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 expel,
the soul.

A soul filled to it's capacity,
and threatening to dispel,
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 worldly expression.

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

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



by: Kimarie Manhart-Freeman