Muse From Fog
So weak with flaws baking her of sticky emotions, her creepy black skin is the beautiful painting on the wall. Where she thought would bring light was drowning her of what she felt people was. Weird was the fiddling feeling touching on her past, so she can take her time and learn who she was.
Her body was never her friend whenever she sought solace, it seemed to send her flying away from the little nest of her heart. When she walked outside on Thursday wee, she saw in front of her what can make a story in her paper. Surrendered was the beautiful images in the fog outside, the morning cloud was the fire she ever wanted because it shoots her bones like an arrow. She slammed the door behind her and leaped in, she knew they were right in on her. She picked her pen and poured out her thoughts.
(Listening Poem) Prince Udeh