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Damali Thomas Poem
I sit calmly in the state of shock, disgusted by my generation.
Precious life that so many struggle to have, kicked aside like a soccer ball.
Abusing the temple of our body.
We the youth, blinded by stardom and greatness, not stopping to realize what is more important.
The laughter, smiles and cherished moments a time capsule of many years ago.
That we once relished and held so dearly to our heart, melted away by the hot blood in our skin.
Step back, and take a look within, not just in ourselves, but of our past.
Life is moving too quickly, we need to stop and smell the roses.
Copyright © Damali Thomas | Year Posted 2012
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Damali Thomas Poem
Reminiscing is a funny thing...
It's what you remember in the past of what once was.
Stored in your memory; reliving it FOREVER,
The good, bad and the ugly.
Reminiscing is a funny thing...
Because its a time capsule, a photo captured of your life--
Stuck in the past--void of the future, so you NEVER move on.
But there comes a time, when its crucial for one to move on; vital to your survival.
To purge all the pain and regret, that holds us back from living in the present. For when we DO reminisce, we reopen the scar, that we thought was once healed--revealed our flash of weakness..
Reminiscing is a funny thing...
Alot can be said, or felt of our past--that's if we choose it. We are the true instigators of our own history.
But, the funny thing about reminiscing is that its not funny at all.....
Copyright © Damali Thomas | Year Posted 2012
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Damali Thomas Poem
Number 2 HB, Number 2 HB, Number 2 HB,
I have know you all my life.
Your slender ORANGE silhouette, dressed in a neat fashion.
Tight laced, tightened up, and tarnished.
So put together.
You break easily under pressure.
SNAP!
I break easily under pressure.
SNAP!
The melancholy, the LEAD, the dread.
Sharpened is my mind like the point, DULL is the enemy.
We are quite the same you and I,
we both unravel after every transgression.
Smaller and smaller we become till there is NUB.
Where are you number 1 HB?
Copyright © Damali Thomas | Year Posted 2012
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Damali Thomas Poem
These hoes get glorified fed with ugly lies need the lord to get sanctified.
What about us girls who are high class and have pride? Are we extinct, when did we lose our ability to think?
I feel we few are on the brink.
Men, who praise virgins, but seek vermin.
A contradictory life which is so mundane; two heads and only one brain.
Talking about you want this and that, but no education and nothing but the clothes on your back? Brothers need education, not the hoes, drugs and guns y’all be chasing. Education is your passport to explore the universe, tired of seeing the young in a black hearse.
Sisters, what a mess y’all created loose behavior that you dominated. Hating our own, when we should be the queens that you up there on that throne. Getting by just to get by, living as if you don’t care if you live or die.
A hoe is a tool, not what should define you. You define you. Keep that in mind whenever that mindset decides to control you. What we do now dictates our future, we are our last hope.
Copyright © Damali Thomas | Year Posted 2012
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Damali Thomas Poem
Sinking deep into the abyss of the night,
Lonely and cold, surrounded by darkness that many fear to venture.
I am not feeling, nor sight, or touch.
My body sinks so happily in its black and inky descent.
Relentlessly seeking a new life.
Copyright © Damali Thomas | Year Posted 2012
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Damali Thomas Poem
I never told anyone about my other half.
I keep her locked away in the mazes of my mind.
But when I’m not too careful, she comes out like a bullet out of a barrel.
She is coaxed by the devil’s brew, where she is invited to come out and play.
It all started when she first let it kiss her lips.
It slowly drips down her throat, and into her vessel.
The intoxication seamlessly mingles in her mind.
Her peers and comrades watch and look on,
As she transforms,
Transforms into a being that she can scarcely remember.
She is not herself anymore, but a fragment of who she wants to be.
She lets the pressure become too much, that she forgets who she is.
Let me tell you who she once was,
She was brilliant,
She was unique
She was strong.
Now she is a shell of her former self, a flower that once rose so gallantly.
Now faltering and withering like olden tombstones.
Copyright © Damali Thomas | Year Posted 2012
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