Voice

Hey love,

Here's a new piece from a collection I am currently working on. In this piece, I used the word 'poetry' for every place I would put 'voice(s)'. This was a fun exercise and I hope you enjoy!

 Voice

I raise my poetry.

From the chorus of the poetry of the inner city

comes the poetry of single mothers, of fathers

eulogies

sad, sad poetry.

Don’t you raise your poetry at me.

Going to have to convince a little ray of sunshine

that she

that he

has poetry.

They grow up, get jobs and forget that they have poetry.

A poetry that over time becomes heavier,

more burdensome to carry

and deeper.

Please don’t raise your poetry at me.

Young girl pregnant,

not ready to be a mother

but ready to make a try for it.

Gave birth to stiff poetry, verse that couldn’t make it.

Young man

not ready to be a father

but ready to make a try for it.

Lost scripture, maybe his god.

What’s the meaning of life

when everything seems to want to stomp

the poetry out of your lung.

Broken, broken.

Don’t raise your poetry at me like that!

Use my inside poetry at school and by desk lamps where I know it won’t hurt.

Take my outside poetry up a notch when come time for the gathering

of syllables that grind and rub and twist, shake and shout.

Or when Mother Nature writes her poetry:

whole stanzas lifting trees and buildings.

Knocking roofs and doors off the hinges,

belching in the skies.

Her poetry raised high like the tide of a monsoon.

Sad, beautiful stanzas,

my God written in verse back to me.

Found when I dare to use my poetry

to write all the wrongs He made right.