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  Dec 2014 Amanda
Aria of Midnight
Twirling on moonlit streets
where their shadows entwine
simple as falling water,
in a world without time.

The scent of lilacs arise
a true epitome of spring left
on their fragile fingertips.
Another older poem, but one that took quite a long time to construct. The language I used is possibly my favourite... it was very deliberate. Long process, but infinitely delightful. :)
  Dec 2014 Amanda
Luna Lynn
you ask me what it's like to be black
and i'll tell you it's a warm soulful fulfilling feeling
like a pair of new Chucks on the hot pavement jumping scotch on a busy summer day
eating cool iced pops and not ever being afraid
and smelling the warm carmel cake cooling on the stove
and the togetherness on a Sunday evening in grandmama's home

but you ask me what it's like to be black
in america
and i'll fall silent of conversation
because as you see history repeats itself
i don't understand why there is still need for explanation
in deep adversaries and hateful unappreciation
here we stand to be questioned by an authoritative negation

and ignorant folk,
why do you ask me such things?
why are you people mad?
why is it about race?

and i'll ask you, why does the caged bird sing?
is he not entitled to his song or his wings?

as green as the earth and as blue as the sky
i will only explain to an ear willing to listen
to a being with a sound heart and a firm mind
because as God as my witness we were created as equal

and for that given right we must die?

i will sit back and in turn ask you why;
i bet you couldn't say
and maybe we will all learn the answer some day
so join me in prayer will you?
join me as i pray:

to the children of Chicago
who can't go out to play
to the sons and fathers of
Missouri and Florida and New York
who will never again see the light of day
to the mother's pain that may fade
but won't ever go away
to the hateful people and their hateful words and their hateful ways
God won't You heal their pain?


they're so ******* us, Lord
now we're ******* ourselves
and on our knees we have fallen
needing guidance and help
because it isn't about being privilged
or living for the light we're consumed in

being black in america is no longer about being accepted as black

it's about being accepted as human.
(C) Maxwell 2014
  Dec 2014 Amanda
Kass
Blue,
This is the color of your eyes.

Hope,
This is what I see within them.

Black,
This is the horrible bit of hatred and sadness in the center of them.

White,
This is the color I see them swimming in.

Red,
This is the color that comes in tendrils beneath the pools of white, a sign of restlessness.

Love,
This is what I want to see in your eyes, and yet it is the only quality that I cannot find within them.

Perhaps I am a fool.

I hope I am a fool.
Amanda Dec 2014
we all do it at some point
our skies darken
our face fall
our sunsets end
we become adults
our parents become equals
our stress levels rise
our blues become grays
we lose what we once had
idk sorry
  Dec 2014 Amanda
curlygirl
Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.
  Dec 2014 Amanda
Hayleigh
How captivating it is
To watch the sun who was told she must love the sky, to defy, because despite the questions why, she knows it feels right, so she kisses with all her might, with all in sight, the earth every single night.
Amanda Oct 2014
do you remember?
i do
when we walked down the quiet pavement
giggling at the other kids who thought they were cool
when we were innocent and kind-hearted
chattering excitedly about stupid things
when you knew you were beautiful
and i didn't have to remind you
when the world was soft
do you remember?
i do
for the quiet nights when you wish you were still innocent
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