I don’t consider myself a poet by any stretch of the imagination, but I have dabbled and played with words. Here are a couple of things I have written. At the very bottom, you will find my favorite poems from Def Poetry Jam (HBO series).
I feel creativity as a root impulse, a mighty need, a drive;
dependent on me because it’s an expression of what I carry inside-
positive or negative, pleasing or not…
Do you think I care?
I have tried to be an imitator, the highest form of complement.
But other artist’s styles, the feelings they express in paint,
it’s not mine.
My creative impulse is one that says, not what I want to say,
but always what I need to say, because my head gets in the way,
but not my hands.
I end up with a thing I may not understand, but it’s mine.
My voice, my choice…
And I choose when to share it.
Here I stand,
waxing poetic in my confusion, floundering about in this illusion we call real life,
As if what I had to say didn’t matter
‘cuz it’s drowned out by the incessant chatter of the world.
“Be this.”, “Do that”, “You can’t be gorgeous if you’re fat.”
And yet I am.
Because nature likes curves.
And mine give me the nerve to create.
To bring forth my truth, to satisfy the burden of proof that I am real.
That I belong.
This fire I carry inside won’t be denied, it’s my power-
and the only way, it’ll get taken away is if I give it away.
and that’s not happening.
I am here world, and I ain’t going anywhere!
I retrace the patterns of my life,
It’s not all bad, or all good…
I only wish I understood
The lessons behind the suffering.
I see I need to dedicate time
To the nurturing of my soul,
Since I constantly seek to be made whole
By unsuitable partners.
It may also serve me well to note
I am not responsible for the world,
Nor can I spend my days curled
Up under blankets and comforters.
Balance, then, must be the key!
For I wish at my demise
To be like the Phoenix and rise
To a higher level of being.
You make me retch,
You make me gag,
You make me cough and spit;
You give me gas,
You make me ill,
You make me feel so sick!
You’re such a pain
I’d call you zit
But that’s just too damned kind!
You’re nothing but
A piece of shit,
A real pain in the behind!
What makes it worse
Is that I did care
And you took all I could give.
The lesson’s learned,
I’m glad you’re gone.
I’m just sorry you still live.
family and friends gather;
i’m here for the food…
slow specific sigh
as the wind blows through my hair
i feel you growing