I may be a winter
But black is not the color of my life
My mood shines like beams of yellow
like the sun
Though I will not inquire
with words that make you sweat
I hate a conversation, made up of
questions
You are my friend, not my witness
I have pride in my rainbow of moods
That I can remain calm in most situations
I am saying that if I am crying
The sorrow is more than real
No illusion can bring on tears
If I am angry- what really happens
Running and avoiding
Is my best answer- Just walk away
Fits need not be raised
a very unsexy quality-action
West Side story- the sadness
All from the raising of fists
No, my color is not black
Yellow generates too much heat
A lite pastel
An environment where light colors blend- like streaks of mixed paint
A mixture of colors - calm soothing
I have pride- even if turning the other
cheek is laughed upon
About the Creator
Antoinette L Brey
I am an elder in a time of freedom. I am now retired. All i want to do is have fun. Without a daily routine, my imagination is one of my only salvations. I am not planning on writing a book, it is just for my own pleasure
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Expert insights and opinions
Arguments were carefully researched and presented
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Keep reading
More stories from Antoinette L Brey and writers in Poets and other communities.
My Mother
Today I miss my mother Though I doubt I wonder If she would share the pride I feel Would she wrap her standards around mine Would our colors blend Or run in parallel lines Never meeting-although always in the same plane. The class which I have abandoned As I proudly wear my tee-shirt from Target And eat on my dishes from Walmart For four years no white-collar job I guess it was blue-collar No fighting sleep behind a desk Would she state that I had a good job And when I doubted in a black streak of rage Would a calm pink hand support me Would it like a tray help transport me to my new destination Today I miss my mother, even as I wonder Would she feel the pride I feel As I wander down my path My journey
By Antoinette L Brey5 years ago in Poets
Comments (2)
This was a beautiful poem!
this is beautiful. well done