Emily, you know poems are not just written words. They are the soft taps of reassurance for everyone that it's ok to be imperfect, unique and misunderstood. They are...
Chokers of assorted lexicons, Furnished within spherical diamonds, Morphemes of sundry lengths, Within gists so deep and shallow, Encased within solid gilded framework, United together with mazarine love, Hangs around the fragile nape, With yen to be adored and exalted.
Pleasure, rosy outburst in the cheeks, Cheeks blushed with crimson kisses, Kisses trailed a curvy path, Path adored with humps so resplendent, Resplendent enough for the digits to stroke, Strokes of perspiring patterns, Patterns into ruby red mosaics, Mosaics of shattered, forlorn soul, Soul frolicked with moans, Moans owing to unflowering the petals, Petals groaned exhilaration, Exhilaration drenched with ambrosia, Ambrosia breathed a sigh of pleasure.
I have seen patriarchy bloom in the crotch of women's that spurn blood of bigots. I a daughter of woman like such, Refuse to bloom , into the what they label custom but blooms a flower of misogyny . Slowly, I've seen my mother Naming me a rebel.
If we are to dissect the anatomy of a poem I wonder if it would be raw reflections and authentic carbon copies of our unfiltered thoughts and jaded beliefs, not just a random face wearing fancy masks aimed to please a crowd and a bunch of hypocrites. Do we always nail it when we pluck the perfect metaphors and adorn our poems with mind-blowing analogies?
We know poetry never fits in the four corners of a box, it takes more than digging graveyards and diving deeper into the ocean floors to decipher the essence of what's hidden between cryptic rhymes and lines.
At knifepoint, our imagination is a womb, pregnant with poems yet to be born and when a poet comes along, the world gives birth to poetries that let us peek into life's frames and angles and dip our toes into a realm where words have wings that take us into a quest that breaks boundaries and stereotypes, poetries that let us speak the language of our soul, poetries that live, grow, and die with & within us.