I'm a Growing Woman

Wednesday's Poetry Prompt: Write an approaching poem.  3 Hours & 1 Minute In between a thousand rays of the sun  and cumulus clouds, I have three hours  and one minute to dream about how far  Dominican Pesos and a series of Hola,  Como Estas! can take me from between a  rainbow row of sleek Spanish colonial  and modern buildings to a vast stretch  of white soft sand and clear turquoise  cool waters as the breeze of the island  hugs my luxury bones and bronze skin  while I first French kiss a Coco Loco,   a La Dominicana and then a Santo Libre. While a plate of La Bandera performs  the Bachata on my American native tongue,  the Merengue and Dominican Dembow  request my Motherland hips to dance out loud  without any daydreams of the contrail clouds  left behind in the sky. 💜D'ElegantOne 

Wednesday’s Poetry Prompt: Write an “In My Blank” poem. all in my feelings somewhere in the heart of my mind, between the mobility of the bones in my body, im all in my feelings. and i’m feeling some type of way about being ignorant of the fact that i can’t draw them by height or weight, color them by numbers or label them fast as the world label the human race and behavior. are they softer? are they brand new or old hard feelings? i’m somewhat too remorse -ful to recall, but careful to remain attracted to this ebb and flow of life. becoming more comfortable with troubled waters as i cautiously float through the tidal waves that birth joy out of pain, sprout vulnerability out of fear, and stir confidence out of confusion- keeping the lifeline of my heart in the hands of heaven, keeping my head at rest in the skies of peace while my chest is protruding, taking a million deep breaths of courage as I rotate my greatest strengths to kick, push, swim through the grooves of these indisputabl...

Wednesday’s Poetry Prompt: Write a balance poem. Libra America cross dresses as Libra but she is no innocent lady of justice. Born a Cancer,  she is an aggressive malignant tumor to her own indigenous. Her deoxyribonucleic acid make-up 250 years plus of heavy weight melanoma. She is the notorious queen pin of oppression, known for tipping the scales  of justice to outweigh  the African chattel. She breathes a declaration  of independence  but the eye of her soul sketches the roots of her insecurities. With excessive blood on her hands, she’s no natural, true beauty. Her freedom rings a far-flung rhythm of blues. Her genes never inherited the alleles of equality and liberty. Her harmony, absent from  the bodies of the children  born to her... And  We the People   only identifies as plural to the singular,  lighter version of herself. With her right hand over her heart, she lip-syncs the pledge of allegiance proudly in her Jesus' blood and...

Wednesday Poetry Prompt: Write a rule poem.  My Rule of Thumb I always been good at  playing by the rules even when it comes to my left hand  not knowing about my right. Whether in the heart of my dark  or in the dazzling of my light, without fail, genuine insides,  never phony in life. I love humanly as loudly  as God loves me. My only secrets: unbroken mutual bro and sis codes. I'm caution and watchful  to not bend or break what  can bend and break me. Grateful to have listened  wholeheartedly to the lyrics  of my mother's life because  my environment and lineage  proved she sung words  of inspiration and affirmations  best before I could begin  to tap dance to the music of life's test. I'm still growing thorough and meticulously, more and more each day because  I learned love and trust are like braids- they can go from tight to loose ends. Both can walk or run away together or birth a fork in the road....

Wednesday Poetry Prompt: Write a picture poem. picture this in a slow motion setting no fancy classic metal or wooden frames [picture this] enslaved Africans rising like the sun and the moon genuine black stars no longer in secret reading and writing English praying in tongue not waiting for Juneteenth building a novel Noah’s Ark naming it Motherland then fleeing the Americas [picture this] Jim Crow never born soiled whites and colorful fine linen and cotton are the only separate but equals [picture this] the bullets that missed President Obama missed  the I'm black and I'm proud   flesh of Martin Luther King Jr., Medgar Evers, and Fred Hampton too [picture this] Greenwood District conceived and perceived as a yellow brick road to blacks not green with envy to whites [picture this] from the beginning Carolyn Bryant telling  the truth and Emmett Till  survives the heat of the Delta in Chi-town he throws  the first pitch at a Chicago Cub or at the Jackie Robinson...

if i wasn't black i can't imagine waking up stretching my limbs imitating a body of Christ  with the eyes of the devil & a despicable tongue  doused in hate speech  & a heart full as the moon  streaming cold blood living in memory of a heritage  notably celebrated for the oppression  of black men women and children  every damn day of my life  💜D'ElegantOne