Poetry is my emotional release. Writing poems allows me to free my brain space up from the terrors that haunt me, what's being generated within me. I write because I know not what I do. I write because I cry unheard words that can only be discerned by the spirit that lives within me. Poetry. It is my message to say I apologize for me being me, during my out-of-character days. OOWEE Poetry.


My two collections of POETRY; A LIFE IN NO SPECIFIC ORDER & A LIFE GETTING IN SPECIFIC ORDER

email me: onmyownkikl@yahoo.com for your copy.





BREATHE


I pray to simply get a glimpse of something unrelenting, to reframe from inducing the preservation it shall provide.


The brightness shone through, up and around my darkness would serve just to refresh within my consciences that hope shall be there waiting,


I’d arrest helping; screaming.


I can't open up wide enough to hopefully express how my inward feels; it stop being called lonely eons ago.


What truly helps I'm hoping is perseverance and patience and renewed faith.


I can I can I can’t any more.


Pain is reserved for the tough at heart, and having died those eons ago; this death on me has no fear of thee you see.


Sadness dried and died before I knew what hit me.


Guide me back to living before this death is permanent.


Fight.


Fight.


Fight.


KW



FREEDOM

I wanted to be left feeling invisible because to remember would allow me to be unfeeling as I compassionately socialize with the enemy; it shouldn't deliberately weigh on my feelings. Why would my sanity truly depend on your survival; that can't reasonably be? The explanation of when I rage has been shut up so long that I've forgotten the rules and pleasures to openness; if there's really still a place for me; the only thing that's changed is that the applause is much quieter. The bright lights of 'insane' frightens into the nights of my cold sweats what my soul knows to behold or not as I grow ‘sane’.


I try not to weep or willow but out-casted is, as out-casted does.


Don't cry for me because I purposely hid part of the way; let's get it straight. My forgetting of my whole self, not out of ignorance, but because I have been born again and again and again and...; I ain't mad, I’m willing to go on. How do you unscramble a rattled mind that's struggling with rebirth and a ‘hope’ I hope I have left; living in the flesh dying in the Word. God has plans for me, as soon as I figure at what they are to be.

Kim Wilson




It’s coming and it’s coming with re-vengeance for vengeance.


Time and death can’t be escaped, won’t be eluded, shall not be reversed or given a ‘do over’; it’s in God’s RIGHT hand and his RIGHT hand alone. With age and ability comes death. With personal and professional duties comes death. With lying still or being non-stop comes death; money or status comes death; academics or having a gift, comes death. Dying is the mid-way between us now and us then, which shouldn’t be viewed as ‘scary’.


It must be accepted because it’s coming, and it’s coming with a vengeance. It can be viewed as a stifling reflection of your soon-to-be-‘self’; an understanding a long unsolved puzzle; it’s only dying.


It’s only dying.


What do you mean it’s only dying?


Dead is dead no matter how it’s perceived. It is coming to pass.


I thought the exact opposite until the day she died. Actually it was night but that’s neither here nor there. It was only in fact of the matter that the thought of being dead was lived out before she actually left the top of the earth. I thought, no felt, that the deep of the sleep was overpowering yet calming, like when you’re in a dream that you can’t shake your ‘self’ awake from; it’s only dying.


It’s like when you’re engaged in a matter that you can’t see your way out of. It’s closer to being buried alive and knowing the darkness of death is rushing; it’s only dying.


A comatose sleep to where relaxing your ‘being’ to a point of seeing into the other aspects of ‘living’, where everything is familiar, in a strange way; it’s only dying. Where all that you reach out to, retracts its self from the energy of the touch of the blood that flows; JESUS!


The possession of nothing is what truly matters; is it truly, only dying.


Kim Wilson




I THOUGHT I SAW A STRUGGLE


History had it chiseled in stone, written into law, passed by the government, setting precedent and avoiding proclamation that we’d never WIN!


But look at us now; we’re winning winning, winning winning.


To the beat of distant drums; hear us winning winning, winning winning.


To trust and believe; our FAITH has us winning winning, winning winning.


500 plus years, wasted, stressing our people out; my God, you see them winning, winning winning.


Wait on the Lord and praise Him in the meantime; we’re winning winning.


We’ve busted every stone, erased needless laws, invaded the government, set precedent and acclaimed proclamation; I take a bow now; gotta’ get back to winning winning.


Next Afro-American in line; it's your turn to be winning, winning, winning winning.


For sure I’ll be back, I’m winning, winning winning.


I thought I saw a struggle, wasn’t everybody winning winning.


I thought I saw a struggle, but I was too busy winning, winning, winning winning.


Kim Wilson







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