
not to say men aren't powerful as well, because believe me, i know that men are a force to be reckoned with. i'm just saying that it's almost expected of men to be that way, but women get underestimated frequently.
K Balachandran Jan 2016
A cloud of passion from above, signaled to him
to kiss her  burning lips, that look like lightening ,
blindly in love with the ever evasive ethereal swirl,
waiting to be on a date with her desperately for long,
he did it quick; a powerful surge  never felt before
radiated  through him, at  that impromptu moment,
he flew up and dissolved in a flash. without a trace.
Young and naive is what they thought
as he was the boy who wouldn't talk

He silently listened to what they said and all he'd do was nod his head.

His gleaming eyes always wide awake;
the boy in the room with so much heartache

They often said he wouldn't succeed for he was different
weak with trembling knees;

But his inner strength, it truly showed the day he spoke out and let them know

He let then know that he was strong
He showed them all that they had been wrong  

Never again would they not believe that a boy so different could not achieve
WickedHope Nov 2014
I am darkness, I am fright
The deep blackness of the night
Nothing seen, nothing heard
Unpopular thoughts, my spoken words
Invisible until you feel my stab
Don't play games with me, I'm a match to be had
What the hell am I doing?
Words are so complicated.
I don't know what this is.
Just pretend it's not here,
shhh, now.
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