Exclusive Ink

Author: lwortley

  • HOW TO LOVE

    by PAULA

    Like a lioness on the prowl for prey,
    The blackout surrounds
    But sunrise must come.
    A star, flickering so
    Clearly above, love is unlike
    A figment of imagination.
    Unlike the gumdrop forest of Candyland
    With sugary tendrils
    Floating in the mist.
    It’s more like Chutes and Ladders
    Love
    Has ups and downs
    And sometimes it just had to start
    Over.
    Like the glass-tipped scales
    Of a pinecone in Mid-November
    True love endures.
    Through the trauma of winter,
    April’s dew
    Will
    Make the scene.
    A vicious cycle that prevails among the
    Most stubborn of storms.
    I
    Want a love
    Like that.

  • EVOLUTION OF MY LIFE

    by KRISTEN

    As a little girl nobody told me how
    Hard it would be;
    Didn’t tell me that I would be bullied,
    Get hurt, and let them make fun of me.
    But the thing they did tell me is that I
    Would be something;
    Told me follow my D.R.E.A.M.S and
    Let no one tell me different.
    In the evolution of my life, I would
    Move from being that shy girl to
    A shy girl who can sorta speak her mind.

    I started to let music, poetry, and
    Dance influence my life,
    So now I let music fill my D.R.E.A.M.S,
    POETRY grab my hand, and DANCE lead my way
    The evolution of my life is the three above
    MUSIC, POETRY, and DANCE.

    I use to be the one who would be
    Afraid to say hello, talk to new people
    And be me.
    Now I can do the above,
    I let music fill my D.R.E.A.M.S
    POETRY grab my hand and
    DANCE lead the way
    Will I revert to the old me?
    Quiet, shy, and nervous?
    NO!

    I will be loud, courageous and spontaneous.
    The evolution of my life is and will
    Forever be MUSIC, POETRY, and DANCE.
    I am Kristen Dominique Newman.
    I am eighteen.
    I have evolved into a mature,
    Yet fun young woman.
    I do let music fill my D.R.E.A.M.S.
    POETRY take my hand . . . and
    DANCE lead the way.

  • CHAINS

    by KEITH

    These chains cease to hold me down,
    Though I am chained by the law.
    I glide high above the
    weights of the world.
    Freedom is a state of mind,
    So my freedom is endless
    As the earth’s horizon.

    My feet have not ever touched
    The filth of society’s violence
    And complex manners of thinking.
    I am superior to you,
    You who are ignorant.
    So gain wisdom and fly with the birds.
    To see my fellow person fly is a joy,
    For their happiness is also mine.

    I am past the planet, so the world’s weights
    I once had on my limbs are now vacant.
    Can too much freedom drive a man into insanity?
    Stratosphere is my dwelling ground,
    But that can’t hold me now

    So I suffocate in bliss,
    For the death of me is inevitable,
    For the sun is near and
    She the air denies me.
    The earth will not contain my corpse,
    For reality cannot confine me.

  • DEAF IS ALL I’LL EVER BE

    by ELYZABETH

    One day I woke up and Everything changed. I thought I was normal, but that thought went away. I was scared, scared that I would never be the same. I thought I would be treated differently. So when I walked into the room all I could see was doctors all around me. I am deaf, deaf is all I’ll ever be. I thought why? why me? Why could this be happening to me? It’s been four years now. And I wonder how, how could this be? I feel how normal this could be. I finally realized that I’d somehow get over the fact that I’m deaf, and deaf is all I will ever be. Being deaf has not taken control of me. Not yet at least. I still have my sense of smell, sight, feel, and taste. If I lost those I would loose control. But at least I lost one and not another. I am blessed with just one and not two, or three. Being deaf does not stop me from being “Me.” I can still be a poet, writer, or maybe an artist. So deaf is not all I’ll ever be.

  • POETRY . . .

    by ERIC

    Reflective poetic objectives
    Outline a silver lining that shines  corrections to wrong questions
    The bottom of the kettle
    Is swept and polished clean by poverty effected
    people that non-comically pick up a pen to write symphonies
    of poetic past enmity’s of their memories of how they were thrown into a world naked shrouded in depression
    Warmth of security of way to channel their thoughts taken leaving a library of thoughts lost in  collection
    Until poetry finally flows them down a river of new direction of recollection
    These conditions that doesn’t behoove the promptly ejected
    Not turning up a brow because of the similar circumstances
    Surprisingly the silver spoons
    By the thrown away side scribing their affections
    Upon the mentally arrested
    Spreading thoughts with a stanza
    Patiently waiting for the community to get it
    Words written in the distance
    can be swallowed through the ears and the eyes
    a fixation flipped to the vixens
    The freedom of speech has many volunteers that use poetry as a vessel of depiction
    So taking on to much to chew is non-existent
    Because the obscure metaphorically can’t be bitten
    Poetry overpowers war it just takes a world to listen.