When I tell my story, the past unwinds.
Poet me
Poetry
That’s the treasure that you find.
A narrative woven from threads
of joy and tears, As words flow forth
like a river's stream I relive each moment,
relive each dream The highs and lows,
the twists and turns A story of growth,
of lessons learned
When I tell my story, I find my voice
Whether you listen or not that’s your choice
I said whether I like me or not, that's your choice.
At the end of the day I will tell my story
I rise with the sun
I let my melanin glow
Rhyming and vibing as
If I did it before.
where every thread is a memory,
a moment, a choice.
The fabric of my past is fragile,
prone to unraveling,
yet resilient,
for it has shaped the person I am today.
I find solace in the knowledge
that I am not alone
With each spoken word,
I confront the ghosts that haunt me,
In my mental home.
When I tell my story, memories unfold,
With every word, a chapter's spun,
Of laughter, tears, and lessons learned, begun.
inspired to write what I like
an occasion an insight
a person or light
but she comments constant
harassing no compliments
visiting me on
her fizzy grape seed
insulting nasty and lastly
she's ghastly
I bet in her last life she gassed as a Nazi
and then she tells me to leave her alone
one escaped the mental home
fruity little loop cake
A smile moves across her lips
She gazes at her crime
A scar across her flesh and soul
To haunt her for all time
She’ll waste away for all she cares
Never stops to use her brain
Doesn’t care about the ones who are close
All she cares about is pain
She wants to be what the others expect of her
Doesn’t care about the self-respect for her
A rose can’t be a forget-me-not
Can’t she see what all she has got
Already?
Never to go back again
She feels the world is at an end
She will never show her grief
Although she’ll cry in empty streetS
She’d sooner live like a desolate mole
Living in fear in an empty hole
Screaming silent wails alone
Content to live in her mental home
A final tear falls from her eye
It hits the ground, it’s followed by
A beautiful body, mutated by hate
A kind word could have stopped it, but it is too late
One two many bricks in the wall in her mind
Molding her demise because her heart was blind
This self conscious being could never have won
For she was destroyed by the beautiful ones
She wouldn’t fight back, wouldn’t respect herself
In the end, she managed only to wreck herself
A rose can’t be a forget-me-not
Little did she know, she had all she had sought
Already
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