She woke early in the day
And wrote all night until her palms were sore
She likes her locks tied up
And it didn't matter to her
What she wore
Sometimes she shaved
Sometimes she did not
She spent hours perfecting
Erasing, Redoing
'Round the clock
Though her eyes weary
And her thoughts were losing
Their steady pace
She kept on. . .
When her pen starts to
Wobble
And you can read
The drowsiness upon her soft
Face
She kept on. . .
Though the crickets were beginning to moan their sad persistent tune
She followed through
She followed through
Her table lamp warm & her tired yawns feather on
Her pen tattooed the paper
Non stop
So on. . . So on
In her bedroom
No one but her and
Outside, sat the moon
She followed through
She followed through
Scribble, Erase, Crossing out
Her pen widdled about
Tearing this page out
Rewriting that
For the millionth time constantly reminding herself that it still makes sense even if it doesn't
Rhyme.
Who am i ?
Who am i?
She asked herself twice in a row
She was a poet
. . . And like a rose her words of wisdom do grow & grow
Though the result sat pretty on the surface her hard work and labor
Lie beneath the soil below
Little did they know
Little did they know
. . . And like a rose she rose
Showing the world the pretty
While her ugly was rooted down
Below.
Thankyou
<3 :)
Let's keep in touch:
Ig: @ magicalpunany
twitter: @ AshantiThePoet
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