“Bare bones poetry” I don’t know my ass from a haiku, or a free verse from a sonnet. I dip all my words in honey when I can, but I ain’t got no bees in my bonnet. I’ll say exactly what’s on my mind, ‘cause it’s just not in me to lie, I’m cool like that, I’m peace like that, I only breathe deeply and sigh. I meditate my way through ignorance, and throw peace signs and daisies at anger and hate. If you’re trying to get me on your bandwagon of misery, positivity got here first; you’re just too late. Now, I don’t know my way around a quatrain, and my groove’s too slow for a tongue twister, but my pen’s like a gat, always firing back, I guess you could say I’m one badass poetic sister. I can’t say that myself, humility just won’t allow, I humbly back into the shadows, as my pen steps forth and takes a bow. I write what flows thorough me, I write exactly what I feel. I never, ever give you a false emotion for applause, and you can best believe I don’t steal! So, what you see is what you get, my words are always from my heart. Straight from my soul, spilled in my ink, these words and I will never part. You can take what I write, and put your name upon it, but it still comes from my own ink-soaked mind. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so thank you, darling; you’re just too kind. So now, I’m letting you see all of me, I’m giving you X-ray eyes. This is some brown bag truth for ya ass, I don’t serve up sugarcoated lies. I’ve got faults, just like everyone does, no one’s ever the best of the best, I’ve got angels giggling in my ear, and I’ve demons, I just can’t seem to put to rest. I know just who I am, or do I? Shit, I guess I’m having an identity crisis, too. Along with my daddy issues, and ego trips, and abandonment fears, if I’m gonna be all true. So, I opened the book of me, let my closet creak wide open. Let my chakras air out, my skeletons dance, and my story be truthfully spoken. Ahhh. I feel much better now, that I’ve shared some of me with you. Don’t be surprised if I write more volumes of this, I can’t wait to get started on chapter 2. The moral of this here, is… you just gotta be you. No one can do that better, but if you’re not sincere, we’ll see right through. Poets have a knack for this; we can sniff out real, raw emotion. So if you’re fake, do us a favor and shake, so we can keep it pushing in poetic motion. Pictures are great, music is nice, but to make you close your eyes and feel me is always my goal. This is bare bones poetry from me to you, consider it a selfie from my soul. Lisathapoet August 7th, 2014
Posted on: Fri, 08 Aug 2014 16:02:13 +0000
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