Can’t wait to be as free as Me.
The real Me, released, that’s not as powerless in speech, submissively wind up, passively accepting the World’s opinion, as I see fit to agree,
to keep my peace.
This Me is unleashed in private,
as chased thoughts are gathered and carried by the wind’s tease, the lightest breeze,
As a feather drifting in a humid Summer’s plea, of kisses to my over spoken lips,
too close my eyes,
to allow it’s gripping attention to my gyrating hip’s,
wildly enchanted by my own music’s, released scent.
To take surprise each hearts harm, as discord would be met by a patented railroad arm, that would come down, to stop and track friendenemy’s, with personal needs, to cross me, taken in by my losses, portraying fair weathered friend’s abilities, at my cost.
As my identity is fragrant upon a Linden tilia tree, spreading out my branches, as my roots are rooted in dust, of tragic,
For in its editted need to escape,
it’ll keep me free of any formed race.
To be known only as Dark skinned Red bone,
not formed on a form,
as no box gets marked for its place, for it was, never born.
While my heart seeks it peace,
its need to lead.
The breeze becomes more wickedly paced,
as I embrace,
only the taste of awakenings, and living as free as Me,
releasing my hypnotic sweet fragrance and energies,
into the Season’s smooth aromatic breezes.
Poetry By Tamara Dorsey-Moore
Thinker on the Loose
Copyright (c) 2017 Reserved purposes intended.Reblog