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What I’ve become – Promote Yourself

stagexxxxx

 

It’s easy to see why the women you’ve become
seems too much
when you’ve been through so much
I
Seldom sit with “content”
but in this overview all i can say is “What If”
my prowess would not be sufficient enough
but then again “what if”
My
Coy side would stop me short of
what could, something that i never understood
me being me is very complex
when it should be an easy role
BUT
Why long to be an audience
When you should always strive to be the main act
it’s ok if you stare long or look deep
because I’m me, i solicit all your needs
compassion attention; while giving you space when need be
Looking
Through your eyes while you speak
lost in all of what this life has made you see
but still intrigued on what could be part of me
I
May not beg for it
but i do long for it
teachings and blessing’s all of it
you inside of me
and me inside of you
lost in each others thoughts
with no monotony
just you having all of me
Now
Back To feeling all alone
in the dark where its cold
on this stage
where i am enslaved
with the past deep down in a shallow grave
But
I have overcame
as Martin Luther king had to overcome
with no bullets and no guns
as my pen and paper moves like yarn being spun
I contemplate my beginnings and i come UNDONE
KNOWING
Who i am
is no different than what i’ve become
Lino Robles
http://www.linorobles.wordpress.com/

Cold water sea change

Unending and bland as the day I was born

And my mouth twice as dry,

With withered digits, buried legs,

And two good front eyes, flat.

But you can tell I love you by the words I say…

Why there is no where to go but up.

You can tell by my tone.

You can tell by the time I spend spend spend

With you.

My God, look at my hands…

Look down at my hands,

You know,

If I were a more sensitive man

I could run around, wild, and we could fix this

City,

By God, it could be a paradise.

My God, look at my hands

And how the blood pours out,

What is it that all this means to me?

What is that it needs from me?

But there I stand in the kitchen, knife in hand,

A silly Jew, slating the beef,

Draws out the blood,

Degenerates the essence

But I’ve said that before.

What good it does…what good it does.

Drawn,

Talk about drawn,

Thin,

Why I can barely feel my hands and feet, up to my elbows

Up to my knees,

Numb…

A phantom pain, maybe, but what good is a memory?

My God

My God,

Is this really me?

A thousand miles down,

Alone, at the bottom of the sea?

Is this really it,

What does your mother tell you?

Is this really all the bother?

A scrap of dried cloud/cloth

To smother out the rest?

A dried up utopia,

Just add water

Brine

Soak it overnight.

Is this really me?

A thousand miles down,

Alone, at the bottom of the sea?

Jesse S Mitchell

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