Young Bird
San Francisco sprawled along the earth
Bathed in a fog that cloaks former glory
Glory of tender, solid oneness
Surrounded by salt dusted shores
She burns in hues of olive, caramel, chocolate, and blinding snow
Encrypted with history and exposed in the people
Once a place of history now forsaken
Abandoned in brotherhood and good faith
Dethroned, she stands unable to carry the history in her veins
This is where I found my voice
Here I opened my mouth and to my amazement lyrics bleed forth
In this city my mind broke free
The pen took control and words flowed from me
In this community, my school of late
We are reined in his claws
Surviving on competition
And gobbled in his currency of grades
My essence described as though ethereal
“Red as a cherry bomb, graceful as a gazelle”
Large owl eyes open and expecting
Ms. Terrance of petite stature
Beach sand hair and elegant aura
Spit forth the lines and illuminated my passion
Pitched into shock, my mind stood still
These words of grace entranced me
Outstretched my wings
In faucet outlets of blushed pink, down in the dumps blue and heated red
In front of my view lay the construct of reality and imagination
Mighty sword gripped in my slender excited hands
And in my heart burst forth the years of truth
In the first lines I declared myself “A great and terrible beauty”
Here my beauty is within my ugly
Dancing off the the pages
My first poem passed on a legacy
A new allegory of the cave
Instead of conforming myself as a strong and beautiful girl
I trended the backbone
he descendent of freedom fighters
Rants spurt forth like silk on my tongue waiting to be heard
Silent on the paper
I screamed, hacked and sawed
Criticized and desensitized to the injustice of oppression
People on people
Brother on mother
Ms. Terrance became my mother dove
And in her I care I learned to fly
But its time I leave my nest
Now, after soft spoken words about stones
Descriptions of women adorned like flowers
I metamorphosed into a phoenix
Reborn in the ashes of my youth
I don’t just make statements
I make transgressions
Although I can not heal with my tears
I heal with my words
As bundles of immense loads are dropped
Like stones on the bare back
Of those who cry “There is no God but God”
I pick up my load
And praise that I have what others do not
This is how I found my voice
Here is where I created my experiences
And now the world can’t hold me down