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That which inside of me screaming
beating about for exit or entry
names the wind, wanting winds’ voice
wanting winds’ power
it is not my heart
and I am trying to tell this
without art or embellishment
with bits of me flying out in all directions
screams memories old pieces of flesh
struck off like dark bark
from a felled tree, bearing
up or out
holding or bringing forth
child or demon
is this birth or exorcism or
the beginning machinery of myself
outlining recalling
my father’s business – what I must be
about my own business
minding.Shall I split
or be cut down
by a word’s complexion or the lack of it
and from what direction
will the opening be made
to show the true face of me
lying exposed and together
my children your children their children
bent on our conjugating business.

Audre Lorde
That which is inside screaming,
beating about for exit or entry
wanting the winds’ voice
wanting the winds’ power
wanting the wind to carry me,
carry you, carry us to a common place
a place of beauty and serenity
a safe place, a place for my children
your children their children.

What’s up family?
It’s been a while, hope all is well.
Peace Tenthltr2u

About tenthltr2u (1074 Articles)
A child of the 60's I often feel out of place in the world as it exist today. Too much excess, too much materialism, too few people who genuinely care or give a damn. It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. Antoine de Saint-Exupery

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