Emerge the Poetess

Emerge the Poetess

There is no sleep.
There is no rest.
No appetite for flesh or food.

Wanting only to be free,
from the need to expell,
the soul.

A soul filled to it's capacity,
and threatening to dispell,
the contents therein.

Afraid that if I do not hurry,
it will emerge injured,
by being held back.

Emerging without eloquence,
of form or logic,
if I do not comply now.
Now.
Now.
Now.

They are too much.
Too much for flesh to hold,
and need to be released,
in the form of wordly expression.

Sweat-browed in travail,
purging and pushing thoughts,
gathering myself in as well,
to merge with words.

My word-children birthed,
into existance and
the poetess in me as well.
I will be a mother many times over.



by: Kimarie Freeman