I'm a Growing Woman

Wednesday's Poetry Prompt: Write a gone fishing poem. Go Fish the Sea to See We you & I Gotta be careful on the ponds That we splish splash in Sometimes-at-times What we reel in our lives  ain't always real Plenty of fish can be fishy Fishy enough to fake the fake looks of a good catch to bait and hook  Just wait & see when casting for the deep Some lost at sea Others be lying dead at sea  before the eyes of seas can see Different sealevels & schools Break ranks From the bottom feeders  to the floaters  With little or no independence  & emotional maturity  Sometimes-at-times  our gills may uniform our breaths & we match in hearts kindness & empathy Maybe a mix & match in stability  consistency respect & vulnerability  Sometimes-at-times  Temporarily love bombed  by the treasures of one's sea without depth & still be entertained intentionally  Just to be caught  in a moment then rel...

Wednesday's Poetry Prompt: Write a competitive poem.   Twice As Good As long as I bounce my own ball in my court, I never want to be twice as good to anyone that couldn't recognize me just like they didn't recognize my ancestors; knowingly knowing all of the cards in the hands of America will always be against someone like me. STRIKE ONE because I’m born female There are men and women that will say I shouldn’t be flexing my femininity or own my own independence like the homegrown voluptuous curves that shape me naturally.   STRIKE TWO because I'm born a darker hue, unlike the mass majority, the lighter version receives no penalty for coaching the rest of the world to loathe the melanin I carry within. STRIKE THREE because my intelligence quotient is fly, higher than a kite; and my tongue can speak and feet can dance   in the depths of parables. When I, once and for all, only want to be as good  as me, myself and I get greater  between the silver lines of...

Wednesday's Poetry Prompt: Write a slump poem. The Blues I caught the blues  Not by an ocean or a sky They came with no rhythm  Out of no where out of sight Like notes from the grooves  of BB King Muddy Waters and Etta James I feel them deep inside my veins Sprinting from the north  to the southside of me Can't you see? Every feature on my face From the furrow of my forehead to the lukewarm bays of my eyes  The Blues leaning heavily on my smile  Even my lady lumps  are drooped and slumped  They dangle to the east And jangle to right Without my bones  hootin' and hollerin' about Through the sunshine  and moonshine Until I shake a tailfeather  to shout them out 💜D'ElegantOne 

Wednesday’s Poetry Prompt: Write a fantasy poem. Too Real to be Unreal They say all heroes don’t wear capes. Fact, none of mine ever marched or spoke in a tailored wool, velvet, or satin one.   All I ever saw was African descents, Black refined diamonds gleaming at the valleys and mountains of redlines; planting solidarity at the feet of picket lines in their natural born ebony skin with smooth extremities, robust like onyx; their elevated intelligence quotient always interrogated, mocked, and doubted; and their comprehensive voices, in range like the Mississippi mass choir  in sync for the people. They were far from being popular, commercialized holiday figurines. Not ever seen like an Easter bunny, but they regifted the new life  of emancipation to a black kid like me. Not once a Santa and Mrs. Claus but they delivered real immeasurable magic of innovations, inspirations,  and institutional development  to a historical bloodline  and timeline for a l...