Remember our portfolio of poetry?
Our call and response.
I would write
You would sort of reply?
I stapled them all together
So glad, so relieved to share
Something at last
I stopped sharing at the end
You claim you have written two since then
I have written more than I can verbalize

And at the end
At the end of it all
The sharing felt so good so right
I convinced myself in the morning and in the night
But it was always me calling out
Awaiting your weak inauthentic reply.

Someone had to say it.
That gray area between black and white is so full of those lost in contemplation.
Without a doubt,
someone had to dig the moat that divides this sandcastle from the ocean.
The goal isn't to keep the water out,
but to let it surround us in a symbiotic relationship.

Someone had to do it.
Allow the sun to burn their skin in order to determine the value of a brand new tint.
A stint of concentrated consternation never did anyone no good.
Someone had to bite the bark to test the quality of the wood.

Somebody, somewhere,
traveled through light years just to glean a glow on a mystery that had always been misunderstood.
Someone had to go there first so that the rest of us could know.  

So here's an ode to all pioneers;
the bravest,
and most bold.

I am not a weakling
I am a fighter
Those are not bruises
Those are trials
These are not cuts
They're battle wounds
That's not blood
It's freedom
I'm a Freedom Fighter


  ~Corona Harris~

Sometimes anger boils inside of me.
My heart is lava and my love acidic, but I still laughed when they called me an The Idiot.

Sometimes Happiness doesn't win.
People say keep your chin up, but how am I supposed to do that when an Anchor is tied to my thoughts, dragging me deeper into the depths of depression.

Sometimes the knife knocks at my mind.
I can't help but to make the cuts thrive and everyone is trying to be kind, but little do they know the thought of that knife still resonates inside.