./EI Version 2.5 - People like us give people like you bad names. :: October 24, 2017, 3:22 pm
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Breathe in, breathe out.
As the air passes through your chest,
Syllables form,
Forming words and phrases,
Sentences and even entire conversations.
These words that resonate in the empty air,
Dancing off the tip of my tongue,
Not limited to just rhymes and song.
Expressions of art that come through my lungs,
Poetry, songs, verse,
Limericks and puns,
Metaphors and similes,
Haikus and tankas,
Sonnets and couplets
Cinquains and Villanelles,
Acrostics, riddles, and tongue twisters
And yes also, very romantic, helpless, hopeless, corny and cheesy
One liners and pickup lines to impress the ladies,
Well, with each word and phrase spoken,
A special imprint,
An identifying signature comes with it,
Which tell the stories of my past,
My present, as well as my future.
I am a young expressionist,
I may not be the next Milton or Poe, Hughes or Seuss,
But I use my voice and imagination to form stories to pass on to the next generation.
The tip of my tounge is just like a painter's brush.
Just as a brush glides across canvas,
Creating beautiful images of dreams and fantasies,
My voice echoes through the air,
I paint my portraits with love.
As painters use red, green, and blue hues,
I form my masterpiece with A's, E's, I's, O's, and U's.
And sometimes the letter Y too...
These vowels blend with consonants,
Forming priceless masterpieces.
My voice is a tool, an outlet, my medium for my art,
And just as Picasso had his blue period,
I've had my downs and shared a few frowns,
But through my art,
I express my frustrations,
I turn my frowns back into happy faces,
By taking the pain and sadness and using that energy to form
Countless lines and stanzas,
I dig deep into my heart and mind
And fish around for the greatest inspiration,
For the things I know, which lie deep within my soul.
This is my voice,
This is something more,
More than just a breath beneath my chest.


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