Walking without moving
Wondering why I am here
My life so carefully planned
Has fallen into the abyss
Each moment orchestrated
By some unknown entity
That does not even understand or
Know the real me
Talking with out speaking
Words? Or jumbled sounds?
Lips service that makes no sense
Confusion abounds
In this life long monologue
Falling on deaf ears
This has become my life I fear
Living without feeling
Wondering, what’s the use?
This med or that med
Or no meds at all!
I will cut them lose
It is what it is
There is no excuse
My life is what I MAKE IT
Not the red pill or the blue!
Diagnosis: I am me
Not who they want me to be
March to my own drummer
Sing my own songs
Lyrics written in my head
They do not understand
My heart no longer broken
Is that so wrong
That I have moved on
My life
MY LIFE
For the first time
I am me
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
A people’s heart can be found in their poetic words. In history men and women have stood firmly upon their soapboxes and street corners, rallying the deepest beliefs of people to rise up and be heard. The poetrypages.com has offered that voice a new
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
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