They ask why a poet such as I moves my hands in directions,
You assume I'm just feeling my words. So I'm here to make the much needed correction.
I move my hands up and down to show my affection.
My gratitude, You can say because I cannot offer my protection. Because in the end we were just humans drunk off the idea that hugs and kisses would make the Boo boo go away, but one day your name didn't make me smile anymore.
I pause and clasp my hands to find another way to word it, truth is an awful thing and who fears it is who heard it.
I question if censoring would do some justice.
suddenly my communication skills just feel so rusty.
Then I realize,I'm relentless!
I am me, and that's where the truth will breathe.
I don't need a mentor!
Who am I trying to impress?
Spoken hearts do much more than clouded thoughts or my words that got lost like Waldo.
I circle my hands to represent the waist of females who have been lied to a size zero with a cheeky ass is not mandatory, and you can be beautiful without it but it's demanded more than the bible... jeez.
If my hands move to fast and I start to speak gibberish just snap and smile because a melody is in the making. The world is big and it's mine for the taking.
