I'm a Growing Woman

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...

Wednesday’s Poetry Prompt: Take the phrase "Back (blank)," replace the blank with a new word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.  Back in My Heyday (Back in My Day) Am I too young or not old enough to say back in my day like my grandma and them? How far can four decades of living a best blessed life can take you down memory lane without you and I holding hands, skipping between the beautiful lanes of simplicity, innocence, and joy- where I was a minor in a major World Wide Web daydreaming on my white and floral printed daybed where I consumed micro soft dreams and prayed that they would grow bigger by the day like my Windows. You know, way back, when you could Yahoo me before you Googled me. You could page me and I call back on a wired Sprint phone that my single, working, collegiate mother paid in full for. If lost, you could find my nosedived in her encyclopedias, atlas and college books. You could dance the Roger Rabbit, Cabba...

Wednesday's Poetry Prompt: Write a travel poem.  Wanderluster   Right before my feet says "I was here" and the ocean  waves goodbye after wrinkling  my toes and fingers  the sun kisses the leftover  rivers on my bronze skin dry- I'm already lusting for another country  Wondering about how I can wander  through the light and dark of it  letting it naturally take me as I am  as I take it naturally for what its worth Wanting to see the people places and thingamajigs like how I see them shaped and  colored through touch screens Open to hugging a native  to not feel so foreign  Get wrapped up in their  languages like its music  to my ears and I'm a beginner  dancing to the beat of their lips  and the click of their tongues  Waiting for their culinary arts  to met and greet my taste buds  make love to the Americanized palate  of my mouth as my African Diaspora  spirit honor their rite...

Wednesday’s Poetry Prompt: Write a panic poem. Panic Button what if my heart was a panic button pressed deeply to the back of my chest for every single systematic risk weighed against the color black and I ran out of breaths to breathe just for its sirens to howl louder than a tornado warning letting it beats per minute spiral out of control for every obnoxious blackout that my black face faced What if every press down released signals to God to personally contact my spiritual network of ancestral angels and they mighty morph like Power Rangers fly out in V-formation sheltering my kindred soul to take avenge for me or summon me like Captain Planet just to say: the power is now yours its embedded in you this earth is worthy of you too don’t burn out your flames to keep another fire lit there is more freedom in today’s winds and the water in your blood is a fraction of our flesh living in the heart of you breathe child.. breathe… rise child fear none and rise 💜D'ElegantOne  ...