Friday, December 31, 2010

December Revolutions.

Like snowflakes on the tips of outstretched tongues,

My past memories are disolving

Resolving resolutions; revolving revolutions.

This is how the beginning tastes.

Dance with open thoughts

And dream with doors unlocked.

We are the fearless.

And we're creating worlds with our words,

Painting universes with our verses.

Reversing the curses.

We're writing it in bloody cursive.

We're typing away the scars and erasing the pencil marks,

Bleeding away the broken hearts.

This is the start of something beautiful.

All this gorgeous ugliness blinded by ignorance.

We are the limitless.

They could have never written this.

Bliss enlaced with twisted minds;

There was never enough time to say hello

So we said goodbye and let our souls die.

Blind and deaf; our senses were out of tune.

Immune to cold nights, missing the chills that

Went up hopeful spines.

We discovered realms unknown.

We hold the dreams that deferred in Langston's poem.

Blown by winds that hummed us to sleep

During the nights when the wars kept our heads

Spinning like the worlds axis.

Taking the time off to sit and relax

It's important to understand our purpose.

We did not resurrect to conspire;

We're here to inspire.

Build pathways to minds that have seemed to retire.

Tired of the mainstreams; we're creating oceans to

Open dreams.

We're here to sew back the ripped seams

No more sympathy for those who play innocent like symphonies.

We are the epiphanies of your broken records.

And we stopped listening to your sad songs when

You got our characters all wrong.

We're the strong and the weak.

We're arteests

Speak new languages that we earned painfully.

We hold keys.

And you would not imagine the magic our

Pen's have.

This is the revenge of poetry.

And we're coming with pages filled

With melancholy ink.

This is what we have always wished to be.

Spilling pennies into waterfalls.

These childhood memories are

Beginning to fall.

Calling all poets; we will survive.

And will not compromise with the illiterate.

This is for the musicians. And the struggle.

This is for Lauryn Hill, and the rebirth of souls.

This is for tears never mentioned

This is for the overlooked and the taken advange of.

This is the virgins who's blood has been shunned

By men who thought sex was fun.

This is for the beginning.

And we are standing with our arms in the air

And our fists clenched.

We are the believers.

And even if the sun never shines again,

We know this is not the end.

This is for the beginning.

Because every war has a victory

And we are the epitome of a lesson learned.

And we have earned every single scar

We've ever written about.

We are not just crying.

We are spilling our souls because we know

Someone out there is listening.

And please understand that we hear you.

This is for Ashton.

The pure soul with wounds that have never recognized.

I will wrap my words around yours and we

Will change history.

This is poetry in it's purest form.

Sworn to secrecy; i'm spilling all my ingredients into your lap.

This is for those who's voices have been choked

By hands who provoked love but never showed love.

This is for the dirty and pure.

The confident and unsure.

We will soar.

Past the imperfections, past the accusations, past the mistakes and we

Will fly.

Love, Tianamonique.