self-expression
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We are built from everything
you told us we couldn’t be.
You told us we couldn’t be loud
so we screamed in silence and
everyone heard.
Poetry is a form of self-expression
It helps release aggression
It’s a way of telling a story
Innamorato, I think. I am in love.
A loaded word, I know,
but it is not out of context,
or fake or artificial or lacking.
It is real,
and it is unwavering,
and it is alive.
Sincerely, the rejuvenated people.
This is a letter to self.
This is the bulldozer for self-hate and poor reflection.
Golden sunset lemons, twinkly sliced
unlike the first time I ran my pen, and eyes, dry.
Puckers and sighs against a luminescent sky--
only dreams back then, something to imagine.
A sick bliss, bubbling
Spilling out over me
Staining and settling
In holes, in the cracks
All the locked in got out
Now it’s boiling out
Now it’s staining and settling
In holes, in the cracks
Can't youcan't you seeI got a dreamjust to beme, myself, and ICan't youcan't you knowI am alivelivingto get by
I’m complicated,
Yet easy to read.
I may be a follower,
But I can easily lead.
I am everything you wished for,
And nothing you can picture.
I’m the lethal disease,
Behind the curtain
Beneath the skin
it's different than what's in front
Out for others to see
Eye contact feels like lasers
When people are staring, it feels like the world is closing in
Who's hiding behind the locked door?
No one seems to hear me.
Who's behind the curtain?
No one seems to see me.
Who's hiding behind mask?
No one seems to see who I really can be.
Why are you hiding?
Discovery meet, most sweet substantial,
A grim victoire in sober fierce,
Which knowing in its talent fines
To piercing use; the cup hath brimmed
And overflowed in talent honed,
Let me mix my colors
with yours
it’s the human triumph and universal theme
to get the better of your wounds
and turn them to scars
Let me blend mine with yours.
Maybe I write because I like the feel of it.
The click of the keys
All the power of a God on a blank page
The uninhibited command held in my fingers and my mind
Except I fumble over the language I speak
Who do I write for you ask?
Well, life doesn’t stop when you’re tired
Or when you’re sick
Or mired
In all of the work, the relationships, the demands
It snowballs and grows
I have a relationship with the sun.I have been growing upward.The roots I have, came from the currents and the moon.And still I grow.I grow stronger with each eclipse.I grow calmer with every sunrise.
I write for me
To show everybody
Who has ever been mean to me
That I have a way to get my anger out
Without doing unto them what they have done to me.
I write for me
