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Clevia Bedeau Poem
They say I’m rich.
My head held high and swinging hips
belie despair
nose in the air
denying thoughts of childhood demons
that lurk deep within the creases
of my conscience.
I turn outward for
accolades and tainted praise
to validate my living,
but harsh words like stones
bruise my dark skin.
Yet still I limp along, this solo jaunt,
Forlorn.
Moments of reflection
turn to trepidation,
that’s when it comes.
Shhh… knowing hands
secretly tug at the hems
of my innocence,
gone.
You say my shame defines me.
Wasted years of wonder
and senseless blunders
fuel my cry.
I fear when knowledge finally comes,
my light is gone.
They say I’m rich?
Copyright © Clevia Bedeau | Year Posted 2011
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Clevia Bedeau Poem
SILENCE
In the midst of silence
regret feeds,
devours my soul and
churns my conscience.
Simple things,
desires that caused me bother
You ask of me to share with you my time?
Putrid thoughts of me
complicate my living
whilst my soul laments
the loss of smiles
of love, of you.
Amidst the silence
Guilt begins
to fill my lungs.
I gasp for truth
and rue each waking moment.
The void has brought me clarity
Does clarity beget absolution?
But time slips by and
yet still I mourn
The loss of smiles
of love, of you.
Copyright © Clevia Bedeau | Year Posted 2011
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Clevia Bedeau Poem
I have a secret
Sometimes I feel like…. I’m not good enough
Like I somehow fall short
of what you think I should be
So when you whisper about my ‘picky’ hair
and my sun-kissed black skin
Ignoring my light
that radiates from within
That’s when the ‘feeling' sets in…
This sensation of being some sort of wooden marionette
Jerking to the rhythm of someone else’s drum
Wishing, just wishing, that someday I’ll be
For a day….an hour….one minute?
The real me.
It’s okay to be different you say
Be true to who and what you are
come what may
Then why do you keep creating these moulds that I can NEVER fit in?
How can the real me,
feel free,
to emerge from within?
That’s when the ‘feeling' sets in…
This sensation of being a chameleon
Changing my colours to the whim of the wind
Hoping, just hoping, that someday I’ll be
For a day….an hour….one minute?
The real me.
Then, one day, just
Realisation dawned
Are you perfect?
Do I really need to be?
Don’t we all stumble and fall?
But then we rise, we soar
And triumph above it all.
That’s when wisdom sets in…
So when I look and see,
this sea of wooden marionettes
Jerking to the rhythm of someone else’s drum
I scream, “STOP!”
Stop wishing, and hoping, that they’ll like what they see
Just be you
Then let me
be me!
Copyright © Clevia Bedeau | Year Posted 2018
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