Feet shuffling across
Wooden floor
Leaving whispers
In the cracks

Your eyes clinged
In mine
I let you go
I take you back

Your hand rests
On my shoulder
I can feel your muscles
Tense

And when our hearts
They synchronize
Every beat
Makes sense.

Winds howl thru the trees.
Poetry is in process.
I reach for my pen.

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

The secret here
Is not one you can figure out.
It is not palpable, and it is never here at the right time.
It is something that you will stumble upon when it seems like you need it the least.
But if you find it,
but if you focus on it,
but if you dont let it leave your mind,
Then you will see
that
everything will fall into place.

Laid now on his smooth bed
For the last time, watching dully
Through heavy eyelids the day's colour
Widow the sky, what can he say
Worthy of record, the books all open,
Pens ready, the faces, sad,
Waiting gravely for the tired lips
To move once -- what can he say?

His tongue wrestles to force one word
Past the thick phlegm; no speech, no phrases
For the day's news, just the one word ‘sorry';
Sorry for the lies, for the long failure
In the poet's war; that he preferred
The easier rhythms of the heart
To the mind's scansion; that now he dies
Intestate, having nothing to leave
But a few songs, cold as stones
In the thin hands that asked for bread.

Do you know what it’s like
for me
looking at
a half empty
bottle of wine?

It is
Like it is
for a chain smoker
who sees
Cigarette butts on the ground
That are only half smoked.

It’s like when
The alcoholic
Sees the perfect tumbler
with just the right amount of ice
and with the pristine glass craftsmanship
that makes that
Satisfying “clink”ing sound
Whenever it hits the side table or counter.

I SUFFER
When I see such a sight.
And I wouldn’t call it
Addiction
As much as I call it
Jealousy.

For me, it’s torture
Realizing
That people buy the bottle
To get drunk
Or to have fun
Rather than
To forget
Like I do.

The way he touched me
when we first got serious
was much different from how
he touched me at the end
of it all.

His hands used to be soft
and his eyes drank in
every curve of my body,
every freckle of my skin.
He would look up at me like
I was a new adventure,
and I knew that this whole
night of romance was for me-
he wanted me to really feel
how much he cherished me.

I miss those days
immensely.

At the end his hands were
much more rough,
his eyes averted mine.
He couldn't see me as a treasure-
I was just flesh under his own.
It became all about his lust,
his desperateness to feel something real.

And that night that held
a surprise showing of
grins and grimaces and
a couple almost-kisses,
it felt like home.
I am terrified to remember
that night because
I realized something:
His fingers grazed my skin
like they did
in the beginning,
he looked at me like I was new.

It's terrifying because
the only thing holding me together
is knowing that the boy I love
is nothing like the boy I left.
And now that I caught that glimpse,
and now that I know he's
exactly the same as he used to be,
my head is spinning and
my heart spasms in pain.
I was wrong and there are no words
to describe how sad that makes me.

But I made the choice
to walk away from the confusion
for enough time to realize
that I'm okay with being alone.

And even if I were to find someone new,
I would always feel like I was cheating,
like anything I could ever feel
for someone else
would be a lie.
And even if I were to be with him again,
I would feel like I was doing him
a disservice,
like even if I was loving him,
I still wouldn't be genuine enough
to make him feel loved.
I will always and forever feel like
I am cheating on the man I love.

And that's the price I will pay
for the immense disservice
I have already paid him.