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YourNightLight Feb 2015
He.
Weighed me down like a white feathered dove with solid steel chains wrapped around the wings.
I.
Begin to have faith that I am the lowly krill of the deep blue sea.
God.
Gave me a beating heart and working mind.
It.
Beats like a solid gold drum and works like a thunderstorm of colors.
You.
Gives strength when I  am frail,
Forgives when I fail,
Made a second chance.
He.
Can't stop me now.
I.*
Found god.
That is Jehovah.

©YourNightLight
Dedicated to my real true love Jehovah who has been there with me through so much and has done so much for me. I Love You Jah!
  Feb 2015 YourNightLight
ShamusDeyo
This is a poem......
you don't have to read.
You're busy at home
watching Cable TV.
On Twitter or Facebook,
reading all the minuta
that comes down the feed.
My words may be little,
my words may be small.
But, each and every one
of them, I own them all.
Some will take time,
and others will pass by.
These words will be mine,
till the day that I die.....JMF 2/19/15
I think my inspiration for this was Dr. Seuss, if you think about it he is the Foundation of a lot of Poets by exposing them to it at an early age

All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
  Feb 2015 YourNightLight
LETITFXRING
My heart continues to beat for the  seconds,
With all the  scars  it has
It continues to  love  
Because that's all it knows


                      ♥
I never think much about the fact that I am black.
I know I am black.
Like I know I am a girl,
Like I know I am an American,
Like I know I am nineteen.
It is a fact; I am black.

I hate when people say I am not.
My parents are black.
Their parents are black.
We are black.
Look at my skin,
It's dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not be black?
I am black.

I hate when people say I don't 'act' black.
How does one act to be considered black?
How am I acting? How is it not black?
Look at my skin,
It's dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not act black?
I am black.

I hate when people say I speak like a white person.
A way of speaking is not exclusive to race.
I am not white.
I do not speak like a white person.
My words are coming out of my black mouth.
I speak properly,
The way my black parents raised me to.
Look at my skin,
Its dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not speak black?
I am black.

I HATE when people say I am a white person trapped in a black body.
I have NEVER heard anything more insulting.
I am NOT trapped.
This color is NOT a cell.
I wear it proudly.
Look at MY skin,
It is DARK and it is BEAUTIFUL!
How could I ever be trapped?
I am black.

I am in no way white,
Nor do I ever want to be.
I am black
And black is beautiful
I am black; that is never going to change.
  Jan 2015 YourNightLight
Fiona Mae
Take it Back
She don't know how
The room loses light
Sound vanishes, no faint echos
Just silent and dark
Take it Back
Breaks the silence
She don't know how
Through the dark she feels a stare
Frigid and demanding
Take it Back
This is her last chance
She tries to say it
She don't know how
All warmth gone
Take it back**
This is all she regrets
The absence of this action
Leaves her to be on her own
She don't know how
Childhood years full of green grass
A little girl free of care, full of spirit
The mirror was forigen to her gaze

Middle school girl feels abit queer
She found her body to be changing
She feels the mirror’s light stare

High school girl is made of glass
Body stuck in a delusional freeze frame
Everyday she tries to hide what the mirror dreadfully enhances in her eyes

Bathroom visit to throw up her enemy
Gym routines that can't ever be missed
Troubled truly by her magnified flaws

Last summer at home spent in bed
Hospitalized from the demon she let in
Her heart grows so weak, she'd be dead by next week

She breaks all the mirrors that messed with her head
She eats her first meal praying it will stay
She enters her college revivied and refocus on books not just body looks.

Girls you are all beautiful no matter your size.
  Jan 2015 YourNightLight
ink
The artist adds another stroke
Every night

He hates to see his paint
wasted on such an ugly canvas

He tells himself
Maybe tomorrow I wont waste it

But painting has become such a habit
that it seems like he cant stop

until all his paint
is gone
try looking a little bit more into it
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