Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

This is the first time I've put someone else's poem up and I think it's necessary just because it's susch a moving piece of poetic art. Maya Angelou is already very well known and I hardly think she'll need to me publicize her but I want to put this up because of what it means to me. It is the poem that inspired my most recent poem. You will see the simialrities and it's not a mistake or coincidence. I find myself so heavily influenced by poems/stories in such a way that my poems seems to be re-written mirrors of the poems or stories that inspired me in the first place. It's not preferable but hey, what you gonna do? So here it is: Still I Rise.

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

I Am Beautiful

This post may sound a bit Maya-Angelou-inspired and that's because it is. I am constantly moved and inspired by her and her words. We grew up in very different places, times and cultures but to this day, her words paint a picture that can be eternally understood by young females no matter who or where they are. She speaks of the troubles that any girl or woman goes through at any point of their lives, irrespective of their bank balance. I had hoped to capture something of her essence and transform into me because I cannot and will never be Maya Angelou. No disrespect to her, but I don't want to be her. I am me and that's what I want to celebrate.

I, Am beautiful.
I am who I am and I love it.
From my head, down to my toes
I am a work of art.
No-one can tell me I'm not.
From the bat of my lashes
And the sway of my hips,
I am who I am supposed to be.
They may laugh, they may jeer
But it all falls on a deaf ear.
I know who I am
And I love it.
I will continue to be proud;
Of the arch of my brow;
Of the curve of my breasts;
Of the shape of my calves.
I am who I am through and through
And no-one but me, myself or I
Can change how I feel.

Things Are Looking Up

Today the sun announced itself
In a way I haven't seen before.
It smiled, grinned and giggled
As it rose above the horizon.

I opened my eyes
And I had hope.

By midday, it was happily sitting,
In the middle of the sky.
It shone with a brilliance
That you could only admire.

I broke into a laugh
And I was relieved.

At the end of the day
When it was time to go,
It glowed as it disappeared,
But promised to be back.

I close my eyes
And I am happy.

I know it's all sad but I promise I'll get past it.

Tick... Tock... Goes the clock.
The seconds drag on by.
There is silence.
'Silence is golden' they say
But they never say it hurts;
My aching. Bleeding. Heart.

Drip... Drip... Goes the tap.
The hollow sound digs into me.
I don't know when it started.
I'm just glad it there,
Because it comforts
My aching. Bleeding. Heart.

Tap... Tap... Goes the rain
It hits my window pane.
When did it start?
...Something strange about it...
It goes to the beat of
My aching. Bleeding. Heart.

Tick-tock, drip-drip, tap-tap
Tick-drip-tap, tock-drip-tap
Does it matter?
I sat here for an eternity,
And I have to sit for another;
Just me and
My aching. Bleeding. Heart.

What Do I Call Thee?

Every time I smile,
I don't know if they see
That's it's hollow
Because you're not with me.

Every time I laugh,
It sounds like a lie.
It's like I'm on a cliff with only
A thin thread to hang on by.

Every time I close my eyes
All I see is your smiling face.
It almost makes me cry
But I never do, by God's grace.

Every time I take a step
I make sure it's away from you.
I miss you more than I'll admit
But walking away is the best I can do.

February 4th, 2012 - My first snow fall

I watched the first little icicles drop
And I was already hating when it'd stop.
There were cold flakes all around me
As far and as close as the eye could see.
Like a little girl, I was aglow;
Excited for the first time I saw snow!
I can't describe my happiness
But try to imagine a little princess
Barely past her 5th year,
Who's full of glee cause the 6th one's near.
I basked in the light shower
I swear, I spent a full hour
Just standing in the middle of the street,
It felt almost good enough to eat.
I started to wish my brother was there
Because we'd always dreamed of this together.
Next year I'll stand with him though;
By his side during his first snow.

Here

I'm wishing you were here
Just because I'm here.
Remember when you were here?
We were both here.

Today I'm here,
Almost wishing you were here,
But I'm glad you're not here
Because there's nothing here.

It would be funny if you were here;
Randomly we'd both be here.
Right now, I'm alone here.
I'm glad it's just me here.

I wouldn't want you to be here.
I once wished you were here
But I know you won't be here
So I smile; alone; happy; here.

Reaching Out

I want to talk to you. I just remembered the beginning; when we were just getting to know each other and 'I love your girl' had just come out. We were so into each other. The three years since, we've been up and down; dated, not dated; had fun, fought; I don't think I'll want to forget the good times. The bad times are such a distant memory now and I laugh for allowing myself to ever get upset over such little things. At the time, they seemed so important. I guess it's cause I assumed you'd always be there to handle my drama.
It's almost the fourth year and I can't talk to you cause you're gone. Obviously alive, but gone from me. I want to reach out and just talk to you but what good would it do? Will it help you get over this? Will it fix everything? Will it be the beginning of a bright future?
Maybe not.
On the other hand, what harm could it do? Will it be like trying to chase shadows in the dark? Will it destroy whatever little respect we have for each other?
Maybe not.
You always said,'Keep writing and one day, I'll get you published, when I'm rich.' And I said,'I don't want to get published.' Just one of the many things we could never agree on. *sad smile* It was something we never pushed but always repeated, like a record, over and over. I don't know why that stuck in my head for this long but I always remember it as our most iconic conversation.
If you ever read this, I just want to say 'Hi' and wish you a speedy recovery.
We've been through a lot but maybe it's time to drop this facade, or maybe we just need time.
Or maybe not. Maybe it's just over.

Maybe...