I am a Writer
Though my ink may have run dry
The trails I’ve been lead through
Entangled by crippling thorns
Enlightened with heavenly light -
stitches on my heart
Relinquishing orbs of forgiveness
And unholy matrimony
I am my writer
Appreciating the human nature
Glorifying every tiny error, comma, cursive, and forgotten erasing
Formulating my life's anthology
Encased in a tomb - encrypted - secretive not for the everyday eye to see
Though my ink may have run dry
Poetic blisters yearn for release
Oozing hymns of saintly glory
I am the Writer
I’m a writer
I am my writer
A poet
A journalist
Like a photographer
Capturing the memory
I make it visible like a mirroring lake
Reliving the terror
Relieving the nightmares
That scorches my brain
My poems are marked sad
When they unfold truths and
De-wrinkle lies
I am a writer
A broken writer
A poet
A black poet
A Journalist
A spiritual journalist
I am a gift
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