Details |
Maurice Thomas Poem
Voluptuous with thick thighs, plump or plus size.
Thicker than a snicker, yes she’s the bigger picture.
There’s no way to describe with unaccepting eyes,
A body made perfectly ample to handle.
She’s unapologetic and makes no disguise to hide,
Her rubbing thighs walking with head held high.
So who reflects on her stomach being a tad bit overly comprehensive?
She’s not a Q-tip or a toothpick, but rather an hourglass containing more sand.
Physically she’s what society has deemed obese, fat, a blemish to beauty from
a televised social point of view.
Though you will never see her grace the cover of Vogue, or Cosmopolitan,
She’s the modern day Osun.
No longer will I allow her to be ashamed of self, but rather I’ll encourage her,
Wealth of self-worth.
A pretty face is only the beginning, sweetheart love the handles you wear, for your
image was derived from the mind of the creator of humanity.
Whether the expression used is plus size or curvy, love the skin you’re in, be yourself
don’t let the world dictate your shape.
Because you’re the goddess in someone’s dream, transpiring reality.
Curvy Ideal!
Copyright © Maurice Thomas | Year Posted 2017
|
Details |
Maurice Thomas Poem
Mr. Officer, Mrs. Officer, here’s a message from my heart that my mind can’t halt.
This is the first and last time I plan to chat with you, please pay attention no talking Sir... Just listening.
Every time I turn on the news I see another unarmed black man or youth slain.
And it keeps happening over and over again like a TV show with a new actor every episode.
No Academy award, golden globe or revenue, just another blemish to the death toll with No prosecution.
Fabricated evidence of feeling threatened to justify the action of killing defenseless children.
And yet you want us to trust you, but I ask when will you start putting your trust in us?
Looking at my son and daughters wondering, will I have to tell them to tread lightly?
You’ve already contracted 2 strikes due to the pigment of your skin?
Only to hear them reply…Daddy you said Black is beautiful…to what do I reply then?
That their dreams may be shattered due to social inequality, that hatred generates countless problems… but never resolves them.
America I’m scared. And yes I know All Lives Matter, but all lives aren’t being televised or slaughtered.
We make up 13.2 percent of the US population, but yet it’s our kids being sent to prison or an early mausoleum.
Got me second guessing the constitution… was it ever written for individuals of tinted pigment.
Why are we spending 55 billion on new prisons, but lack the funds to shelter the homeless?
How is it that 14 beautiful black princesses go missing, and yet were following tweets about the president’s hair piece?
So when you justify the population, you say humanity. Tell me how humanity derived race just because we don’t look the same.
Ethnicity is a man-made term, so racism was given a platform of man trying to diversify its existence.
Asa, Allah, Jehovah, Father God why must we define our existence? Can you please stop the senseless killing?
Until then I’m a Black man with kids that I want to see live… Black Lives Matter.
Please stop the slaughtering our kids!
Copyright © Maurice Thomas | Year Posted 2017
|
Details |
Maurice Thomas Poem
Only thing I could ever say, about the way I felt the day I got acquainted with E N J.
Thick hips skinny midriff, her feminine was undoubtedly… an acquired taste.
Brown coating, hazel perceptiveness, lips regale the aura of our fanatical kiss.
I grip her hips to take a sip, swaying in the nocturnal tender wind from the potency of her lips.
Warmth comes over; vision continues to diminish, what has descended upon me?
When I beckoned for help, her sweet aroma enticed aid to steady my sway.
Can you identify my body trembling? You fixate your lips to get a repeated taste…Damn E N J.
Mirage mind play, two hearts beating, two sets of lungs breathing.
Awe man… my cognizance’s playing tricks on me.
Addicted to her chocolate kiss; repeated altercations of nocturnal assemblies between we.
Immersed in fire water, resurrected from her holy water… oh the memories.
Hoping they never fade, our assemblies…Damn E N J
Copyright © Maurice Thomas | Year Posted 2017
|