I can’ t paint with a brush that well,
But I know how to paint with a pen and an ink well.
My words form pictures that pictures themselves couldn’t describe.
Your photograph may be worth 1000 words.
But my words share the value of gold.
Still, I cant find a word to describe my future
It seems like no such word exist in Japanese, English, or Swahili diction
That I could boldly frame above my bedhead that would embolden me to hope or dream
Or hope to dream
In sleepy stupor of what I’d ideally be
Fictionally, I’d have awoken to a presidency
but I’ll just be realistic
I will be a superwoman
Saving the art of language for the sake of society
I used to be word girl
But I prefer word woman
I will be a basketball player
And as the crowd exclaims
I will slam dunk lexicon in your mouth
Lisa Leslie versus Lebron James
I will be an astronaut
Discovering words in galaxies of different dimensions
I will be a doctor
Breathing for the mute
Speaking life into your lungs
I will be a prophetess
Vocabulary giving me visions
I’ve spoken word about the future
I will be a teacher
Training preachers to preach, speakers to speak, leaders to lead, readers to read, reapers to reap, dreamers to dream
I will be a choreographer
Letters will stretch, bend, and synchronize at my command
I will be a musician
Reading dynamic half notes as hyphenated words dance on the treble clef
I will be a body builder
Weighing the pros of prose and cons
I will be a scientist
Combining ions and
Chemically composing oxygen with receptivity to produce
My ionic bond
I will live a life that which I am fond
And screams to the hills: I have lived, I have lived
I can die now.
My epitaph declares:
“Master rhymer, epic writer, lyrical fighter, verbal appetizer, peculiar primer, and world lighter”
My future framed.