antagonistically I am alive

Languish is a two laned road

Misogyny be my name and my role
Pride be my form

The sins of my brothers and my sisters
they be here no more
When my blood rises from the dead
Ebonics will overcome phonics And our lives will be spared

I am done playing politics
done being your diplomat
if you want the olive branch go get it yourself

I am done acquiescing to your decisions and demands
I am prepared to throw up my hands
All I want is to be left alone with my kin
All I want is for my diction to not define who I am
All I want is for peace not to be left a dream

We as a whole are taught that dreams can become reality
That america is a country created and shaped by our thoughts
Yet our reality is becoming nothing more than a nightmare
Someone tell me who thought of this?
How can we turn our reality from the nightmare it has become into our dreams
let us be honest it was never a place for my people
But since we are here can we not claw each others throats out and get back to the problem at hand?

perfect poise
between diction
imagery and tone
measured rhythms
and true fine feelings
that fall like soft rain
to mirror humans
in tender moments
and coarse grim cameos
of things best forgotten
things nuanced and bitter
this vast field of experience
is the business of poetry
the art of aptness
the art of compactness
and incredible depths
leading to damp squibs
we search nevertheless
for unique form and content
that exercise in futility
till at last we rest from our labours
and we understand at last
poetry like life is a bitter-sweet  illusion

Another choice
Another line
Another symbol
Another rhyme
Simple diction
An extra word
Punctuation
Pentameter
A mournful meaning
A broken heart
Another poem
It's my art.