flies fluttering flights. Flies fair for flair. 

Fought farthest, flapping flower of feathers.

Flew for fated freedom: free, free, free!

Fly fast, fly far; fish-like free, flame of flaps;

Feathery-thing, flap, flutter, unfold five fingers, 

for fear of flight, freedom flew far from me.

Flapping flutter, farthest from feelings 

of frightful fear. Fold myself free. 

Fearless, feisty flier, friendly foe

fades, Florence-bound, favors flavors far.  

Formidable feather-framed fighter,

flew into fleeing flight.

For you, flutter, flap, feathery-thing

for you, unlike foolish me, flew fast.

I, 

woe for the America that does not see me beyond my body.

Men call me their other half 

still they've been sending me

to the kitchen for what? since THERE WAS LIGHT, 

saying there's serious matters

to discuss and I'm not needed

these things are not for women ears.

I smirk. They don't 

know I've got a college degree

in one hand 

a strong handshake in the other. 

I don't have time for tomorrow 

for when they ask me

to go into kitchen.

I don't have time for dishes, 

I'll say.

What did you say?

They will ask.

I am growing powerful 

a woman

no less beautiful.

I, don't resign my song in America.

....

Following the tradition of Hughes, this poem imitates the "other-ness" African Americans have been made to feel with the similar disregard for female potential. Unlike Hughes' piece, the poem is more direct and defiant to match the times; America grows in working and outspoken women.

I've been chewing up words since I was two. Been wrapping up my tongue around the taste of language.Tengo inglés en un oído--Spanish in the other. Something about the way vowels and consonants conflate has me bending at the knee. Why, words are beckoning me, such dulcet flutterings in my mouth. I speak and yo hablo, and I spoke. I can write an AD for my DICTION, bring the world want, a wee word addiction. Call me poet; it feels so right.

I walk under the sun

time touches me so

I tenderly hold

onto life

and these days

my youth hangs

over my mouth

like a sweet summer

It is not a sign of weakness to hold in the weight of rock that is the mine collapsing inside your throat. Your heart is jumping out of its rib-shaped cave more often than not. The consequence of freedom isn't always pretty. Your body is a protest, a body of water, gaining momentum. Your body is

not mine: make the world 

uphold this.

Ankles toes and belly button

knees and elbows

shoulder blades

and everything else

in stock, they are not allowed

to take. You keep a tight inventory,

so next time people come around telling you about your body, don't hold back. Your body is evidence. Hold it up against the light until they are obligated to shut up.

There's scantily hid hate in your eyes

when you speak around me

like my presence here stings;

honey, I sure didn't take 

anything, but you mistake 

me for a worker bee.

I'm learning that ugly  

doesn't manifest itself with-

out beauty to oppose 

(look at me bloom 

every day). You can't dim 

this smile, a token of my royalty.