as i write this poem here, i often wonder of things that have yet to be here for me...my soul always know deep down inside there was a fire burning for my freedom...i sit and thought after long thought after long thought graciously trot thru my mind...let me be as i because i only knowing of being one person so trust in me to be...think of me as someone liking to a friend but also at the same time as a stranger...i write this even though i know many will be confused but the few that can follow...this is not to be inspirational, sad, emotional but just me doing what i feel deep down...don't knock me for what i do, inspire me at the same time i'm getting inspiration from you...i'm sitting here writing this not knowing of where i should go or where i come from....all i know is what i wanna do and the way i feel afterwards...to me, poetry is like a thirst, must i quench my thirst and no longer be thirsty but we know...we know poetry is like cold water, we must drink and we know that we should be full...but we keep drinking because we know we would never be full, we always thirst...we love poetry like an extension from us to us in another way, reaching out to ourself...seeing ourself in that mirror and surprised at what we see but we wanna reach out...knowing that only we know what we want and how we want it, knowing like a secret...something we should never reveal, pandora's box kept closed, lips tightly sealed...those who know can relate. those who know can see our feel, see our soul, feel us...this is something i wanna write because this is something that i know i have to say...nobody can tell me how to feel about poetry because i am passionate about my write...a passion that could never be drowned out, could never be trampled upon or stomped on...always talked about, cry when i laugh, laugh when i cry, strangers kept at a distance...for this write been with me a long time, gonna be with me until my last minute breathing...could write a book on my inspirations, but this book wait because of unimportance...just willing to share with fellow peoples of my own poetry, persons understanding of me...shaking heads as if you know exactly what i am saying, knowing like it relates to you...hanging on every word as if you were writing them along with me, dont be a stranger...eyes follow each letter, let your word speak your language, speak thee from your heart...whether you be at peace or whether you be broken, speak your word and be fixed...as i speak this because not so long ago i was broken, stil not fixed but just mended...went along in life, now blamed for someone else being broken, i will shoulder that...used to taking blame, no strange ground for me, willing to accept failure to succeed...accepting all my life even still mended temporarily, my heart beats, my blood flows...my veins tough as if my maker knew what lies ahead, regardless, my blood still flow...as i reach my ending thought, some confusion still around but understanding a plan...being different for as long as i can remember, looking back and my song now play...scenes of my life flashing, not regretting a thing, not satisfied but not dissatisfied too...always looking ahead because behind me may be the most awfullest sight unseeing...doing this since age of 11 years, feeling it then, feeling it now, feeling better as if...so i now must say to you things most of you feel but none of you shall say but i...
...for you poetry...for you, i will...
Edward Orlando Griffin