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Seanathon Nov 14
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.

There’s something about the black women in I that I can’t figure it out.
I wake up in my bed every morning wishing I could go out and spend time with my friends without any 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 am 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 get *****, it was going to be my fault.

Every day I’m inspired by all these black queens out there trying to save themselves from man speculation, but I seem to be more in the men side than in the woman side.

That's why I started to hate my body, but I was sure that my heart did not match what my brain said, what I thought.

Because of the men's disparaging opinion 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 that they understood what was happening, but the women I spoke with seemed to be as much in agreement with men as I was. Now it was not just the men calling me "*****" because of how I dressed…now it was also the women making me feel bad.

I realized that women could also be sexist.

All this time I have been hating myself for the opinion of people who could be worse off than me, whether economically, socially, physically or mentally. And I knew it.

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

I'm not going to lie, I got dressed again like I did before, I talked about all the subjects I wanted without fear of being classified as a ***** or a ***** by the people I was talking to or the people who were listening to me. Now I was following the example of all those black women who inspired me. I felt free and liberated, I did not fear the critical eye of all those men and women who made me feel bad about myself.

But we all have a weakness.
My weakness was myself.

I no longer needed anyone to tell me all those horrible things that people used to tell me, because I told them myself. I woke up every day telling me how disgusting I was and how no one would be able to love me because of the way I am, because of the color of my skin, the way I think, because I am myself.
My friends tried to help me, giving me advice, telling me things like "You gotta love yourself baby, hope you realize how valuable you are so you can’t underestimate yourself", but the only one underestimating me was myself.

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

It's difficult, I know, but I have to do it.
Maybe that's how I will learn to love myself as my friends love me. Maybe I can overcome all this and be the great woman I want to be, maybe I can teach my brain that what it says about me does not affect me.

I am sure that I will achieve it.

But even there, there's going to be something about the black woman in I that I can’t figure it out.

And I will 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
WistfulHope 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.
Frank Ruland Sep 2014
What a pathetic game you picked to play
You're perception I will eviscerate
I'm not the man you think I am
And you're not the King you claim to be
I'm above persecuting petty pawns
Today, I don't know right from wrong
No mercy-- I'm  not holding back
Penance will be your repentance
You'll pay for your lack of pensiveness
I will wallow in the spoils of war--
Reminisce of your downfall when I'm bored
This was never a game you could've won
And I won't stop the pummeling until I'm done.
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