The real Me that’s not as powerless in speaking, submissively wind up, passively accepting the World’s opinion, as I see fit to agree, to keep my peace.
This Me is released in private,
as chased thoughts are gathered and carried by the wind’s tease,
As a feather light breeze, of mid Summer’s need, to kiss my over spoke lips, and close my eyes,
to allow it’s gripping attention to my gyrating hip’s, wildly enchanted by my own music’s scent to be released.
A railroad arm would come in handy as I plan, to stop and track friendenemy’s, with undesirable personal needs, to cross me, taken in by my losses, portraying fair weathered friend abilities, predominantly at my cost.
As my identity is fragrant upon a Linden tilia tree, spreading out my branches, as my roots are rooted in dust as its tragic story’s, are beneath me.
For in its editted need to escape,
it’ll keep me free of any race.
Known only as Dark skinned Red bone, an entry not formed on a form, as no box gets marked for its place.
While my heart seeks it peace, it’s caption, it’s need to lead.
The breeze becomes more wickedly paced, as I embrace only the taste of awakening, and living as free as Me,
releasing my hypnotic sweet fragrance and energies into the Summer’s enchanted heat.
Poetry By Tamara Dorsey-Moore
Thinker on the Loose
Copyright (c) 2017 Reserved purposes intended.