What I Am.

Before you begin...

This is something I call an "angry poem". It is not directed at anyone or any one circumstance. It is the result of pent up thoughts and frustrations that are hard for me to convey in any other form. This is also something I call "worship". In the instance of my bitterness and frustration, I am able to call for help through this mysterious art form called poetry. My hope is that you are able to find release in the words that will soon follow. We all struggle, we all fall short, but we all have hope and we all have a way to fight through to the bitter end. May your reading be blessed. 

To the King, for His Glory,

God bless,

Carissa 

What I Am.

I am not stupid.

You rest there and presume that my mind is muted,

That all intellectuality is absent from my being.

Because the only logical answer for what I am is senselessness denuded.

You think my eyes are too blind?

Too moronic and witless to see the world around me refined

With a coherent vision of what is inevitably happening?

Then you, my friend, are incredibly malign.

I am not slow.

The pace at which I think is not inconceivably unknown

Nor is it unproductive or dimwittedly simple.

I am not falsely searching or kidding as you stand there bemoaned.

You see me as too large and dead to move one foot in front of the other.

Like a fattened horse, I must plod along as you fight not to usher.

Oh! You are wrong if you dare believe I cannot be quick and steady.

If it is a game you desire, it is humility you will discover.

I am not to be played with.

I am not spineless, amnesic, unnoticing, or unfit.

You look at me and shake your head

For when I want to leave my den and live, you think I kid.

Indoors! Hidden from the corruption of the world!

There my innocence will be safely pearled,

Away from mistaken phrases and molesting faces

You try to protect me, but you can’t stop this doubting as it unfurls.

To those who see me and think they know my depth,

I am fragile, ignorant, and unbroken in breadth.

But how very wrong they are.

For what they see of me is but a shallow breath.

I am smart.

I do not need to be an alchemist by heart

Or need to contain the cunning of a vigilante

To prove to you that my mind is filled with thought, prestige, and wonder assort.

My eyes are neither too blind nor too common.

For I am observant, powerful, and boldly awesome.

I hold the depth of the sky in my heart

In which I never cease to fill with passion, adventure, love, and promise.

I am unabating.

I may not win the damned race that is shaping

But I am not slow.

I ponder, I figure, I move like the wise: knowing before parading.

I am strong.

To the person who thinks they must shelter my eyes in the throng

You have done yourself the injustice.

In sheltering mine, you have been closing yours all along.

I can look upon sorrow,

I can open my heart to the broken both today and tomorrow.

I have been made to help, to heal, to proclaim.

I have been made to stand, to fight, to live, to follow.

Call me what you will.

Stare at me across the table and think my sanity nil.

But I am strong, and I am steady, and I am smart.

And you will be proven wrong beyond fill.