#underestimate
rejuvenating
the weekend has come and gone
but i am left changed
in the precipice, a never ending dance
i can imagine the lightening hit
i see my perspective each glance towards the open sky
i see my limiting beliefs flicker like fireflies
do not follow the rabbit to warpath
do not underestimate your path
either you or i
either me and them
i cradle lies
you steady feed them
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 12:06 PM UTC
Just because you dont see any effort,
Doesnt mean its not there.
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 2:08 PM UTC
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
Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 12:13 PM UTC
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.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
“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.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 9:37 AM UTC
Her walk is like a shot of whiskey
Neat & strong & full of purpose
And so many underestimate her
punch
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 9:56 AM UTC
underestimate
the power of a woman
and she'll destroy you
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 4:49 PM UTC
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.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC
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
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 1:47 PM UTC
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
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC