I'm a Growing Woman

Wednesday’s Poetry Prompt: Write an enclosed poem. seclusion The world is in a time. And I’m in between another time- where we both aren’t ticking and tocking together. I’m locked inside my inner light, hiding from the world’s darkness that’s rotating like earth’s axis, replicating evil, free of charge. I’m breathing happy as heaven- even resting in peace by the light  of the sun, the moon, and the stars. In my deep self-centered space, self-love, self-empathy & self-kindness reaches back for me in case reciprocity is deceased. Cause, I aint got no mo’ grace periods. I’m just giving me the best of me- fighting for the inner misfit. I’m her army and five star general- saving the rest of her heart from old sleeves, down to cutting strings that made her strange fruit in the eyes of a pathogenic world. 💜D'ElegantOne 

Wednesday's Poetry Prompt: Write a summer poem.  A Love Like Summer  I want a summer love surpassing the first 92 days of a spring fling. I want to take a new  heat of passion further than 93 days of an infatuated summer where I can fortunately harvest the highest comfort and sustain the happiest feelings of knowing, being secured,  safe and sound enough to fall softly in love  and the only coldest winter ever is the last  season of the calendar year that him and I  spring warmth together in, side by side.  I want a summer love without a long summer  break of wishful thinking followed by  withering forget-me-nots and sour sweet  nothings that mean nothing. I want a summer love so freshly born into it's  divine season like the juice of a blackberry  waiting to stain the purest essence of love to  the window of my stained glass heart. I want a summer love healthy and sweet  as a watermelon, never too much to hold, ...

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....