Writing to me
Is like trying to breath
Deep breaths between sentences and blank thoughts
Poetry was the dream of my ancestors
The slave who worked in the sun
Sweat without pay
Whips that caused pain
Never learning to read or write
Yet believing one day their descendants would
Writing to me
Is like a star gazer and his night sky
The most precious thing in my galaxy
The fascination of a child
When something new is learned
A desperate attempt to make myself immortal
Writing to me
Is more than a hobby
And deeper than an interest
It’s the very essence of my soul
In the way my heart beats
Pumping blood through my veins
Poetry, Poetry, Poetry
I write to express, to learn
To change the world and its views
I write because I am allowed and able too
To keep the dreams of my ancestors alive
To keep my own dreams from dying
I write to survive
Because writing to me
Is like trying to breath
And a deep breath when a poem
Is finally complete