I see things.
I’ve seen children of means doing demeaning things.
And sons of poverty who spread their wings.
I’ve seen grown men beg for life,
And children throw it away to avoid a little strife.
I’ve seen grandiose homes with filth and grime,
And homeless camps that pristinely shine.
I have seen some men tell the truth.
I’ve seen more lie despite the proof.
I’ve seen sorrow and courage,
Calm and rage.
I’ve seen precious little contentment and plenty of resentment.
I’ve heard women scream as I stand at their door,
Because I’ve come to tell them they aren’t mothers anymore.
I’ve seen bad men get their due,
And self righteous ones who have no clue.
I’ve seen lots of things as a police man.
Some things others never can.
I would like to make a statement regarding what I write.
I’m not trying to cause a fight.
A poem is a personal art.
It’s purpose is to reflect the heart.
It should not be critiqued by others,
Because that sort of input simply smothers,
The author’s ability to express feeling,
And prevents that inner healing,
That comes from having a voice.
I wrote my poem that way by choice.
If you like what you see then say what you like,
But don’t tell me how to hold my mic!
The stage is mine, just sit and listen,
Watch and see my raw emotion glisten.
If you’d say the words differently then write your own.
Don’t try to force me to be a clone,
Of your thoughts and emotional need.
My writing may never commercially succeed,
Or make me well known.
But at least it’s my own.
And if someone took the time to read each one.
They would know me better when they were done.
Tired eyes that ache.
Muscles that begin to shake.
These are the signs that I should rest.
Yet it’s also when I write best.
I think it is just before slumber,
That the thoughts of the day cease to encumber,
The mind and so make it free,
Which gives rise to a writing spree.