I don’t need to smell like Indian Fruit incense, wear backpacks, walk instead of drive, or have some sort of visible plight to be a poet
I can straighten my hair, drive a high end car, eat caviar every night with a glass of dry red wine and be authentic.
A poet is a prince or princess ordained by explanation of circumstance
Ordained by the ability to paint with words
Ordained by articulation
Ordained and maintained by the exercise of mental physique
They are strained and stressed by the mundane
A poet is irritated by imbeciles decked out and camouflaged by struggle.
A poet is favored by the gods of resilience and chosen by God to tell a story
A story that brings tears
A story that causes laughter
A story that strengthens
A poet is the shit
A poet doesn’t know how great they are until they see others struggle to do what they do effortlessly
A poet eases others into their heart and absorbs their pain
I know mothers who work 16 hour shifts.
I know mothers who wrapped coins to buy their lunch so their children could have steak for dinner.
I know mothers who iron sheets so you sleep better.
I know mothers who will mend your clothes and hand wash them.
I know mothers who start Christmas shopping in July.
I know mothers who video chat their children on their breaks at work.
I know mothers who dream of their children.
I know mothers who cook 3 meals a day …every day.
I know mothers who didn’t get a chance to watch their children grow.
I know mothers who are mothers first and women second and who completely forget that they are at all, human.
I know mothers who want everything.
I know mothers who never get anything.
I know mothers who know they are privileged to be chosen by God.
I know mothers who feel burdened. I know mothers who would do anything for their children. I know mothers who don’t know what to do with their children.
I am privileged to know you. I learn from you every day. There is a chance for a miracle in the life of a child every day. We hold a responsibility every day along with great fathers to build up dreams. We hold a responsibility to see a new sparkle in a little eye. Celebrate EVERY day.
Economic warfare within thine own self
Leading to self destruction
Wants, needs and luxuries
The rhythm I walk with
Flows with such confidence
Even if it need not be
The block is void of light
Pockets are weightless
Just aint right
Close your eyes to avoid frustration
I’m surrounded in the brightness
Of copper colored pennies
To have but never want, pennies
Got all the dollars but never had the sense to know what to do with them
Never reminded of how spoiled I was
Now I’m surrounded in cents, pennies
Three jobs and three dollars
Work sleep work sleep eat bathe work sleep
Faint with insomnia
Weak with stubbornness
Bored with “insufficient funds”
Saturday broke again
Payment due on the first of next month
2nd of next month, broke again
So what do we need? Realism
What’s more real than copper colored useless pennies?
I’ve always loved water. Maybe I like it because I’m a Pisces. Had a great day today. Couldnt help but notice the blades of grass that were slightly damp from the brief stint of rain we had this afternoon. Water has a calming, purifying, therapeutic way about it. Its unlike any other element. Dug this poem up from 1:32pm August/3/2004
Waves from the discontented overwhelm me
I swim towards my former self
I cry but no one can see my tears
I try but my efforts go unrecognized
I keep swimming, for the struggle
seems to be my only purpose in life.
The current is so strong
and my weaknesses are becoming evident.
I escape the dangerous paths of predators
though my greatest conflict is person versus self.
I want to live above the dark murky water
With my own eyes, may I see the bright light that all of the free world is familiar with?
What is it to be free?
Is it to lay lifeless in hope for a re-birth?
Is it to be forced to breathe under the surface of clarity