Writing poetry be like
*deep breath…
…slow exhale*
 
And I in-take you-in
 
All your possessions that you profess
Behind that nervous and reluctant smile of yours.
All your perspectives
On the prospective,
Whose lives you’ll change.
 
Rearrange. A deep quite strange.
 
Writing poetry is strange
Because I’ll have to
*deep breath…
…slow exhale*
 
And in-take you-in
 
With all your beauty stamped by a warning sign:
My smile is not a sign.
Your beauty is not an invite.
But the way you walk is a story. A fight. A flight.
Strength drawn from your spine.
 
And that of your mother
Your people. Mi gente.
La cultura.
 
A song that does not make sense to most
Yet, you play it so well.
Break norms and expectations with what you tell.
So we have reasons to judge and complain,
Perhaps drive you insane.
 
But, honestly, nothing about you is our business.
 
Carving poetry be like
*deep breath…
…slow exhale*
 
So, I turn the poem into a blooming being; a human being.
More truly, I carve the success story—your hidden trophy
Into poetry.
 
Read the message in your uneven smile;
Dark, slick hair running a mile
Read the story your eyes tell as it sparks, every once in a while,
Complementing bliss.
 
Sometimes, the poem writes itself.
 
So, one must be patient enough; open enough
To read it.
Sunlight takes its sweet, slow time to reach the Earth.
Then to reach you.
 
But when it does,
Gosh, is she a sight to see! A light to consume. A brilliance to erupt.
A human being; a journey; a story; bittersweet Poetry.
 
Consuming you be like,
*deep breath…
…slow exhale*
*bright smile*
“¿¿¿CÓMO ESTÁÁÁSSS???”
And you know I’m here,
They know we’re here.
 
Your existence in the North,
My joking through the South
Our energy creates a balance. An importance that never misses out
Although, they all miss, when out.
 
There’s a unique experience we carry
That’s exclaimed into forms of incomprehensible beauty and art.
If you haven’t been through it,
You wouldn’t know.
If you haven’t traveled in-between worlds to exist in the between of worlds,
You can’t quite comprehend the existence of our Universe.
 
Consuming you be like
I could reach out and touch you:
Something delicate, yet not fragile.
 
Not too agile, but what’s a good story without Scars?
So, dime. Cómo estás?
Cuéntame tu historia

Carving you be like,
*deep breath…
…slow exhale*
 
Maybe, I can just put you through a machine
And your poetry blurts out. On the other side
 
But someone said something about
Authenticity.
Copying your story is not so easy
Putting you to words is not so simple
 
Unless, machines could consume you like
*deep breath…
…slow exhale*
 
Gather the story of suns and universes.
Access your complexity and simplicity.
 
I could just put you through a machine;
Blurt out your poetry!
But it’s not so easy.
Not with authentic artistry.
Beauty carved by history.
Meditation of poetry.

@sircharlesthepoet