Creative me

Creative me 

Creative me is life in poetry 

It is the wind, waves, rain and sun that bloom when I sing

It is the hug I give myself 

when I write words on paper from my ink pen and embed feelings of melancholy and euphoria that flow together to create magical lines of power 

It is the flames of shame that my words will go unwritten and or unnoticed because I have lived in the shadows of nightmares unrelated to me 

Creative me is the 10 year old girl who was silenced, shredded and shut down by mom and grandma when I proudly shared that I when I grew up I wanted to be a singer. My smile left and my head was down as they floundered the antithesis of education being the only way because somehow I wouldn’t make it. 

But my dad, my dad  sat there silently taking glimpses of me. And when look back I think to sing was his dream but someone had made him rethink.

Creative me is probably hidden because my family had forbidden all the truths I wanted to be. So how could I become this thing if they didn’t even believe in the God given me?

But creative me mustered you the strength with unequivocal fear to tell my husband I wanted to move to LA because Houston was just a safe serve to chase my dreams away

Creative me is the waves of freedom 

The matchless words of wealth 

The paddle to release my regret 

I know that if creative me doesn’t live 

Antoiniqua will suffer at the hands of her own demise 

flashing the golden rings of fancy that were only tickled by a 9-5 

Auspicious occasions where my nameplate was supposed to be overshadowed by the fear of the greatest me. 

I will stand tall and feel the fear anyway 

Be scared and become the next MJ fade-away