Words Much Like Poetry

by Kerri Miller I ain't scared to be sensitive I may take but I also give that's just how I've learned to live bottled up emotions can cause a big explosion get it out n keep on going so u can see results of the seeds you sowin'. Can't be anything other then myself you can take the time to read between the lines or you can just place me on the shelf either way it's okay I'm accepting the pain more like the quote of no pain no gain. I can no longer remain weak let these tears streak my cheeks cuz I got to succeed I got to find me find my meaning relentlessly wandering down life's crooked path deciphering the good from the bad but end up confused by the math I close my eyes and get taken back memories unfolding my past set me sideways from making it last shoulda, coulda, woulda but I didn't and you don't and I will but you won't. Tug of war is the best description for how I live and what I envision. Tired of the games pointing and names driving...

Is this my new beginning, that point where old roads close and never drift again into the lane that I've now forged? Is this where the grand pedestal I've placed my independence upon finally stops quaking? I'm braver now than I ever was, though the fears still lurk in the darkened corners of night. I want, I need, I must, I will! I will, because they need me to. Because if I don't then there was no point in taking the risk.

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." ~ Dr. Seuss

"Each new generation born is in effect an invasion of civilization by little barbarians, who must be civilized before it is too late." ~ Thomas Sowell

brief glances, imparted under flirtatious design, the sizing of possibility's true measure, drift irrepressible speculations to the forefront of a perplexedly sensual mind. those musings—of scalding pressure, applied in desperate finesse, to the gracious curves of woman's bend— set nervous lips to smiling in frank longing as pins prick blushed and dimpled cheeks.

it is not that I do not thirst for knowledge or pay mind to the concept of the day, but at times it seems as if that territory, that place where issues coalesce then spill forth, is as foreign to me as the moon. I cannot expound in writ upon the dark man, about the drudgery that was enforced upon him, and the poverty that then befell him. nor can I construct rhetoric, drawn of a century and more, whereupon the grand tale of his struggle to find dignity in a world which seemed designed to vilify him would find me acclaim. only in spoken exchange can I extol my thoughts on how he has redefined his talents, the dark man is no longer a universal object of disparagement, now he is close friend and perfect complement to that which was held pedestaled above the reach of his competent palm. and the ability that was always his due, as it is woman's due, has not stopped old glory from snapping sharply in the breeze.

a starburst does not forget, no matter how bright its flame; it does not burn away the thread of memory. it consciousness, of brilliant orange spectrum, can still envision, with fiery inner eye, scenes of wrenching pain; its feverish epidermis can still sustain hurts; its seething auricles can still drink in insults, murmured in the barest of whispers, insults which echo timelessly in loud orbits, artificial satellites that resist destruction, close as they are to the devouring element.