I stood inside a moment,
where people just walked by—
They ignored my presence,
as if I was in disguise—
•
I seek minds of reflection,
and tell of,
they rhyme.
•
I can feel through the music
that breaks up the distance
of quiet finds.
•
I am strong
and filled with force—
I awaken my insides
and ask them
to run their course.
•
I find myself in moments of truth,
when life swings over
and corrupts the vine.
Creates notion of relation
and altered states of Kind—
I trust in the humanity
of a Rainbow,
so few—
It becomes fluid to me,
and I,
furthermore,
manifest proof.
•
I am the White Rabbit,
The Vanilla you smell,
when you go to bed early,
as if a Band Aid could tell.
•
I am appreciative of Love
and all the Might it brings;
I am full of Love,
and I know it seems…
…like maybe so,
maybe not,
I resemble
a girl all alone,
or maybe a salmon,
who watched the 2000’s
strip music chiefly to the bone.
•
I open my throat filled with blue— radiating the tribal sound
of all Truth,
as we observe Hope
get to be of knew.
•
I have so many friends,
and they all have a pH level
of ’67—
so acidic;
they seem to be okay
with poetic mention.
•
I feel I am just;
I know I am full
of beauty and gust—
I unlock the Floor.
•
When I fall through the surface,
I find something dear,
a moment of dance—
a moment I dreamed of
so clear.
•
There is a dove that trails me,
and writes up my mind,
who creates synchronicity
then tells me, I am blind.
— a monkey on a string?
— or a blonde full of guilt?
what is the difference,
besides how society views our skill?
•
But,
I step back,
For I manifest my own reality.
I am dignified in the way I walk
and seek true authenticity.
— — I, first, wanted a soul — —
another that could save me
(from this Hell I concentrated),
but invisibility is a cloak
of a wizard never traded.
I know my worth times three,
and I see you in perfect fallacy.
Supposedly, I died when I was 16,
therefore, this world I live in
will never control me.
•
I am strength;
I am lion to the bone.
I believe in Water reconciling
in waves of flow.
… I make a joke of myself
—A Fool for the Sky
who wanted someone to admit to me
that my wings could expand and fly.
(The clones are getting closer),
I can feel the shadows growing opaque.
I put my intent into the fire,
and happy I am
when I blow out that which conspires.
•
My senses are flared,
so, CUE*,
it is — is
to adjust— —
my traction
to my inability
to rise above the morning’s crust.
> Stop! < I remark
on the value of tries.
Possibilities are true,
but actions must be not,
because I get stuck in myself,
before removing my personality’s rust.
•
I am Gold.
I am Copper.
I am Silver lining the barrel—
of a sword
that stops
with the ending
of the carousel.
•
They all laugh at me,
as they trot on by
and act like I am crazy,
just like Bertha,
who gave losing herself a try.
[I am a rose enthralled with theme]
THE POLITICS OF KENDRA 