Like a Beautiful Star and Other Poems From Behind the Razor Wires

Phillip Standin... - Posted on 16 December 2014


Like a beautiful star viewed from a distance, obscured by the light years that separate the world from her brilliance and her from their ignorance Beautifully encrypted with a celestial image all eyes at attention yet no one gets it, it's a lonesome existence so she bottles her light inside. White zinfandel bottles that provide a place for her  pain to hide. More than once in a while opening her "wine" eagle spread on any bed she finds rest from the rocky hills she climbs. Climatiz  cries tears from her "I" not mere tears but spirit drops that metamorph into bright embers warm enough to spark life but too hot to sustain the enigma of her aspirations not mere tears but latent promises that evaporated on hotel pillow cases leaving traces of her yearning soul remnants of her internal erosion seeping through as the bottle she hid in bursts open leaving exposed what she fought so hard to keep closed she implodes and from the ashes of implosion she's born brand new. Like A Phoenix.


God Blessed this skin of mine it wasn't made for cameos on commercials for oil of olay this skins rough the Bastard child of tempered steel and alligator hide the canvas where suffering chose to sketch its greatest mural its life time achievement colored with blood dabbed from lacerations.

God tests this skin of mine skin blanketed in leopard printed bruises that blossom on my epidermis like violet and blue pansies witnesses to their attempt to hex what God Blessed. So, God touched this skin of mines endowing every cell with strength, beauty, and resilience to endure each strike, every blow and when the darts pierced too deep God healed this skin of mine from black and blue speckled symbols of rejection and hate rolling off the tips of unbridled fire threatening to destroy what God gave. Beautiful, Bronze, Brilliance this skin that God made.


Cause God Loves this skin of mine.


If beauty had a first name, it would have to be Nneka for what could be more beautiful than a mother whose love is so supreme it destroys all elements that threaten the growth of her child? If purity had a face, it would be like one of a new born for what could be more pure than new life sent to awaken slumbering dreams and aspirations while endowing us with the audacity to hope in a despondent world? If power had a pair of feet one would certainly be connected to the ankle of the strong-willed sista who juggles two jobs, school, and motherhood, all the while never stopping to complain about having to fill a void that shouldn't be there while the other foot would undoubtedly be caught up in the stride of a determined brother who denying any association with the proverbial "Box" they try to limit him to, cuts through circumstance like the light of a lone star through an impenetrable dark. If patience had limbs they'd be attached to torsos that envelope hearts that reach through hands that heal but will just as soon slap the stupid out of you when need be and if love could be born anywhere at all, the flirtatious grin shared between life - long companions would be its MECCA. Sprouting life nurtured within a pair of new eyes, discovering new hands that grasp not for the wind but for Gods promise open arms that embrace, not hate but the love that molded them and an emboldened tongue that speaks, not to curse, but to impart Gods Blessing.


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