. I struggle with depression myself, and as a writer and (former) poet, I find myself drawn to poetry to find solace, to find comfort, to find solidarity, and to better understand my experiencesas well as the experiences of those who deal with depression in ways that dont mirror mine at all. Love is also a gift. I make jokes and conversations to try and be supportive, even while addled by adversity and gut-wrenching pains. I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you: hear you, hear mewe twoyou, me, talk on this page. 'Broken' Wings broken. Though you may hear me holler,And you may see me cryI'll be dogged, sweet baby,If you gonna see me die. A melody only meant for my ears, just those three words are my song. A man awakens from his sleep Where were his belongs that he did keep? No matter how hard or curvy the road to get here has been, I'm ready to win. #willtowin #winnerwinner #poetrycommunity #poetrylovers #memoir #memoirs #poetrybook #poetrybooks #empowered #empoweredempath #icandoit #icandothis #resilient #poemsdaily #poemsofig #poemoftheday #poemofinstagram, "TIRED" - This is a reading of a poem from my new memoir "Will To Win." Making myself the mystery, This piece is about faith and the hope that there's a purpose to all of the twists and turns. You can read about that journey and relate to the struggles in my new memoir, available as a hard copy or E-book. A Lost Soul unable to heal herself but willing to heal me. a teacher told me, question what you see! Eating food from McDonalds is mathematically impossible. He uses his poems as an emotional outlet for himself and helps people connect with these feelings. Jets that fly high into space, nuclear submarines to sit quietly on the ocean bottom. Poems about Broken at the world's largest poetry site. greed. Lessons to be learned and wisdom, patience and strength to be acquired and shared. to this college on the hill above Harlem. Love is also a gift. that strangling Lets take it back to the Treaty of Guadalupe, Being infected by small pox from blankets, Lets take it back to when women were worth, Cooking tortillas, greens just lay there, Lets Take it Back to the Good Old Days,, Let them grow to cover our pain and sorrow, Plant the seeds to unify the peoples of the Americas, Plant the seeds to grow a canopy of change, Plant the seeds to destroy imperialism and, Allow its branches of change to break through, The concrete and twist the steel and iron, so in its leaves we can hear the joyous voices of freedom, so in its flowers we can see the worlds beauty, So in its branches we can feel its reassuring strength, So in its trunk we can stand firm on whom we are, So in its roots we can remember the past we have forgotten, Before I even existed God selected that color for me, She was the first color that held me close, I would cry out if she left me to go to work, But rejoice when the older and wiser, but just as beautiful, Shining with memories of raising twelve boys and three girls, Now this brown woman was helping in raising me, Eggs frijoles and sometimes not so homemade Count Choculas, I was three when she started spitting up blood, Holding the bucket for her as she said, Ahi mijo, Ill be okay., I think that was the only English she knew, I cant really remember how much English she did speak, Yet I still cry at the thought of that memory, I am not sure how much longer it was before she died, I know shortly after that moment I never saw her again, At the time being three I did not understand death, As this young and beautiful color cried so many tears of sorrow, It drained the very happiness of her soul, It was not until a few days later when I realized, The older and wiser color was never coming back, I often sit and wonder how this older and wiser color, What she could have taught me, what we would laugh about, But like all strong colors they over time, Fade away and are nothing more than memories, It has taken me seventeen years to come to terms with this, And in school there was a whole new type of Morena.
broken wing poem by will reyes