I am...Scholarhship Slam
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This is a story about a perfect family.
A family with a mother who looks at her husband and kids lovingly,
A father who did everything he could to provide,
You ask me who I am,
And I reply, "Clay in The Potter's hands."
Those skillful hands, forming for some vast eternal plan.
A plan no lump of clay may know.
When He took me from the mire.
I am Melanin
Got melanin?
I do, and why is that such a bad thing?
My hair is kinky; my nose is big.
I no longer wish to wear extensions,
Examine yourself through an objective lens.
What is it that you see?
Perhaps a strong, kind, brave individual.
Someone who is talented, charming, and destined for greatness.
Are you sure? Check again.
I always wondered who you were
I always wondered why
Lost and confused
I was more than Hurt
nearly abused, dark and veiny scars through my shirt
Aching in my bones and shattering of my heart
I am a Artist
I have the talent and power
I will build my my art to be higher than the tallest tower
I am a artist, I am the hand
I am unique, like a pearl among the sand
I am a Artist, I am the individual
It is easy to play pretend in a Kingdom where everyone does so,
Especially when masks are so readily available. Oh!
How beautiful she must be! You see,
There at the top of the stair is she-
Labels seem to have a negative stigma
but they can often have a more positive agenda
Unlovable, Outcast, Incompetent to name a few
are not the ones people ought to choose
Labels can tear people down
I am a wanderer in search of a home
Yet a free soul that wishes to roam.
I discovered suffering
at 18. Not my own
suffering, but rather the
kind of suffering that happens
when people let bad things happen
and do nothing.
Before that I was just
Once I knew an old man who set me on my right path.Little did I know that he’d be the man to write my mapFor a certain goal that I had to bindInside the furthest reaches of my mind.
“Damn, he’s good.
Damn, he can write.
What’s he going to do?”
But I want to fight.
I’ve written so much that I’ve ran out of room,
All this paper and these staples and four thumbrives, too.
I am a bird at a feeder, sampling the tapas of life and never seemingly full.
I am a child in a cradle, waiting for life to envelope me and yearning to go further.
Laying in bed
I can't sleep
There's so much going through my head
I try to fight it
But I'm too weak
So I just lay there
And then I weep
As I mesmerize our times together
